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“Where do you want your name?”
My brows nearly hit my hairline. “My name? On your body?”
He nods. “Where do you want it?”
I know there’s no sense in arguing with him when he has a wild idea, yet I make the effort anyhow. “You don’t have to do this. It’s not necessary.”
“I’m going to regardless. I’ve never cheated on you. I’ve wanted you since I first saw you, holding hands with a rookie.” A slow smirk spreads across his face. “I’m an asshole. I’ve been a terrible boyfriend, but I never touched anyone else. Emily is right about me wanting to control our relationship, but she’s wrong about me screwing around. So, fuck her and choose. Anywhere but my dick. I’m hoping to use that later.”
I release a deep sigh. “How about you pick? And I’ll order food.”
An hour later, I’m feeding Jackson hand-cut fries while the artist brands my name on his chest. He lies shirtless on the table, gazing at me with hearts in his bright-green eyes. His sandy-blond hair is messy from running his fingers through it, and dark stubble highlights his sharp jawline. His jeans sit low on his hips, washboard abs and well-defined muscles on full display.
He’s mouthwatering and crazy and all mine.
It’s the perfect snapshot that strategically makes its way onto social media, thanks to Jackson’s PR team, along with a cropped picture of our fingers intertwined with the wordDaylighttattooed on the inside of his ring finger.
It all feels like a fairy tale—a smutty, fucked-up fairy tale.
Later, I wake from a nap to him emerging from the steamy bathroom, wearing only a towel around his waist and a pleased smirk. Maybe it’s the pregnancy hormones, but I could trace every cut muscle with my tongue.
“Why are you so hot? It’s not fair.”
And he’ll remain hot as hell while I become a blimp. That should be illegal.Heshould be illegal.
I can’t take my eyes off his impressive body, honed from spending every day on the ice or in the gym. Broad shoulders, bulging pecs, abs for days, and that V-cut that makes women do stupid things.
Then, there’s the scatter of tattoos, which now include my name.
He stops on his way from the bathroom to his closet. Bending down, he places his hands on the mattress. “You’re insane. You know that, right?”
“I’m pretty sure that’s you.” I press my lips to his and run my fingers through his damp hair.
“Insane for you,” he breathes against my lips.
Our kiss is unhurried yet filled with intensity, tongues intertwining with soft moans.
The room is bathed in the warm glow of the setting sun, and even though I have a million things to do before leaving, this is all that matters.
“I like you this way,” he says between kisses. “Sleepy, relaxed, in my bed waiting for me.”
Different from the last time we were together a few days ago, there’s no rush, no all-consuming hunger to reconnect.
“I like you this way too.” I lick along his jawline to that spot under his ear that has him stretching his neck for more. “Happy, relaxed, coming home to me.”
Trailing open-mouth kisses along his throat, I hear his breathing speed up, feel the rough swallow and the bob of his Adam’s apple, see his hands fist the sheets, and suspect he’s as affected by me as I am him.
The tent he’s pitching is also solid evidence.
“You want me.” I loosen the towel around his waist and let it fall to the floor.
“I always want you.Always.”
His voice is husky, and arousal stirs low in my belly.
I run my tongue and lips over his neck then move down to his chest. He rises to give me access to his stomach, and I make my way lower. I peer up at him, unable to contain my naughty thoughts.
His fingers tangle in my hair. “Damn, those eyes will be the death of me.”