Page 73 of Fire

“What’s going on in that head of yours, Cupid?” I ask, taking a step forward.

“Do you—” She pauses for a second like she’s second-guessing herself. “Do you really like knowing what I want…in the bedroom?”

Her question confuses me for a moment. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t want you to feel like I’m being selfish, or worse, think I’m not enjoying myself.”

I close the distance between us. “Yes, I really do. I’m a direct sort of guy, Zara. I like knowing what you want. What you need and”—I smirk—“what you like. In and out of the bedroom. Want to tell me where this is coming from?”

“Tanner seemed to be offended anytime I asked for anything or told him to try something different.”

Fucking hell. “Tanner is a selfish prick who didn’t deserve you. Any decent guy not only appreciates pointers but gets off on having a confident woman in the bedroom. I love knowing I am touching you exactly the way you like it.”

“And what if all I want is to touch you?” Her voice is low. Sultry.

If I weren’t already half hard for her, I would be now.

“Then, I’d say we should take this conversation into the bathroom,” I say, a second before I bend at the waist and haul her over my shoulder. She shrieks like a banshee and flails. I slap her ass for good measure. “The water is getting cold.”

I stride into the spacious bathroom and set her down on the counter. She lets out a little yelp when her butt lands on the cold white marble. The thin cotton panties she’s wearing aren’t doing shit to keep her warm.

But I’m about to remedy that.

She becomes a captive audience the second my hand reaches over my shoulder to grab the back of my shirt. When it drops to the floor, she’s practically salivating. It’s a hell of an ego booster.

That video of my abs could get a hundred million views, and the only one I care about is the girl staring at me right now.

She makes me feel like a real rock star.

“What do all your tattoos mean?” she asks, her eyes wandering over the many works of art I have all over my body. I take a step closer to her so she can run her fingers over them.

It makes my whole body shudder.

Last time, when we were naked, we were basically strangers again, and neither one of us wanted to walk down memory lane when we had such limited time together.

So we spoke with our bodies rather than our words.

Now that we have the time, she wants the answers she’d never been able to ask. “A lot of them are music or family related. This one”—I point to the bold script on my forearm that bears my last name—“being the most obvious. All of us have one, even Zander. But there are other family-inspired ones too. The waves that cover most of my shoulder and bicep are for my parentsbecause they remind me of home. And over here…” I point to the M and the backward P with the crown on top.

“Your sisters,” she says with a smile. “That’s sweet.”

“Is it still sweet if I tell you they forced me to get it?”

“I doubt anyone could force you into anything. What about this one?” She points to the one on my chest, close to my—“Is that a…”

“Cherub?” I supply, feeling suddenly incredibly embarrassed. “Uh, yup. Ready for the bath?”

She hops off the counter and stalks toward me as I move toward the bath. Fuck, why didn’t I think this through?

Because you were thinking with your dick and not your head.

That night in her apartment, the room was dim, and we were so high on lust for each other that she didn’t seem to notice. Not that I think she would have said anything. It had been years, and the idea of me having a random angel tattoo on my body wouldn’t have rung any alarm bells.

But, now?

Maybe if I just strip off the rest of my clothes, she’ll be so distracted by my hard-on, she’ll forget all about it.

I reach for the fly of my jeans, and before I can even start to unbutton them, I hear her say, “Don’t even think about trying to distract me with your dick right now, Hendrix. Why do you have a cupid tattoo on your chest?”