I know it’s a dumb tradition, but back then, I was different. I still bought into the hype. I’d been proud of being added to the legacy, the notoriety.
But this isn’t the way I want to add to it.
As I round the curve, I see a pair of scuffed loafers, ankles peeking out just above white socks. The owner is sitting on the spiral steps, face just out of sight. Like a traitor, I follow the slope of toned calves and rounded knees. I will myself to stop, because this has to be close to cheating. But fuck-it-all, I’m still a guy and there’s nothing, nothing, that turns me on like the hem of a short skirt grazing an upper thigh. My gaze inches upward into the beckoning space between those sexy knees. They shift slightly, revealing a dark circle on the pale, inner thigh.
Ink. My ink. I jolt up the steps and there she is, my girl, lounging back on her elbows, waiting for me.
“Thank fuck you’re here.” I drop my bag and drop next to her, wrapping my arms around her body.
She laughs, her chest vibrating against mine. “What do you mean? You didn’t really think I’d put down anyone else’s name, did you?”
Em. He must have listened and fixed this. I open my mouth to explain, but I stop myself. He did the right thing and she doesn’t need to know how close he was to fucking this up for her, for me, and the club.
“So,” she says, leaning back. A shout from below bounces in the open, arched window in the bell tower above. No one can see us, but we can hear them. “I’ve never done this before. Any advice?”
“It’s just a kiss,” I reply, bending to kiss her under the ear, lathing my tongue on the thin skin. “So soft that you don’t even realize it’s leaving a mark.”
Her pupils dilate and her hips shift. “What about the other stuff?”
I reach down to her skirt, fingering the hemline. “What other stuff?”
Her hand slides down the front of my pants, where my cock has been at the ready since I saw those ankles. “The other tests.” There’s a smile in her voice. “I know the only test we’re required to pass is the mark, but I know the other traditions—about what couples do up here—how they got those slashes under their names on the beam.”
Ah. The blowjobs.
“V, you and I have passed a million tests already. Pain, pleasure, distance, fear.” I press my forehead to hers. “You don’t have to get on this dirty floor to prove anything to me.”
Her lips turn downward, into a soft, sexy pout. “But I liked it.”
“Actually,” I say quickly, “you’re a Devil now. You were talking about the Playthings having their own notches, right?” I smirk as comprehension comes over her features. I’ve been thinking about doing this for weeks now—practically begging her to let me—and just the possibility has me straining against my pants now. I inch my finger up her thigh. “Do you want it?”
She looks into my eyes, face flushing, voice a fluttery breath. “You know I do.”
I kiss her hard, stomach igniting at the permission—the promise. My lips move down her jaw, mouthing at the curve leading into her neck. I choose my spot right beneath her ear and gently suck my mark into the skin there, feeling her chest heave at the sensation
My hands travel on their own, fingers deftly plucking the first four buttons of her shirt. I dip my hand inside, grazing the swell of her fantastic tits, cupping them. She makes a soft sound when my thumb rubs over her nipple, already hard and pebbled. Her moan is sexy, perfect, and I work the spot under her ear until I’m sure it’ll leave a nice, dark bruise.
“That mark is for them,” I tell her, sweeping her hair back to inspect it, fingertips skating over the damp skin. Fuck, the sight of my mark on her makes my chest clench.
I drop two steps, positioning myself in front of her and nudging her to lean back on her elbows. I finish unbuttoning her shirt, revealing the rest of her body. I pay attention to the slash of pale skin on her torso. I kiss the scar—the mark I never wanted to leave—wishing more than anything that I could make it fade forever. But she’s not the only one marred by that night. We’ve both been broken. What people like Emory can’t see is