“So sour?” Lottie interrupts coldly.
She shakes her head and looks down, playing with her necklace. “I was going to say beautiful.”
Lottie stiffens at the sudden compliment. “I’m beautiful?”
Her eyes stay on the floor. “The most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.”
There is a long, silent pause—too long for comfort. Her mind is racing. What did she just say? What on earth is she thinking? She has made a proper fool of herself now.
“I’m sorry, I should not—”
Lottie interrupts her by pulling her into a tight embrace. Their hearts are pounding into each other.
“I feel the same way about you,” Lottie says softly into her ear.
Shocked, she tries to pull away, but Lottie doesn’t let her. She keeps her tightly in her arms, pressed against her chest.
“You do?” Marigold whispers in disbelief. This was the last thing she expected to hear from anyone, much less Lottie Burke. Being here, being called beautiful, being with the girl who makes her feel something she has never felt so strongly before—it could change things. It could change many impossible things.
“Yes,” Lottie says. She runs her hand up Marigold’s spine in a soft line until she reaches the top hem of her chemise. Her finger skims the seam, gently touching her skin. She reaches the point of the chemise where the strap meets the bodice, and she pushes it off of Marigold’s shoulder. “I want you to let me see you.”
When Lottie pulls away, her gaze is wild and hungry. Marigold nearly loses her balance, but she straightens herself quickly. She pulls her chemise over her head and lies down on the chaise, clothed in nothing but cold air and candlelight. Her entire body tightens as she tries to position herself in whatever way might be most flattering. Lottie’s eyes roam over her, and her seductive smile grows with every step. She wraps her hands around Marigold’s wrists and pulls them upward.
“Rest your arms over your head,” Lottie instructs, her tone sharp and warm. Marigold obeys, pulling the skin around her ribs taut. Lottie grabs a wet cloth in one hand to clean the area before the tattoo begins. Marigold sucks in a sharp breath as the cold, wet fabric touches her. Her skin pebbles as Lottie drags itacross her sternum. Their eyes lock as Lottie’s knuckles graze the underside of her breasts, and the air heats between them.
“Is this okay?”
Marigold nods fervently.
When Lottie finishes, she takes the wet cloth away and grabs a new sharp needle along with a vial of black ink. Hovering over Marigold, she dips the tip of the needle into the ink and takes a breath.
“Be very, very still. And don’t distract me more than you already are.”
Marigold says nothing—how could she? Her curse and her heart are at war with each other. She knows the nature of her curse—no romantic love of any kind. So, what is all this? Lust? Her imagination? A really,reallygood dream?
The needle pierces Marigold’s skin for the first time, and she lets out the slightest whimper.
Lottie moans, her voice hungry. “Don’t do that to me, Witch.”
“But it hurts.”
“It will hurt a lot more if you move. Here,” Lottie says as she takes the yellow ribbon out of Marigold’s hair, letting her blond curls fall around her shoulders. She places the ribbon against Marigold’s lips and says, “Bite on this.”
Her lips part, and Lottie uses two fingers to place the ribbon between Marigold’s teeth.
“Good girl.” Lottie continues with the tattoo, going seamlessly back and forth from the ink to the skin.
She is almost too mesmerized by her rhythm to feel the pain. Almost—but not enough. She definitely still feels the pain. Over and over and over again. Tiny little stings that seem to never end. Every few minutes, she gets a few seconds of peace, and then the needle comes back and it hurts worse than she remembered.
But it’s a great distraction from the throbbing between her legs. She aches to touch herself there like she does when she’s alone at night.
Lottie takes the smallest moment to reach up to Marigold’s forehead and caress her cheek. “You’re doing so well for me.”
Marigold bites down hard on the ribbon and lets out a real moan.
“Easy, tiger. Almost done.” An eternity of pinpricks later, Lottie pulls herself away from her and grabs another wet cloth. With the cloth hovering above the tattoo, she says, “It’s going to be very sensitive at first, so do not spit that ribbon out yet.”
As soon as the fabric touches her skin, pain shoots through her body and she growls.
