Closing his eyes, Beau imagined his lover’s smile, the feel of soft fingers dancing along his tattooed shoulder. Like thistle and thorns, they prickled and burned, but it was the perfect type of agony. It had always been that way, a push and pull, a beautiful battle. But they relished the fight and the inferno. For a moment, Beau smelled the salty ocean breeze, warm sand, and cotton sheets. And there, in that memory, in the gentle arms of the monster he loved, he was home.
