Page 96 of A Little Jaded
When I crawl up his body, he winces, and I freeze, lifting my hand from his sore ribs. “Shit.”
“I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not.”
“Come here, Raine,” he repeats. His tone is gentle. Like a caress. And I’d give anything to wrap myself up in it.
Carefully, I tuck myself against his side and start to rest my head on his chest until he grabs my chin and kisses me, shoving his tongue into my mouth and tasting himself. Tasting what I did to him. If only he knew how mutual the feeling really is. And if he wasn’t jumped earlier tonight, I’d have no issue proving it.
Instead, I slow the kiss and pull away, pressing one softer, more gentle kiss to his lips. “You need to rest.”
“No, I need to get you off.”
“No,” I repeat with a laugh, pressing my hand against his chest as he tries to sit up. “You really need to rest.”
“Not gonna let you swallow my cum without giving you an orgasm, Storm.”
“Are you always this transactional with sex?”
He quirks his brow. “Most girls don’t complain.”
“Not complaining,” I clarify. “But Iamgoing to pass. You need to rest.”
Grudgingly, he settles back and takes a slow breath, looking down at me and pushing my hair away from my face as he studies me carefully. I wish I knew what he was thinking. If he’s falling the same way I am.
I think he is. I hope he is.
“I’m not going anywhere, Raine,” he promises, and I swear the words are a balm to my soul.
Sucking my lips between my teeth, I bite on the plump flesh and swallow around the lump in my throat. “Good…‘cause neither am I.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
RAINE
“You ready yet?” my dad asks.
I peek up from my sketchbook and frown. “If I say no, will I be in the doghouse again?”
My dad’s been suggesting I give him or my mom or my brother or even one of his favorite clients a tattoo almost every day this past week. At first, it was only here and there. His offer to walk me through giving my first official tattoo. But lately, he’s more persistent. More pushy. I think he’s caught on to my fear, no matter how ridiculous it really is. But I’m not him. I’m not my dad. I’m not some…prodigy. I’m just me, and a small part of me is terrified I’m not enough. Terrified I’ll make a mistake. One someone will have to wear for the rest of their life unless they’re willing to pay for removal, and how would that look? The infamous Milo Anders’ youngest daughter. The screw up. The failure. The girl who couldn’t hack it.
At first, it was pretty easy to shrug off my dad’s offer to be my first guinea pig, saying I wanted to finish a piece in my notebook or do a few more practice runs on the fake skins instead. Apprentices use them to work on their craft andmake sure the needle doesn’t go too deep or shallow. It’s great for newbies like me, even though I’m not stupid enough to believe tattooing on the fake stuff is anything close to the real thing. Human skin. Regardless, when I began working here, my dad bought my excuses, but over the last couple of weeks, he’s wisened up to my stalling tactics.
He plops down onto the swivel stool and casts a quick glance at the clock on the wall, giving me his full attention. “I have a few minutes before my next appointment. You can always give me a quick?—”
“Not ready yet.”
“Rainbow.” He scoots his chair into my periphery, grabs the edge of my notepad, and lowers it. “What’s going on?”
With a smile, I turn back to my half-finished drawing. “Nothing.”
“Is it about your boy?”
I scoff and look up at him again. “One, no, this has nothing to do with my boy. His name is Everett, by the way. And two, I thought we’d moved past this.”
“Not until you let me officially meet him,” my dad volleys back at me. “I’m still waiting for our introduction.”
“You’ve already had your introduction,” I remind him.