"Touch it and I'll amputate your hand with a plastic knife," I shouted over my shoulder. "Then you'll need the moody new trauma guy to fixyouup."
"I take my hands very seriously," he replied. "They're insured for millions ofdollars."
"And I take my bacon very seriously,"Isaid.
Alex:No. I don'twantthat.
Riley:Okay then. I'll see youtonight.
Riley:I'm bringing mymarkers,too.
Alex:Whatfor?
Riley:The dungeonstory.
* * *
Iwasbusy rubbing the kinks out of my neck as I walked home, and didn't notice Riley waiting on the sidewalk until he asked, "What'swrong?"
"Long afternoon of surgery," I said. "A little strained, alittlesore."
He came up behind me, swatted my hand away. He brought his palms to my shoulders and his thumbs to my neck, rubbing gently. "CanIhelp?"
"Mmhmm," I murmured, melting into him. "You can keepdoingthat."
"Upstairs," Riley whispered into my ear, nudging me toward the steps. "Much more of this, and the things I'll be doing to you will qualify as publicindecency."
He followed me inside and up the stairs. We didn't stop to hang up our coats or stow our keys and bags once my apartment door snicked shut behind us, instead moving straight to the bedroom. Clothes hit the ground in heaps as we watched each other, unhurried. We were smirks and quick touches, quiet laughs and knowingglances.
"Can I draw on you?" Riley asked, trailing his fingertips down mytorso.
"What?"
"Draw on you," he repeated. "Your skin is the most gorgeouscanvas."
I found myselfnodding. "Okay."
Riley tipped his head toward the bed. "On your belly," he said, fisting his hands onhiships.
He was still wearing black boxer briefs, the ones that made my blood feel fizzy, like I was an over-shaken bottle of champagne. I climbed onto the mattress, settling right in the middle. He knelt down and flipped open his messenger bag, and pulled out a sleeve of permanent pens and digitalcamera.
"Can we limit it to clothed areas?" I asked. "I don't want to have to explain anything to my residentstomorrow."
The mattress dipped as Riley crawled over me. His thigh was between my legs, his knee almost pressed to my center. "Of course,Honeybee."
His fingers traveled over my back in short, deliberate strokes, and I realized he was sketching his design. I waited, my teeth sawing over my bottom lip, for the first swipeofink.
"I did this in Providence, too. I drew Rhode Island on your leg because I wanted to add to your collection of states. It wasn't my best work," Riley said as he reached for a marker. I shivered when the felt tip met my skin. "But I don't think yourememberthat."
I shook my head, dropped my face against the quilt with a groan. "Why did we drink so much? It was like spring break in Daytona multiplied byCancun."
"You wanted us honest," he replied."I think we got there. I know you did. When you were sucking on my thigh, you told me your favorite colors were cock and blueballs."
I burrowed deeper into the quilt, hiding the beet-red blush on my cheeks. "If you'll excuse me, I'm going to die ofembarrassmentnow."
"Don't even think about it," he replied, laughing. "All right, listen. You're adorable and I love watching your ass jiggle, but you have to stop moving. I don't want this honeycomb pattern gettingfuckedup."
"I'll stop moving if you tell me about the dungeon,"Isaid.
