Amusement plays at the edge of his mouth as he climbs onto the bed. “Give it a few. You might want the break.”
He’s probably right. I can already tell I’m going to be sore. The problem is, it’s a good sore. A reminder. That whatever we just shared on this bed? It really happened. Me and Jagger?Wereally happened. Again. Will this ever not feel surreal?
“Here.”
Jagger attempts to open my legs, but I close them shyly. “I can do it?—”
“I had my mouth on you ten minutes ago,” he reminds me. “I think I can clean you up.”
Well, damn. When he puts it that way, the man makes a good point.
Biting the edge of my lip, I let my legs go limp, and he sweeps the warm washcloth against my core. A quiet hiss slips through my teeth. He’s right. I’m definitely sore.
“Told you,” he mutters. “Want me to pour you a hot bath?”
A hot bath? Who is this man? I would’ve never pegged Jagger as being someone who’s thoughtful. Maybe it makes me an ass in the whole, assume makes an ass out of you and me bit, but still. Jagger Harden? Offering to draw me a hot bath in his billion dollar mansion? Okay, billion dollars is probably a stretch, too, but I digress.
“I’m okay,” I murmur.
“Okay.” He tosses the washcloth across the room. It lands with a wet plop on the bathroom tile, and he leans back, tugging me into his side. It should feel weird. And maybe it still does? Ormaybe it’s my upbringing saying it’s weird. This Harden man is supposed to kick me out now that he’s gotten what he wanted. Instead, he’s keeping me tucked in his bed, just like last time.
What is this life?
“What are you thinking?” he asks.
It’s a good question. A scary question. One I’m a little too nervous to answer. Afraid it’ll scare him off or…I don’t know. Ruin the moment, I guess?
Burrowing closer to him, I whisper, “I’m thinking…I like you like this.”
“Like what?” His low, sexy voice rumbles through his chest.
The vibration against my cheek makes me smile. “Relaxed. Off-guard. Open.”
“Pretty sure I’m the one who pried you open, but sure.”
I smile even wider against his chest, then lift my head and kiss his warm skin, settling against him. “What made you get this one?” I trace a compass with my fingertip. It’s beautiful and sexy as hell. He lifts his head from the pillow, looking down at the tattoo in question before shifting to get comfortable again on his mattress.
“There’s a kickass artist who opened a shop here a while back. Name’s Raine. I followed her work online for a couple years until she posted a few openings to get the new shop some traction, so I signed up. Told her to draw whatever she wanted.”
“You didn’t even care?” I ask.
“Nah. Everything I saw of the girl’s work was incredible, so I wasn’t worried.”
I examine the compass a bit more, taking in the swirling ink and how she managed to combine thick, bold shadows with delicate lines. It’s beautiful. “She did a good job,” I murmur.
“Yeah, she did.”
My brows furrow as I continue tracing the tattoo with my fingertip. She had to have touched him like this. Felt his bareskin. They probably talked for hours. I never considered how intimate it can be. Getting a tattoo from someone. But thinking about it now, I don’t know. Maybe if I had a tattoo and experienced it hands-on, I wouldn’t feel the way I am right now, but I can’t help myself. It shouldn’t matter. Jagger’s probably been with a hundred women. Who cares if his tattoo artist’s name is on the list? Unless…
“Do you still talk to her?” I ask.
“Who?”
“The tattoo artist.”
“Every once in a while. Why?"
“Just curious how deep the relationship goes,” I offer, unsure what else to say.
