He’s an athlete. He seems to have pretty good endurance. And he gets hard every time he looks at me. Okay, an exaggeration, but that’s what it feels like, and it makes me feel powerful. Desirable.
He turns and strolls back toward me, then stops. He stares at me and his chest rises and falls. I think he’s getting hard again.
Okay, maybe Iwasn’texaggerating.
“What?” I ask breathlessly.
“Is this real?” He shakes his head. “I’m gonna wake up and find out it’s only another dream.”
I blink. “Anotherdream?”
He approaches and sits on the side of the bed. “I, uh, might have dreamed about you. Like, once.”
“Really? Last night?”
“Yeah,” he says quickly. “Last night.”
I study his face. “Well. I probably would have dreamed about you if I’d gotten any sleep at all. But I was thinking about you.”
“Yeah?” He lifts a big hand and touches my jaw. I want to press my face into his hand. “I like that.”
“Is this… weird?”
He seems to know what I mean. “I think it kind of is.” He strokes my cheek and now I do turn into his palm. “I’ve never…”
I smirk. “Don’t try to tell me you’ve never hooked up with a woman on a trip.”
His eyes are solemn. “That’s not what I was going to say. Sure, I have. But not like this.”
My smile softens. “Yeah. Same.”
* * *
“You need another tattoo.”
I stretch in bed. I’m on my stomach and Marek is stroking my back and caressing my butt. It’s sensuous and erotic and I’d be turned on if I hadn’t just had another orgasm moments ago.
“I do?”
He’s already found the one on my ankle and the one behind my ear, which he kissed so tenderly.
“Yeah. Maybe one right here.” He rolls me onto my back and kisses my hip just above the pelvic bone. “Imma draw one for you.”
“What?” I lift my head.
He goes over to the dresser and grabs a Sharpie he was using to sign autographs, then returns and sits next to me. He pulls the cap off with his teeth and holds it there as he studies my skin, then slowly drags the tip of the marker over it on my left hip.
“Um, that’s a permanent marker,” I murmur.
He just makes a noise as he concentrates on his drawing. I study him as he works and for the first time, I notice a long thin scar on his neck. Hockey injury?
When he’s done, he removes the cap from his mouth and says, “There.”
I look down and see a small hockey stick and a puck. I’m amused. And… touched. It’s actually nicely done. I look back up at him. “I like it.”
He grins. “Don’t worry, it’s permanent ink but it’ll eventually come off. Oh, hold on.” He uncaps the pen again and adds a little number 14 under the hockey stick.
His number.
