I take a few deep breaths, have a short but important conversation with my dick about the importance of the fucker behaving while I’m so close to her. The last thing I need is a boner, especially when I have Arlo being sweet and opening up to me.
“Do not ruin this for me,” I tell my dick as I scrub my hands together, cleaning between each finger. “I’ll make you pay.”
“What?” Arlo says from the couch.
“Nothing. Just talking to myself.”
“Everything okay?”
“Great,” I lie, drying my hands with some paper towels.
I walk back slower, concentrating on my breathing. Why in the hell did I do this to myself? She could’ve just as easily cleaned it herself. But no. My dumb ass had to offer my own hands, sliding them over her ribs near her breasts. Fucking moron.
Arlo hasn’t moved. Her hand and arm still cover her breasts, with her stomach and ribs exposed. “Is this okay? Should I lie different?”
“No. You’re perfect. Just relax and I’ll be gentle.”
“I know you will,” she whispers, staring up at me with nothing but trust in those green eyes.
I dip my fingers in the water and hold my hand above her ribs, letting the drops fall onto her battered skin. She stirs when they land on her flesh, but she quickly stills. Her eyes never leave me, always watching as I grab the soap, pumping a few drops on my hands.
She bites down on her lip, unsure of what I’m going to do.
I touch her softly, barely letting the tips of my fingers graze over her flesh.
She sighs and closes her eyes. “That feels so good.”
“I can do this as long as you want,” I tell her, hating myself for it, too.
I’m fucking cock-teasing myself. What in the hell has gotten into me? I’ve never been this tender, sweet guy I am right now. It’s like Arlo put some magic spell on me, making me into a man I’ve never been. Making me want to be a man I never thought I could be.
Get ahold of yourself, fool. You’re a wild beast. A pussy connoisseur. Slayer of bitches. The man every man wants to be and the one every woman wants to be in her.
“Thank you for this,” Arlo whispers.
My eyes follow my fingers as I trace the ink, making small circles, carefully coating her skin with soap. “It’s no bother. It looks like it’s healing great. A few more days and it won’t even hurt anymore.”
“Thank God,” she says. “I haven’t been able to sleep on my side since. I didn’t think this out well enough.”
“Can’t you sleep on your other side?”
“My body just rolls that way. I can’t stop myself.”
“I completely understand. I’m a back sleeper, so the back tattoo was a son of a bitch. I was a miserable prick.”
“I can only imagine how grumpy you were.”
I gaze up, my eyes meeting hers. “It wasn’t pretty.”
She smiles and it meets her eyes, making my chest ache. “You’re really good with your hands.”
I raise my eyebrow. “Careful, Arlo. I only have so much control, and it’s taking everything in me not to kiss you right now.”
She pulls her lip between her teeth, holding the corner.
“Let me finish this, and no more talking.”
She nods, not letting go of her lip, but she keeps those eyes on me.
I tear my gaze away, moving my eyes back to her skin, keeping my touch light.
After adding a little more soap and water, I slow my movements, deciding I’ll enjoy the last time I’ll probably be able to touch her skin. My fingertips glide over every inch, tracing the lines I created and marked her with forever.
“Carmello,” Arlo whispers as I slow, knowing I’m stealing time.
“Yeah, babe?” I ask, not looking up.
“Want to watch a movie with me? Maybe we can cuddle up on the couch and put on anything you want.”
Cuddle?
“I’ve had a shit day,” she explains. “I could really use some company tonight.”
I’d never been a cuddler.
I’d fucked chicks and very nicely and quickly escorted her or myself to the door, or wherever we were parting ways.
Cuddling has never been my style.
But right now, with Arlo’s big, hopeful eyes staring at me and my fingers floating across her skin, I say, “Sure, sweetheart. Whatever will make you happy.” She smiles, and my chest aches, in that same unfamiliar way it did earlier.
I am fucked.
11
My eyes pop open and my heart races, finding a woman wrapped around me, leg thrown over my middle, and arm slung across my chest.
For a second, I lie there perfectly still, too scared to move and confused about where I am.
Then it hits me.
Arlo.
The movie.
The cuddling.
The way she fit perfectly around my body, clinging to me during the scary bits and mindlessly running her fingers across my chest during the rest.
I liked it.
I liked it way too much.
We fell asleep like this, my eyes drifting closed before the movie ended. She’s settled in on her side, tattoo side up, nuzzled between the back of the couch and my body.
It felt right and as if we’d done this forever. The very fake relationship has started to feel more real than anything I’ve ever experienced before, and in all honesty, it scares the ever-living shit out of me.
“Mello,” Arlo whispers, her arm tightening across my upper body.
“Go back to sleep,” I whisper back, squeezing her hip, the place my hand feels most at home.
“Want me to move?”
“No, babe, not unless you want to.”
“I’m so comfy,” she says in a sleepy voice, her arm going limp along with the rest of her. “So very comfy.”
I turn my head, soaking in her pretty face, studying her features as she lies with her head on my shoulder, eyes closed. I stay like that, watching her until her breathing changes, each inhale growing longer as she slips into a deeper sleep.
An hour passes while I stare at her in the soft glow of the television, wondering what the fuck I’m doing here, snuggling with a woman I just met and have no hope of ever sinking into.
It’s as if Arlo has cast some secret voodoo spell over me, and somehow, I allowed it to happen. I’ve been sucked in by the mysterious woman my cousin set me up with, and I’ve gone along for the ride, with my arms up, screaming into the wind at the top of my lungs, letting myself leap before I looked where I was going.
Leaning forward, I kiss Arlo’s forehead, whispering a few words to her. I smell her skin, memorize the softness of her flesh against my lips, and slide out from under her.
I’ve already broken my rules. I stayed the night. I cuddled. We most certainly did not have sex. We didn’t even kiss, but for some reason, guilt eats at my insides as I pull on my boots and slip out the front door.
“Fuck,” I hiss into the early morning air, catching sight of the moon as it starts to set near the tree-filled horizon. Without looking back, I’m on my bike, heading toward home.
Lily’s waiting for me at the front desk when I arrive at Inked. Her head comes up from studying the appointment book, but there’s no smile on her face. “How did last night go?”