“I know what. I know where.”
“Tack, honey –”
“A dragon, upper ass, spanning it, near to your waist, almost to your hips. I wanna see it when I’m takin’ you from behind. I wanna see it when you’re on your hands and knees and I’m f**kin’ your face. And I wanna know it’s under my hand when you’re sleeping.”
I got him then and what I got made my head jerk.
“A dragon?” I whispered.
“Yeah,” he replied.
“But that’s… that’s…” I paused then said so softly it was barely a breath, “Naomi’s.”
“The dragon’s me, babe. The tat I got is me, not her. She said it. I am it. She had that dragon, she lost it. Now it’s yours.”
Oh wow. I liked that.
Then it occurred to me he wanted me to get a tattoo. Not just a tattoo, a tramp stamp.
What he wanted, where he wanted it and why was hot.
But I wasn’t sure.
“I don’t think I’m a tattoo kind of person,” I informed him carefully.
“You weren’t a lotta things before you met me, babe,” he pointed out.
This was true.
“I hear it hurts.”
“Like f**k,” he confirmed.
Not good.
“But it’s worth it,” he continued.
“If I got a tattoo, my Dad would have a conniption,” I shared and this time, his head jerked. “My Mom would also lose her mind,” I added, he didn’t say a word so I finished, “And Uncle Marsh would be none-too-happy and he’s a pretty laidback guy.”
“Any of them in this bed?” Tack asked.
“No.”
“Then what do you care?”
Good point.
“Only two people who matter are in this bed right now,” he told me, making my heart flutter. “This is your life, your body. Not theirs.”
Well, I couldn’t argue with that.
Tack kept talking, “I’ll take you to my guy, have him sketch somethin’ out. You like it, you get it. It isn’t your gig, don’t get it. I’m tellin’ you what I want. That don’t mean you gotta do it.”
Well, that was nice.
“Okay,” I said quietly.
“Now what do you want?”