He leaned away, staring deep into my eyes. “I need a little more explanation than that, Av. I’ve marked you up quite well,” he joked as he scanned my body, his eyes catching on the bruises and hickeys he’d left behind over the last several days.
“No.” I shook my head. “Not like that.” I paused, willing my heart to stop beating so damn fast. “I want you to carve your initials into me. On my ribs. Like your scars. Where only you will see.”
He was quiet again, his eyes searching mine, growing darker by the second. The arm wrapped around me tightened.
“You know what you’re asking?”
I nodded. “Yes.”
“You want my initials,” he stated. “Carved on your skin. By me.”
“Yes.”
“Why?” He cradled my cheek with his hand, his thumb running over my face softly.
I leaned into him out of instinct, his touch quieting the storm in my mind. My chest swelled with something huge—something raw and heavy and new to me.
“Because you marked yourself for me, you belong to me. I want to belong to you in the same way. I don’t want it to fade. I want it to last forever.”
He closed his eyes, a tremor running through him, his body radiating a heat that seared into me.
When he finally opened them again, something was different. It was like time had slowed. His hand slid down to my ribs, right where I wanted his mark, just below my left breast. I had no doubt he could feel my heart pounding.
He pressed his palm flat against it and kissed me hard. It was fierce and overwhelming, like he was staking his claim again, reminding me who I belonged to.
“You’ll bleed,” he said after he pulled away.
“I know.”
“It will hurt.” He ran his thumb over my bottom lip. “I want you to know exactly what you’re getting yourself into. It won’t go away. You will be stuck with my mark for the rest of your life, even when you’ve come to your senses and start hating me again.”
My heart broke at the way he sounded on the last sentence, like he might’ve believed it.
“I want this, Rowen. I do.” I put my hand over his, over my ribs. “I’m not going to change my mind. I want to feel it—all of it. Everyburn. Every slice.” I closed the distance between us until our lips touched again, reassuring him. “Make me yours,” I said softly. “Make it last forever.”
He huffed, the sound quiet and broken, almost a laugh. Then, he slid away from me, moved our hands from my ribs, and kissed my ribs. I shivered as he kissed the area again and again, slowly at first, then erratically, until he was kissing up my chest to my neck and face.
“I’ll do it,” he said, his breath washing over my lips. “I’ll mark you with my initials, but only if you promise me one thing.”
“What?”
“Mark me too.”
What?
“Rowen, I can’t—“
“All of this,” he motioned to his inked body, “wasme. I want you to put your initials on me. Same spot. ARW. Avery Rose Wilcox.”
I smiled, tears filling my eyes for the millionth time since he crashed into my life and made me feel things I’d never felt. “Okay.”
He kissed me, deep and slow, like he was already cutting into me.
And I wanted him to. I wanted every part of it.
The scar.
The pain.
