I lunge for the phone and snatch it from his hand. “I’m so sorry,” I tell the poor person on the other end, then hang up and turn back to him, narrowing my eyes. “Are you actually fucking insane?”
He looks between me and the phone, genuinely confused.
“You are hurt,” he says finally.
“Oh my God,” I reply, exasperated. “I’m saying my stomach feels like it might burst. It’s not actually going to.”
“But how can you be sure?” he presses. “If you feel it, it could happen.”
“Stop,” I say, cutting him off.
He studies me again. “Are you in pain?” he asks, already reaching for his wallet and tossing a few bills onto the table as he stands. “I think it would be better if a doctor checked you, just to be sure.”
I roll my eyes, though I can’t stop the smile that creeps in anyway. “I’m fine. Let’s just walk back to the penthouse. It will help.”
He watches me for a long beat, still assessing, before finally nodding. “Alright.”
As we walk back towards the penthouse, the silence stretches between us until he breaks it.
“Let me tattoo you.”
I arch a brow. “No. I already have my artist—”
I don’t get to finish.
“Name.” The word comes out rough.
“You’re not going to kill him.”
His mouth curves. “So it’s ahim.Definitely will.”
“I know you actually might,” I snap. “That’s exactly why you’ll never get his name.”
He stops walking and lifts my chin, bringing my eyes to his.
“Make sure it stays that way,” he says. “Because I will kill every man who has touched you. So make sure no one ever does again.”
“You,” I say, poking his chest. “Are.” Another poke. “Ridiculous.”
He only takes my hand, brings it to his mouth, and presses a kiss to my knuckles before we start walking again.
Once we’re inside, we make our way to the bedroom, and he disappears without a word. When he returns, he is carrying a compact kit that I assume contains everything he needs for the tattoo.
“I never agreed to this,” I say, folding my arms across my chest.
His eyes drop there immediately.
“Lie down,” he says, gesturing towards the bed. After a brief pause he adds, “But first, take off your clothes. I want you bare.”
I smirk as I start peeling my clothes away, slowly. His art is on an entirely different level, and despite myself, I trust him.
My underwear is the last thing I slip off. I take my time with it before straightening and meeting his gaze.
He devours me with his eyes.
“Lie on your stomach,” he grunts.
I do.
