Frustration creeps over his features as he tries to decipher the three words on my upper thighs. I’m about to tell him his time is up, but then he shifts off the couch and moves closer, inspecting the ink. He brushes over one of the words. The contrast of his calloused finger and gentle touch sends heat between my legs. “Fat.” My heart thuds against my ribs. Brows furrowing, he reads another. “Pig.” Anger colors his tone as he utters the last one visible to him. “Fat ass.” Bringing his thumb to his mouth, he wets it…then rubs it over one of the words, trying to erase it. But he can’t.
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