Page 142 of Business Casual
Charlie stretches his arms wide with a yawn, finally free from the constriction of his clothes, and I get a good look at the pinup girl across his ribs. She has blond hair tumbling over her shoulder and a coy smile, one hand tucked under her chin, a bouquet of tiny flowers on the back of her hand. Something in my chest turns over the way it always does when I see my work on Charlie’s skin. His ink is just for me, in places only I get to see it, hidden beneath his fancy suits and designer shirts.Mine, those marks say.Mineandmineandmine.
Possession and affection.
I let my gaze touch the flower on his wrist.
An acknowledgment and a promise too.
Charlie rubs his palm over his ribs with a content rumble, then plops down on the table in front of me.
“I want a new tattoo.”
I grin at him. “I gathered that.” I reach for my gloves and the rest of my supplies. “You’re addicted, aren’t you?”
“I like your hands on me.”
“You don’t need a tattoo for that.” I drop a quick kiss in the middle of his bare chest. “What were you thinking?”
“Your name,” he says seriously. “Across my forehead.”
I give him a look. “Don’t joke about tattoo design, Charlie.”
“Maybe here instead.” He traces his pointer finger over his heart.
I stare at the blank spot on his chest where I just kissed and then tip my face to his. His eyes are serious, his lips twisted down at the corners. He opens his mouth only to snap his jaw shut half a second later, a huff of frustration pushed out from his nose.
I drop the supplies I’ve been messing with and press my palms to his knees instead, creeping closer on my stool. He makes room for melike he always does, his legs inching wider, both of my arms draped loosely over his lap.
“What’s this about?” I ask.
He shrugs and grips the edge of the table, hands flexing and releasing. “I just want your name somewhere,” he mumbles, reluctant, a tilt to his voice like he’s embarrassed about it. He scratches once behind his ear, his tell for when he’s feeling anxious or uncomfortable. “I want it to be permanent.”
“You have my face on your ribs, Charlie.”
“I want it to be extra permanent.”
My confusion melts into affection, warm and easy. “It is permanent,” I tell him, looping my hands around his wrists and tugging until our fingers are twined together, palms pressed tight. I squeeze. “You don’t need my name on your skin for you to belong to me. Or for me to belong to you.”
“I know,” he sighs. “I know that. But sometimes…sometimes I want it.”
Charlie has come a long way with how he talks about the things he wants, but he still holds himself back when he thinks he’s being selfish. When he thinks he’s reaching for more than what he’s earned.
I squeeze his hands again. “I have a better idea.”
He perks up, interested. “Is it across my collarbones? You like to bite me there.”
I shift in my seat. I do like to bite him there. He makes the prettiest sounds when I do. “No, it’s not across your collarbones.”
“Beneath Pinup Nova?”
I glance at the tattoo across his ribs and feel a smile tug at the corners of my mouth. “No. Not Pinup Nova.”
“Then where?”
I drag my thumbs back and forth over his knuckles, looking at our hands. He has some blue smudged on the side of his palm, likely from whatever notes he was taking during his meetings today. I trace it gently and then move my touch to his knuckles. The space rightabove. I tap at the smooth, pale skin of his ring finger and look back up at him.
He thinks he’s been sneaky about it, but Charlie doesn’t possess an ounce of discretion. He’s been looking at engagement rings for over a year now. I know it’s something he wants—something he’s been wanting—and I also know if he thinks it’s something I don’t want, he won’t ever ask.
“Charlie.”
