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My interest piques. Seeing him naked and touching himself that morning had bowled me over—I wasn’t exactly taking note, but now I wish I had. “I didn’t notice them. Did they hurt?” He shrugs. “How many do you have?”
“Nine. One for each inch.”
A laugh escapes me, and his grin widens. “You’re such a cocky asshole, you know that?”
“I’m well aware, Q. It’s all part of my charm.”
I grumble and push the needle into his arm. He watches my face as I do it, and my neck warms. “You could try being nice, y’know,” I suggest, placing the needle aside.
“Why?”
“Because you were kind in the car.”
“And?”
“And … I liked it.”
He falls quiet, and as I stand up straight, I realize how close we are. I’m standing between his knees, and his emerald eyes are locked on mine.
“You want me to be nice to you, Silence?” His voice is low, and I don’t look away, too determined not to lose whatever silent battle we’re having.
“Yes.”
“Tell me how.” He sits up, and even on the bed, he’s taller than me. My heart races, the warmth of his skin seeming to curl from his body and press into mine. He smells good, and my attention shifts to the intricacy of his tattoos.
“Answer me something.” I say, and he nods, encouraging me. “You barely had any of these when we met.” I place the tips of my fingers against his ribs, drawing them across one of many tattoos. “What made you decide to cover yourself in them?”
“I like pain.”
“Why?”
“Look at me and I’ll answer.” The air feels charged, each word a biting static between us, but I do as he asks and meet his eye. He wets his lips, and it takes everything in me not to look at his tongue. “I like physical pain because I know how to deal with it. Time. Rest.” He picks up the second needle, turning it in his fingers. “Medicine. It’s a distraction from the real pain.”
“What pain is that?”
He takes hold of my hand and passes the needle to me, our fingers brushing. “It’s this … aching. Throbbing. And it’s only gotten worse,” he whispers. “A real pain in my ass.”
I tut. “You prick.”
He grins. “A case of Silence, I’ll call it.” I jab him with the needle, pushing more morphine into him. He winces. “Ow, what the fuck?”
“It won’t cause you any harm. Maybe it’ll teach you not to piss me off when I’m holding something sharp,” I say, pointing in his face. “Now, will you please take off your jeans?”
“I told you, no. You can work without me doing it.”
“It’s so much harder!”
Xavier glares at me, then presses the tip of his finger to my chest and gently pushes me back. “Fine.”
He stands, unbuttons his jeans, and shoves them down—except his boxer briefs go with them.
“Oh my God.” I look away. “Xavier, put your dick away.”
“My lick is away.”
Slowly, I look back at him. “Your what?”
“Lick.” He frowns, sticking his tongue out again. “Flick.” He smacks his lips together. “I feel good.”
