Remy’s gaze passes dubiously between us. “You haven’t told your Lady you’re getting ink?”
“She doesn’t mind,” he insists with an easy confidence. He grabs one of my belt loops and drags me between his knees. “She likes her guys a little trashed up.”
I bury a half-hearted punch into his shoulder before winding my arms around his neck. “I like my guys as they are.” The last thing Tristian needs is to be any sexier, anyway. His ego is already too big to fit through standard-sized doorways. “What are you getting?” I ask, unsurprised when he dips forward to steal a kiss.
He answers against my mouth, “You’ll see.”
“Okay, we’re ready,” Remy says, shooting a pointed look at the way I’m wrapped around my Lord.
I reluctantly peel myself away, walking to the couch to unceremoniously flop into Dimitri’s lap. He catches me easily, as if I weigh nothing, and adjusts me so I’m twisted, legs folded beneath me. When I lean in to press a gentle kiss to his healing eye, they slide closed. “It’s getting better,” I notice, running a ginger fingertip around it. It’d looked so gruesome those first couple days, but the swelling’s almost completely gone now.
He hums, chest vibrating beneath my palm. “Ms. Crane has a worrying amount of traumatic injury lifehacks.”
I peck a lingering kiss to his bottom lip, indulging in the feel of his lip rings against my skin. “When is he going to ask her?”
“About the Velvet Hideaway?” Dimitri shifts his gaze To Killian, who’s perching on the edge of his leather chair, eyes fixed to his phone. “Killer, when you gonna ask Ms. Crane?”
Killian only spares us a brief glance. “Tonight, probably. I wanted Augustine to be there.” He pauses at this, locking eyes with me. “If that’s okay.”
Satisfied, I nod. These last few days, we had a lot of conversations. None of us are particularly down with working in the flesh business. I wasn’t really expecting Killian to completely let it go—it is a significant part of the Payne empire, after all. But while he owns the property, he doesn’t have to own the business that occurs within it. It’d make sense to pass it to Ms. Crane. She knows the business, and at least half of the girls there were hers first.
“She’ll say yes,” Dimitri comments, sweeping my hair from my face. “Let’s face it. She’s bored stiff here.”
“You’re probably right.” I look down at where his shirt meets his neck, thinking of Auggie coming to dinner. Sitting at our table. Looking across at Dimitri. Wanting him. Not being able to have him.
I’m already halfway into sucking a large, obnoxious bruise into his neck when he snorts. “And you say we’re territorial.”
I pop off, admiring the dark bloom of blood beneath his skin. “You are territorial. And you only have one person to be territorial over. Imagine how I feel with three.”
His dark gaze holds mine, jumping back and forth between my eyes. “Then you’re going to enjoy what’s about to happen.” Before I can do more than raise a questioning eyebrow, he touches my chin, slowly guiding my gaze to Tristian.
Remy’s doing something to his chest, hunched over and laser-focused. It isn’t until he pulls back that I realize he’s applying a stencil. He gives it a few pats before peeling away the edge, revealing the design.
It’s an ‘S’。
In the same spot Dimitri and Killian have their ‘S’。
In the same spot I have his ‘T’。
Tristian catches my gaze, shrugging. “I love you, but I’m not slicing some bacteria-infested, toxin-laden knife blade into my chest. Remy keeps his shit exceptionally sterile.”
“Thank you for noticing,” Remy says, looking genuinely pleased.
“This is going to be fantastic,” Dimitri mutters into my ear. “He’s been ‘researching’ all day about the various ways tattoos can go wrong. Look at that. You see the eye twitch? He’s dying to tell this guy how to do his job.”
Tristian’s glare burns into us. “I can hear you, dickface.”
Well, I suppose this explains the situational veganism.
I lay my head on Dimitri’s shoulder, giving Tristian a soft smile. “It’s not really necessary, you know.” But the thought makes a happy little zing rush through my chest. I suppose Dimitri is right. Apparently I am territorial.
Tristian carefully inspects the design, giving Remy a thumbs up before the tattoo gun buzzes to life. I worry at first it’ll hurt, which is stupid. Tristian carved his initial into my chest in a far more painful way. But even though we’re bound by the blood of pain and the scars of wrath, we’re also bound by the grace of mercy.