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Sometimes sayin’ you’re sorry is more important than coverin’ your ass.
“What the hell am I supposed to do with a hard-on?” he growled in my ear. I glanced down and grinned. “Hide it behind your pepper spray. And your flashlight. And your Taser. But whatever you do, don’t think about me screaming your name when you go down on me.” “Fuck.”
“Did you have to be so charming?” “Angel, it’s in my DNA. It’s like asking Oprah to stop loving books.”
“Are you serious enough?” Stef prompted. “Serious enough to make Bannerjee show me how to use Pinterest so I could save a few dozen ring designs.” Lucian dragged his hands over his face in horror but said nothing.
“Why not just get a tattoo of her name on your ass?” Lucian said dryly. Knox and I shared a look. “Well, it is a family tradition,” my brother mused.
And that was how I ended up pantsless and ass up in the chair at Spark Plug Tattoo. Knox was in the chair next to me shirtless, getting his wedding date tattooed over his heart.
“You do realize I was being sarcastic,” Lucian muttered from the corner where he lurked like a pissed-off vampire.
“I’ve been waiting years to get my hands on this ass,” the tattoo artist said gleefully. Her
“You gonna marry me?” There was so much love in her eyes that I felt like I almost couldn’t breathe. “Yeah,” she whispered. “Good girl.” I pulled her mouth down for another kiss, then winced when she dug her heel into my ass cheek. “Are you sure you didn’t get shot in that perfect ass?” “Shot? No.” “What happened?” “I’ll show you later.
There was a cheer that went up in the backyard, and I guessed that Knox and Naomi had just made their post-wedding-sex entrance.
