Dare grabs a water bottle, taking a swig before handing it to me. I guzzle it down.
“How you feeling?” he asks, rotating back and forth on his rolling chair.
“Fine.” I shrug. “Just wondering how I’m going to wear pants after this.”
“Ah, yeah. That. You’ll just have to skip those for a few days.”
“Oh, is that all?” I laugh.
A smile pulls at the corners of Dare’s lips. “You ready to go back in?”
“Let’s do this.” I untie the sweatshirt around my waist and lie back on my side. Dare slaps a palm against my ass cheek before leaning down to bite it.
I squeal, pushing his head away.
“Sorry. Had to get that out of my system.”
Out of his system. We both know how well that worked last time. The needle hits my skin, and I close my eyes, trying to think about anything other than the pain. It’s hurting more than before now. Almost like scratching a raw sunburn.
“Tell me what you wanted to talk to me about earlier?” I ask, abandoning my plan to let him bring it up.
“What, now?”
“Yes, now. I need a distraction.”
Dare clears his throat. “Did you find a place to stay yet?”
A wave of sadness crashes down on me. I didn’t want to have this conversation right now. “No. The place I wanted fell through.”
“You and Jess should move in with me.”
Well. Ask for a distraction and you shall receive.
“What?” I say, turning my head to face him.
“Easy,” he says. “Try not to move.”
I lie back down, waiting for him to continue as my pulse kicks into high gear.
“It doesn’t have to be like what you’re thinking. You can even have your own room, if you wanted to,” Dare explains.
“As tempting as your offer is, I can’t do that.” My voice is quiet as I focus on the glowing pink light of the Bad Intentions sign in the window.
“Why the fuck not? You need a place to stay. I have the space.”
“Because if things between us ever get…messy, what does that mean for Jess and me?”
“I would never—” Dare starts.
“I know,” I cut him off. “I know. But Jess needs to be able to depend on me. To have stability and consistency and to always know that he has a place to stay.”
“And I can give you guys that. Or you can just stay with me until you find a place.”
“Why are you pushing this?” He’s done enough. The job. The clothes. It feels like all I ever do is take take take from him.
“Aside from the obvious?”
“What’s obvious?” I ask, clueless. The tattoo machine ceases in its buzzing, but I don’t turn to face him.
“The obvious being that you’re my fucking girlfriend and you need a place to live. I don’t want you to run, Lo. Do you think I can’t see it in your eyes? That you’re three seconds from bolting? Because it’s written all over your face.”
The word girlfriend echoes in my head. Is that what I am? His girlfriend? He said he wanted a relationship before, but everyone knows declarations made during sex should be taken with a grain of salt. What he’s saying makes sense, but I still feel like I’m doing something wrong by taking him up on his offer.
“What if I paid rent? Like, with a real written agreement and everything.”
Dare blows out a harsh breath, and I feel it on my exposed skin. “If that’s what you need.”
“I’ll talk to Jess.”
Dare nods his head, wiping down my thigh. Before he starts back up, I roll onto my back and tug him toward me by his sleeve.
“Thank you,” I say, looking into those sad ocean eyes. I reach up and pull him into me, pressing my lips to his. His right hand comes down beside my head to brace himself as he kisses me—slow and deep—uncaring that we most likely have an audience. I feel the kiss right between my legs, and I clamp them together.
Dare pulls back, adjusting the crotch of his pants before sitting back in his chair. He goes back to work on my thigh, and there aren’t any more words. It takes another twenty minutes or so before he announces that he’s finished.
Nerves twist in my stomach as he cleans me up. He helps me sit up before handing me a handheld mirror. I stand, ass facing him instead of flashing the rest of the shop, as I take in the reflection.
“It’s beautiful,” I breathe. It’s a flower with strings of delicate beading hanging below like a chandelier. It’s feminine but somehow badass at the same time. The shading and detail are incredible.
“You said to choose something that represented you,” he says, his voice unsure. Maybe even vulnerable.
“You think I’m a delicate flower?” I laugh.
“It’s a lotus. They grow from mud.”
Sounds about right, I think. But he continues.
“They’re born from darkness. But they bloom anyway—rising above the mud, still remaining beautiful and pure. That is you.”
Tears instantly prick the backs of my eyes, my nose stings, and I feel a lump in my throat. I can’t speak, can’t do anything to stop the tears. Instead, I throw my arms around him, burying my face in the crook of his neck. He lets me cry, his hands rubbing my back, and his gentle touch only makes me cry harder.
“Let’s get you wrapped up back here,” Dare says, leading me to the drawing room. I know it’s his way of giving us some privacy.
“I’m sorry,” I say, smoothing my palms across my wet cheeks. “I don’t know why I’m crying.” I lean against his drawing desk, and Dare kneels, applying some ointment to the fresh ink before covering it in plastic wrap, securing it with tape on each end. Once he’s done, he kisses the inside of my knee, then stands, walking behind his desk to grab something. He rounds the desk, kneeling in front of me again, as he peels my leggings down, taking my underwear with them.
How stupid must I look? Crying over a tattoo with my pants down. I laugh then sniffle at the ridiculousness of it all. He holds up a pair of black basketball shorts for me to step into.
“You thought ahead.”
“Wishful thinking.”
When I lift my left leg, he surprises me by leaning in, face flush against my center as he gives me a long, flat lick. My eyes roll back, and my ass hits the edge of his desk. My leg is still half-bent, suspended awkwardly, and Dare grabs my knee, lifting it higher to have better access. I bury my hands in his messy black hair as he eats me, alternating between sucking and nibbling and fucking me with his tongue.
I have the sudden urge to please him. He’s always making me feel so good. I want to do the same for him. Clenching the collar of Dare’s hoodie, I pull him up before dropping to my knees in front of him.
“Careful,” he says huskily, probably referring to the tattoo, but I can’t feel anything other than him. I have his belt buckle undone and his pants unzipped in seconds, then I’m jerking his jeans down below his ass. I grip his hips over his white boxer briefs, seeing his thickness straining against the fabric. My tongue darts out to lick the outline of it.
“Fuck,” he mutters, dropping his head back. “Pull my cock out.” I love this side of Dare. Dirty and bossy with a side of needy. I do as he says, sliding his boxers down until his hard length bobs free. I lick the underside of his shaft from bottom to sensitive tip, and Dare groans, hand landing on my ponytail, gripping it tightly. He tugs, pulling me away, while his other hand circles his cock.