“N-next one down.”
The top drawer closes with a click, and then Payne opens the second and pulls out my black marker case. He throws it up and catches it with the other hand. “Coming?”
Coming? I might. Is he trying to kill me?
“Now?”
He shrugs. “Sure, why not? I’m already awake, and you’re clearly not getting to sleep until you’ve shut that brain of yours off.”
“Wait. Stop. You want me to color in your tattoos?” Why is my brain struggling with this so much? “The ones on your skin? You want me to touch the tattoos on your skin?”
Payne laughs. “If you don’t want—”
“I want.”
“Okay, then. Where do you want me?”
And I must have serious issues because my brain takes that one line and turns it so dirty, my cock takes interest. “I … umm …”
“Normally it relaxes me enough to fall asleep, so come on. If we do it on my bed, I’ll probably crash right after.”
He needs to stop talking. Immediately. Because there’s no way he can say “do it on my bed” and have me not immediately think about sex. I force a nod because I don’t trust myself to speak, then stand numbly and follow him.
I’ve always noticed Payne’s tattoos, but as a method of self-preservation, I’ve never let myself focus on the specifics. They’re all line work, which makes them perfect for coloring. He’s got flames over his abs and characters woven together up both arms, then across the back of his shoulders. The simple lines make it hard to tell what they are from a distance, but when he crawls onto his bed and lies facedown on top of the covers, I have time to drink in my fill.
Payne tosses the case to me, and I realize this is it. I’m about to touch Payne Walker … for as long as I want to.
Fuck, is there no oxygen in this room? Why am I light-headed?
And even though I’m ninety percent certain I’m about to blow my plan to resist him to pieces, I can’t stop from moving toward the bed.
His back rises and falls with each breath, and he tilts his head from where it’s rested on his crossed arms so he can see me.
“Will this work?” he asks.
“Yep. This should be … this is fine. Good.”
“Awesome. I’ll drift off, so take as long as you need.”
Payne’s eyes fall closed, and I stand there for a moment, unable to believe this is happening. If anything, his plan has already worked, because I’m not having an issue with concentrating now. All I can focus on is Payne, half naked and asking me to touch him.
I don’t want him to pick up on me hesitating, so I crawl up beside him and open the case. The tattoos across his back are underwater themed, and the more I look, the more I see. There are mermen, a sea castle, starfish and dolphins. It doesn’t make any sense, but as I uncap the first marker and try to figure out where to start, my mind is already putting together a story from it all.
When I begin, I try to work out a way to do it without touching him, but that plan is derailed when I keep going out of the lines.
So I give in and place my hand on his back to steady myself. The warmth under my palm is hotter than I expected. His skin, smoother. I swallow thickly and try to focus on the images instead of burying my nose into his hair. I’m so close. It would take no effort to lean forward and press my lips to the soft skin where his neck meets his shoulder. To nuzzle into his jaw. To press my hard cock against his ridiculously round ass.
I lick my lips as my gaze pulls again and again to the two round globes covered by his sleep shorts.
Fuck, I need a cool shower.
I need to jerk off.
But both of those things would require me to stop touching Payne, and there’s no way in hell that’s happening.
I’m going to sit here and endure this sweet torture for as long as I’m able.
I don’t manage to completely zone out, but the longer I work, the more relaxed I get, even as my cock stays persistently hard. Payne’s deep, rhythmic breathing falls into sync with my own, and having him close, being surrounded by his scent, and allowing myself to fall into those things as the coloring clears my mind … it’s perfect.
He overrides my senses, and for the first time all week, I’m calm.
11
Payne
I’ve had the best week’s sleep of my life.
It was a stroke of genius, suggesting Beau use my tats, because now when I’m struggling to sleep like I have been since the divorce and I hear Beau up and pacing, all I have to do is poke my head out of my bedroom door, and he joins me in minutes.
It’s not awkward anymore either. At first, I could tell he was doing everything he could to keep his distance, but last night there was maybe a minute or two of him trying to get comfortable before he gave in and draped himself across my back. We don’t talk much when he’s there, and I don’t know if he feels the same way I do, but there’s something about the dim light, his breaths fanning over my skin, and the warmth seeping through his T-shirt that feels … intimate? Is that the right word? Like it’s something just for us.
I always fall asleep before he’s done, and by the time I wake, the only evidence I have that it happened is the bright colors staining my skin.
It’s also the only time I get to see him all week, so when I get home from another pointless day at the garage with arms full of groceries, I’m surprised to see him up and pacing.
“Question,” he says before I get out so much as a hey. “If I was a twenty-five-hundred-pound dragon and I jumped from the top of this building, would I have enough time to unfurl my wings and take flight, or am I likely to create a massive crater? And if it’s the crater, how large are we talking? Equivalent to dragon-size, or would the impact be larger?”
“Hold on, I’ve been playing errand boy all day and need to switch my brain back on.” I place the bags on the kitchen counter and turn to him. “Purely from a guesstimation perspective, my vote would be on the crater. And when you look at those huge ones left by meteors, they’re usually bigger than the rock. So even though they’re falling a lot faster than a dragon would, I’d still imagine a dragon crater would be bigger than the animal itself … right?”
He blinks, mouth open, then abruptly heads for his desk. “Good enough for me.” He scribbles out something on the paper in front of him, his forehead is bunched up with concentration.
I stand there for a moment, watching, content to just take him. “You working tonight?”
“I was going to try, but I already wrote a bunch.”
“On your book?”
“Yeah, but it doesn’t feel right.”
“Why not?”
He laughs, and I recognize the sort of glazed look he gets about him when he’s in another world. “I don’t know, that’s the problem. Our visit to the prison fixed the fortress issue I was having, but it’s like Jaciel doesn’t even want to save Klein.”
“And you can’t … make him?”
“People judge me when I say this, but when you get to know a character really well, they take on their own life in your head, so when you try to force them to do something they don’t want to, it doesn’t work out great.”