My breath hitched when he glided along the crease of my hip to my inner thigh, tracing the tiny trio of hearts I’d inked there last year on a dare. The streetlights outside weren’t bright enough to do more than lighten the shadows a little, but Noah unerringly found the matching shield on the other thigh. I watched him follow the outline twice, transfixed at the sight of his large hands on my skin. The tattoos were my secret. Even the friends who’d dared me to get them didn’t know the real meaning. Would Noah figure out they represented him and my obsession with wanting what I couldn’t have?
