"Like my scars," he mumbled against me.
"What?"
"You like my scars," he said, pressing up, balancing his weight on his forearms. "You're tracing them," he told me and I realized he was right. My mind had drifted and I hadn't noticed that both of my hands had found different scars and were stroking over them almost lovingly.
"I guess," I said, self-consciously moving my hands away.
"You don't have any."
"Huh?"
"Scars. Not one. Every inch of your skin is fucking perfect. If it wasn't so fucking gorgeous, it would be obnoxious. No one should be completely fucking flawless."
"I'm not," I objected.
"Tell me one flaw."
"My eyes suck," I supplied.
"Best shade of blue I've ever seen."
"Maybe," I allowed, "but they don't work right. Contacts and glasses every day."
"Glasses are cute as fuck. Doesn't count."
"I have a birth mark..." I started, then stopped when I realized what I was about to say.
"Just inside the crease where your thigh meets your pussy," he supplied with a smirk.
"God, you're observant."
"It's shaped like a fucking heart. Doesn't count."
I thought for a second, then let out a short laugh, waving a hand out a little. "Then what can I say... I'm flawless," I said with a smile.
"Damn straight," he agreed, leaning down and pressing a hard, but quick kiss to my lips. "As much as I'd like to stay inside you all night, I gotta get up and deal with this condom. Unwrap me," he demanded and my legs and arms fell begrudgingly. He slid out of me and I let out a small, objecting noise that made him chuckle quietly. "Don't worry, I'm getting all up in there again as soon as I can," he promised as he disappeared into the bathroom and closed the door.
Alone, unseen, a huge, satisfied smile spread across my face. My hand slapped over my mouth to cover it, knowing it was a bad idea to let myself feel that way. True, the sex was freaking phenomenal. And, yes, he said he wanted a repeat. But we were on shaky ground and I needed to tamp down the 'I feel happy when I'm around him' thing before it got out of hand.
I heard the water run and quickly relaxed my face and shifted up on the bed, crawling under the covers. Paine came out and climbed under, moving over me slightly and I was sure he was going to kiss me. But at the last second, his head moved quickly downward and he bit into one of my still-hardened nipples, making me squeal in surprise and pain and amusement all at once.
He settled onto his side, facing me so I moved onto my side as well, hands in prayer position under my cheek. "You're very unpredictable."
"Gotta keep you on your toes. Can't have you getting sick of me."
"If anyone gets sick of sex like that, they're not human."
"Oh, babygirl, that was nothing," he said with a smile.
"All talk," I said, suppressing a small yawn. What can I say? It was a long day that included work, the gym, a nice dinner, and a solid fucking. I was beat.
He smiled sweetly, his eyes softening. "I'll prove it to you once you've gotten some sleep. Deal?"
"Deal," I agreed, wanting to snuggle in toward him, but unsure of the protocol. Usually snuggling followed lovemaking, not screwing like animals.
But then the uncertainty was taken from me as he slid one arm under my pillow and the other around my waist, pulling me into his body. My head rested on his arm, my face pressed slightly against his chest as he tucked my head under his chin. One of his thighs moved slightly over mine, making it slide between his.
And just like that, cuddled against his chest, I drifted off to sleep.--I woke up tucked in again and took a long minute to smile up at my ceiling, snuggling up in the warmth and enjoying the soreness in my thighs from the activities of the night before. Figuring he was downstairs making coffee or whipping up another food-coma inducing breakfast, I climbed out of bed. As soon as my feet were off the side, I saw them.
I kept a small square memo pad on my nightstand, always worried I was going to remember a chore I needed to do or an idea for a work project when I was in bed at night. I wanted something close just in case. Two pages had been ripped off and used, laid out on the surface. I reached for them with a smile. They were sketches. It was easy to forget that Paine was a tattoo artist. I'd never actually seen him at work and it wasn't something he talked about much. But he was. And to be a tattoo artist, you first had to be an artist.
One was a drawing of animated sushi: a block of rice with blushing cheeks, a sushi roll with a smirk, and chopsticks kissing. The other was a simple picture of a barbell. I took that to mean that he got up and went to the gym as was his usual early morning activity.