Page 82 of Flame

“I’m an average joe with a fucking tattoo shop. The club is gone, though.” He winces with genuine disappointment.

“There goes your chick magnet,” I murmur. But I can’t take my eyes off the acceptance letter, and the gratitude builds in my chest until it almost hurts to breathe. “I can’t believe you did this—”

“I did,” he says, stepping into me. “And I’ll tell you how you can repay me.”

My breath feathers in my chest. “How?”

“Let me tat you for real,” he says against my mouth. “And then you work for me in between classes. You’ve got a debt to pay, remember?”

“I do,” I admit, relaxing into the almost-kiss. A sudden thought makes me draw back and meet his gaze. “What kind of tat?”

He purses his lips, thinking it over, and raises one of his hands. With the tip of his finger, he traces a design over the front of my shirt. Thin, soft lines that creep down to my hips and then dip beneath the fabric entirely. My breath catches as he grazes my bare skin boldly, inching higher by the second.

“A little moth,” he declares, referring to my story. What feels like his thumb grazes the flesh beneath my breast, arousing a shudder so violent my teeth chatter. “With big bunny eyes. As for the rest of your debt? You can start with writing me something new,” he says, nipping my lower lip in between words. “I’m talking something way more than an essay.”

I jump as he palms my breast entirely. The sensation is so distracting I can barely keep up with the thread of the conversation. Fighting for breath, I try. “Oh?”

He nods. “About you. About me… And I plan to give you more than enough fodder.”

He tilts his head, deepening the kiss fully.

And I suspect that whatever story he has in mind, I’ll have a wealth of inspiration to draw from.