And he does. We keep our eyes on each other for a brief moment, something intense manifesting between us. It causes an ache in my core and warmthto cover my body. He doesn’t budge, watching me and it’s too much. I have to look away.
“Show me,” I say as I lower my hand, staring at his body. But he doesn’t respond, only furthering the tension that floods me.
“Show me, Trace.” This time I carry a bit more demand in my voice, feeling somewhat frenzied in my need to find out which ones are for me.
He grabs my hand, my breath catching as he maneuvers me to touch the tattoo on his left arm. A rope of barbed wire wraps around his arm. It starts at his wrist and winds all the way up to his elbow. It’s the only tattoo on this arm. “My rings,” I say, making the connection. I let my fingers float from the start of the tattoo until I trace it all the way up, and then I look over the rest of his body.
Trace points to the printed words over his ribcage, probably only about two inches big. I slide my fingers over his skin until I meet it.
YOU MUST SAVE YOURSELF
Confusion pulls in my head. “How does this remind you of me?” I ask. This time he looks down at me when he speaks.
“You’ll have to find out for yourself,” he says and I roll my eyes at him, once again annoyed with his lack of an actual answer.
Trace points to another tattoo, a roman numeral tattooed underneath a viper. I start with the viper, just wanting to admire it more than anything, tracing the linework of the snake from the top of his chest and up his shoulder before it disappears behind him. I see theway my touch affects him, the way he closes his eyes and breathes sharply, but slowly. I look at him as he grinds his teeth, his jaw ticking. Again, it’s too fucking much, seeing him like this. If he really reacts this way to me, then why fight it.
He snaps, grabbing my hand and moving it to the roman numerals. I flinch, but see that he’s losing control. A weakness, maybe. Like my touch sets him on edge.
But I don’t react much, deciding to continue my journey over the tattoo he directs me to.
X XXXI
“What number is this?” I ask, not really knowing exactly how to read them. I watch as beads of water slide over the tattoos; the display seems enigmatic and my eyes grow hungry with desire.
“It’s the day I got you,” he starts as he watches me trace the black numbers over and over. “And that day I lost you.”
“Halloween?” I ask, thinking back to four years ago. My heart swelling and then bursting at the memory.
He doesn’t respond, but I can only assume that’s what he’s talking about. But what confuses me is why he would want to remember a day helostme. The last time I ever saw him.
I don’t want to relive the emotion of that moment right now though, knowing it’s too fucking painful to recall. That night was perfect with him, everything that happened after—from what I can remember—was not. Andhe’sthe onewho leftme.
I decide to roam over the rest of his body, from the bullet holes in his arms, the mask underneath them, and the…
My eyes catch on a pair of lips painted on the side of his neck. Small enough for me to have missed them the first time. But now they’re on full display and I feel like I could stand here all day and stare at them. At him.
“What about this?” I ask, feeling slightly territorial wondering whose lips he might have gotten branded on his skin.
I place a single finger over the black tracing and as expected, I feel his pulse. I wonder if he’ll answer me, or feed me yet another cryptic response to hold me over. But he lowers his voice to something more sincere and less cruel, though still holding a modicum of aggression in his words.
“You wrote me a note your senior year shortly after we started talking,” he starts. “You told me that you wanted me to kiss you the next time I saw you.”
I close my eyes, remembering the note and the feelings I felt while writing it. I was trying to be bold, to take a risk. I was head over heels already, Trace was all I could think about. So I told him what I wanted from him. I didn’t get to see him too often when he was in college and I was still in high school. Only when he had games or when we could sneak off if he came down for the weekends. So I wrote the note, kissed the bottom of it with my red lipstick stained lips, and mailed it to his dorm. The next time he saw me, he kissed me. It was euphoric and surreal and perfect. It was my first kiss.
I look up at his neck once more, realizing now that the lips my fingers trace over are actually mine, from the kiss I marked on the note.
Desire consumes me. Pride floods me. The idea that that one little note meant so much to him, that he held onto it for so long and got it stamped onto his skin . . . it’s confuses me and overwhelms me.
“Why here?” I ask, feeling butterflies dance around in my core.
“I really fucking liked it when you kissed me there,” he admits and my whole body ignites.
I don’t let my eyes leave his, consumed with watching his reaction as I touch him. And it’s visceral. The way he closes his eyes and clenches his teeth together. The way he forms balls with his fists.
I take the moment to lean up on my toes, pushing myself closer to him by wrapping my hand around his neck for purchase. I make one final move to lean and in an instant, I’m being shoved back up against the tree. Trace’s hands are on me, practically ripping my sweater to shreds from my body in a desperate act to claim me. I can’t even breath or blink before I know what’s going on. He picks me up and flips us around so that my legs are wrapped around his torso, and then he leans back against the tree. My sweater is in shambles, revealing parts of my bra and leaving torn pieces hanging off my arms.
He holds me like this, groping my ass so tight. “Now do it,” he whispers over my lips and I don’t waste a second. I lean down and kiss his neck, right over the pair of tattooed lips. He immediately starts to groan, nearly whimpering as he forces me to grind into him, his dick painfully teasing my pussy through our clothes.He’s pushing himself back into the tree so roughly, I can practically hear the tree scratching his skin. But I dig my finger nails into the tops of his shoulder as I continue to suck on his neck right over the tattoo, doing exactly what he’d done to me earlier.
