Page 45 of Flint
“Jules,” he says in a strained voice.
“Mm,” I respond, worrying that he’s done sitting for me.
“How much longer do you need?”
“It’s going to be a while. You’re a complicated man. I’ve got a lot of details to capture.”
Glancing down at his body, I can see the understanding click onto his face. “Fuckin’ hell, it’s my ink, right?”
“You know that it is, handsome,” I fling back in a teasing tone. “Now, hold still and let me at least get the tattoos drawn in.”
“Come on, sweetheart. We don’t have to do it all in one sitting, do we?”
My head comes up, and I stare at him. “Are you saying you’re willing to sit more than once?”
“Yeah, several shorter sessions are better than one that lasts for hours.” Reaching out one hand, he says, “Let me see what you’ve got.”
I pull the sketch back a bit. “But it’s nowhere near done.”
“I don’t fuckin’ care. I love your work, and I want to see what you’ve got so far.”
He pats the mattress beside him and scoots over to make room for me. That turns out to be an invitation that I can’t resist.
I close the distance between us in a few steps and dive onto the bed beside him. We sit with our backs against the headboard, and I show him the sketch. I find myself hoping that he likes the direction I’m taking.
He wraps one arm around me and studies the sketch for several minutes. He seems so transfixed by it that I start to worry. “Sorry you don’t have a face yet. I started with your torso because I wanted to get that right before branching out. Did I miss any of your tatts?”
He swallows thickly, and I can see his Adam’s apple moving along the front of his throat.
“Yeah, I get that it’s a work in progress, Jules. I love it, more so than I thought I would.” His free hand comes out to skate along his right bicep. “You captured my mother tattoo.”
“Yeah, Tommy said you never knew your mother, so I was surprised you had that inked on your body.”
“That’s the reason I got it. My old man said she ran off because she didn’t love him. I got left behind because she couldn’t take care of me by herself. I got this to remind me that I had a mother. I always prayed that wherever she was, she found some peace and happiness.”
I cup his face in my hand. “That’s the sweetest tribute I’ve ever heard. That’s one of the reasons I’ve always had a thing for you. You’re a good man in a world where very few are.”
“Sweetheart. Stop. You can’t keep idolizing me. I’m too old for you, and I don’t want to come between you and your brother.”
I rub one thumb across his cheek and gaze into his eyes before leaning over until my lips are almost touching his. “I don’t idolize you. I love you.”
Instead of kissing him like I want to, I press my forehead against his. This is the moment he has to come to me. I want him to meet me halfway, prove that he wants me as much as I want him. It’s the difference between taking something from him and us sharing something real. Waiting for him to decide is the longest two minutes of my life.
Then his lips slant over mine for that breathtaking kiss of a lifetime. The one where the ground shifts beneath you, fireworks light up the sky above you, and desire powerful enough to bring a strong man to his knees overwhelms your better judgment.
I slide both arms around his neck and climb into his lap, with one leg on either side of his hips, and kiss him right back. When he tugs me closer, I can’t believe after so many years of having a crush on him this is finally happening. No matter how this goes down, whether we have sex or just make out, I’m never going to forget this night, the night where all my dreams came true.
We break apart, I don’t know how long after. I don’t pull back because all I want is more of this kind of closeness with him. He brings my hand to his mouth, and he presses a gentle kiss to the inside of my wrist, right over my pounding pulse.
“Jules,” he whispers hoarsely.
“What?”
“Sweetheart, you need to hold the line because I don’t think I can. Tell me to stop.”
“No way. I’ve been waiting for this moment for years. I want you. You know I do.”
His hand tightens in my hair, tugging my head back so he can run his lips down the front of my neck. It’s a bold move and feels dangerous. If he was a wild animal, he could sink his teeth into the soft, unprotected flesh, but Flint isn’t an animal. He’s an honest, decent, law-abiding man who happens to be in a one percent club. And I trust him not only with my life but to make our time together exciting and an unforgettable experience.
