I nipped his ear lightly. “If it were socially acceptable to tattoo my name across your forehead, I’d do it.” “I only see my forehead when I look in a mirror,” he said. “I see my hand a lot more often.” “It wouldn’t be for you,” I told him. “You know who you belong to. It’s for all the other women. Only fair to warn them when the wrong word might get them hurt. This coyote has fangs.”
