Page 39 of Flame

“Show me?”

A wicked smile shapes his mouth as he crosses the room for a pen. When he returns, however, his focus shifts. Even as he palms my breast, I sense that he’s one-hundred-percent intent on the task at hand.

He’s an artist at work.

Observing him hunched over paper is one thing, but this… It’s an experience in itself. He manipulates the pen expertly, and the design comes to life, stunning in every sense of the word.

“Rafe...”

“Don’t speak,” he scolds while applying a bit of shading with meticulous care. “Just stay like this. Just like this.”

The more he works, the easier that command becomes to uphold—I’m too awestruck to do anything but stare.

Even from this angle, the image spreading across my ribcage is beyond anything I could have expected. Not a bunny. Not even a dragon...

“You read what I wrote.”

He’s already admitted as much. It’s still surreal to see it unfolding—that of the moth and her flame.

“I wrote about you,” I whisper, bringing my fingers to his jaw. They’re shaking—he feels hot enough to burn, tensing beneath my touch. “And you got what you wanted, right? A look inside my head.”

He doesn’t bother to say as much out loud. He just draws, utilizing every ounce of flesh at his discretion to bring to life the creature I’d centered my writing around.

A moth, its wings beautifully singed, its detail exquisite. But the feature that makes my throat tighten is something I didn’t mention in my scrawled tale. He drew a large, watchful eye on either side of the insect’s body, staring impassively at the world, guarding their secrets.

I don’t know how much time passes before he finally sets the pen aside and stands, running his hands through his hair. “What do you think—”

I arch toward him, my lips finding his, silencing his startled grunt. Closing my eyes, I relax into the feel of this moment, blinding myself to everything else.

In so many ways, the mock-tattoo feels like the perfect expression ofeverything. Every obscure emotion and inane concept I’d never be able to put into words.

But it’s also a warning—what awaits me at the end of this, whatever this is.

Broken wings and searing flame.