“How about you?” he asks anxiously. “Is your arm okay?”
I roll my eyes. “Butterfly, you should know by now that I’mverygood with a little pain.”
His gaze warms, and I know he’s thinking about last night. How he clamped my nipples, twisting them tighter as he rode me until I came screaming his name.
Ansel smiles shyly. “Still can’t believe you marked yourself with me.”
“Believe it, baby.” I grin, proudly peering at the ink through the wrap. “I can’t wait until it’s healed enough to take this off. I want everyone to see it and know who I belong to.”
“Same,” Ansel says happily.
The idea of matching tattoos is something we’ve been kicking around for a couple of weeks. Initially, we discussed having our respective nicknames tattooed, but then Ansel suggested something else.
Saturn for him.
Titan for me.
I insisted we add the names too, though. I didn’t want any confusion surrounding who the other belongs to. We went with our actual names. It’s sweet, but there’s also a possessive safety aspect of it for me.
Cade is a rare name in St. Dismas. Anyone who looks at Ansel will have no question as to who will be hunting them down if their gaze lingers too long.
Crazy? Perhaps. But I’ve never pretended to be sane.
Fortunately, Ansel loves me just the way I am.
“Can’t believe you’ve got matching tattoos,” Samson grunts as he takes his seat around the table. “You’ve been dating for, what, a few months?”
Ansel stiffens beside me, and I squeeze his leg gently in reassurance. Turning to my brother, I give him a dangerous grin. “When you meet the one for you, Samson, you’ll understand. Until then, you can fuck off.”
Matthias slides into a seat opposite, Wyatt and Jackson following seconds later. “Why are we judging them, exactly? They’re already living together. Why shouldn’t they get matching tattoos?”
Wyatt snorts. “Not that you’d be able to join in on the judging, given we started by getting married.”
“Must be nice to have a cute story like that,” Jackson says, watching Dalton wistfully. “So romantic.”
“Romance is overrated,” Dalton says curtly as he takes his seat. “It’s better to guard your heart and stick to hookups, Jackson. Take it from me.”
Jackson’s face hardens, his chair scraping the floor as he shoves it back. “I’m getting a beer.”
“You’re underage, Jackson,” Wyatt reminds him.
He reappears with a bottle in hand. “I’m almost twenty. If we lived in Europe, I could’ve been drinking for two years already. Besides, it’s hardly the most illegal thing that’s happened here this week.”
Wyatt looks like he’s going to argue further, but Matthias squeezes the back of his neck and shakes his head.
When Jackson returns to the table, he chooses a seat beside Ansel. Dalton frowns in confusion, glancing at the now-empty chair beside him and where Jackson is now sitting.
I shake my head with a chuckle. Dalton is so oblivious.
“When are we getting started?” Jackson asks, peeling the label from the bottle.
“We’re just waiting for Harley,” Wylder says, sitting in his usual seat.
“And Neo,” Ansel pipes up, smirking mischievously in Wylder’s direction.
Predictably, Wylder tenses. “Ah. Is he joining us tonight?”
“You fucking bet I am,” Neo sings as he saunters in and sits beside Jackson. “Can’t miss out on the infamous game night fun.”
