“I bet I can make you scream ‘I love you’ for everyone to hear.” “Doubt it, buddy.” I snort, even as I lean into him, ripping my hand down his shirt. The buttons pop off, leaving his chest bare for my hungry gaze, his collage of tattoos almost blinding me. He’s a work of art, and he fucking knows it. A goddamn painting in motion. His soul is as dark as his ink, and his eyes are as cold as the society he swims in, yet I crave him. His brand of pain and love. I ache whenever I look at him. He’s too fucking much, yet he’s all mine. He can be cruel and callous. His hands and tongue a weapon. He
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