“Cute bracelet.” I smile at him, trying to ease the sexual tension between us by shifting focus to the thin barbed wire wrapped around his wrist. Of course he has barbed wire on his wrist. “You like it? Got you a necklace to match.” His hand leaves my leg and, for a split second, I’m longing for him to put it back. He shifts so the glow of a distant pole light catches, and I can see what he’s trying to show me. Below the dense forest of black ink trees sprawling up his forearm, there’s a tattoo along the back of his hand, running from thumb to index finger. Barbed wire. Before I can question
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holy fuck. I'm gonna pass out 🥵🥵
