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“I’ve made them so they won’t merely cover what’s there but will also work with the lines so you won’t have this giant monstrosity covering your pussy.”

Her cheeks heated at the mention of where she’d been branded by Mike and his friends. While it felt like a lifetime ago, the mark still embarrassed her. Thankfully, the amount of people who were aware of it were Kid and her doctors. No one else knew her dirty secret.

Roses, lilies, and a bloom she didn’t recognize. She furrowed her brows as she studied the piece with the bell-like flower in various shades of pink and purple.

“Is this a real flower?” she asked as she lifted the sheet. “Or did you make this up off the top of your head?”

She found it easy to forget that the gritty guy beside her was actually an artist. She’d often witnessed him doodling in his free time while he stayed in her apartment. He was beyond talented and he put that on full display in these designs for her.

“No,” he chortled, shaking his head slightly. “It’s called foxglove beardtongue.”

She wrinkled her nose. “I don’t know how I feel about something called beardtongue on my lady bits.” Though, to be fair, anything was better than an ugly scorpion.

He snorted. “Did you say lady bits?”

Turning toward him, she frowned—feigning insult. “I think it sounds more feminine than pussy.”

“I’m partial to cunt.”

She scoffed, but before she could retort, he stepped to her. Their chests brushed against each other. He took hold of her chin between his thumb and forefinger and tilted her head upward, forcing her to meet his smoldering eyes.

Her knees threatened to buckle. While her throat went dry, her sex heated and slickened.

“Yours in particular.” His words were a low register, a deep baritone he didn’t normally speak in. They sent an erotic shiver through her.

Stooping ever so slightly, he brought his face close to hers. The softness of his lips brushed hers—teasing a kiss. Reflexively, her eyelids fluttered closed, and she leaned into him, anticipating the full force of his passion to be released upon her.

“Foxglove beardtongue,” he whispered, “thrives in wildflower meadows and offers vital nectar for bees and hummingbirds.”

He spoke of a flower, but something told her he didn’t mean the plant. Double entendre laced his words and had her melting against him, longing for the deeper affections of which he was very capable.

“It can heal all wounds,” he murmured and placed his palm between her breasts, against her sternum, and over her heart.

It immediately flipped, and her breath hitched. Need gripped her by the throat. “I want it.”

Kid practically glowed with pride when he smiled. “It was my favorite design too,” he said as he shuffled through the papers. “Why don’t you strip down to your panties and get comfortable on my table?” He gestured behind him to the black-padded massage table.

Nibbling on her bottom lip, she picked at her fingernails as she glanced in the direction he’d pointed. “Is it going to hurt a lot?” When she’d been tattooed against her will, she didn’t exactly have all her druthers. A lot of her time with Mike was spent intoxicated in one way or another.

The things she recalled happening to her were awful, and she couldn’t imagine what they did to her when she blacked out. She’d determined a while ago in therapy that it was better to leave those memories in the dark abyss than struggle to recall them.

Standing at the thermal transfer copier, Kid peered over his shoulder and frowned slightly. “It can,” he admitted sheepishly. “The area has thinner skin and a hell of a lot of nerves packed into that spot. Which, usually, is a good thing.” He offered her a sly smile. “But for tattooing a cover-up, it’s not ideal. However, I’ve learned an important detail about you.”

Carrie hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her leggings and arched a brow in his direction. “And what is that?”

“You’re one tough bitch.” He winked and pulled the template off the machine. “You can handle the pain.”

The flames started in her cheeks and spread quickly. Every inch of her heated in a full-body blush. Averting her gaze, she tucked her hair behind her ear. How could he say that? He’d seen her crumple into a ball over the littlest thing, break down into tears over mere words, and hide in her bedroom. The only time she felt like she had any power was in his presence.

What was he talking about?

“Thanks,” she murmured instead of fighting it. Turning down a compliment was impolite.

After wiggling out of her pants and folding them neatly, she scooted onto the table like she was at a doctor’s office. Glancing around, she bopped her head along with “Survivor” by Kingdom Collapse.

Carrie had never considered herself particularly fond of rock music, and this was far beyond the likes of Bruce Springsteen and Aerosmith. Kid had introduced her to the world of heavy metal, and she kind of enjoyed it. There was a raw genuineness to it that was worth appreciating.

Standing beside her, with black gloves in his hands, Kid studied her. “Are you ready?”