“He’s ah . . . got other plans tonight.”
“What’s he up to?”
Ryan ignored me to go take a shower. I had almost fallen asleep when I felt Ryan shift off the bed and then something pointy tickle my butt cheek. “What are you doing?”
“Never mind,” he instructed, palming my thigh in his hand. “Just go back to doing what you were doing and don’t worry about it.”
I looked over my shoulder. “That’s a freaking permanent marker, Ryan!”
“It will wash off . . . eventually. Hold still.”
“Honey, please don’t draw on my ass.”
“Shush.” He pushed the edge of my underwear out of his way. “This is my ass. Mine.
Property of,” he said matter-of-factly.
I groaned as he palmed my rear, his rogue finger brushing oh so cleverly between the juncture of my thighs, twitching, tickling. He knew exactly what he was doing to me.
“So,” I breathed out, very aware of my bottom, “does that mean I own your ass, too?”
“Damn straight,” he murmured. “Own.
Rule. My body is yours. Feeling in the mood to play with it? I’ll let you.” I felt the excitement that his words stirred in me. “Let me? I didn’t know I needed permission to play with my toys. I thought that was the benefit of being an only child. Never having to share.”
Ryan frowned, returning to his drawing.
“Nick used to enjoy breaking my toys.
Whenever he was pissed at me he’d snap my shit into pieces.”
The thought of Nick being nasty to Ryan saddened me. I frowned, wishing I could take away those bad memories.
He was so engrossed, I peered over my shoulder. “Are you having fun? Did I get an official Ryan Christensen autograph?” Ryan chuckled. “What are your feelings about getting matching tattoos?” Several thoughts flashed at once, starting with “pain” and “needles” and then quickly followed by the question of whether he was seriously considering permanently inking my right ass cheek with his name.
The next thoughts flooded in like a film in fast-forward—all swirling around the several tattoos that adorned Thomas’s luscious body; the tribal art that wrapped around Thomas’s chiseled left hip like a beacon to Wonderland.
I had to clear my throat. “I’ve considered a tattoo once. Never went through with it, though. Why? Are you thinking of other ways to mark your property?” He shrugged, downplaying it, but I could tell that he was seriously considering it. “Just thought it might be cool. I’ve been thinking about getting one for a long time. Thought maybe we’d have the same symbol or something.”
I tried to see what he was drawing, but it only looked like a box with scribbling next to it.
“What is that?”
“I’m making an airport. This is the terminal and this here is the landing strip. Stop moving! My jumbo jet needs to land.” I quickly rolled over onto my side.
“Hey! Oh, what—you don’t care if hundreds of passengers plummet to their death in the ocean? You’re so mean.” His once-439
determined face now looked completely dejected. He was such a good actor.
I smiled at him, snatched the black marker from his hand, and climbed onto him.
“Why? Is your jet packed with navy seamen?
Let me draw on your ass. I want to carve my initials on my property.” Even though he had been up since five thirty
this
morning,
he
moved with
lightning-quick speed to undo his towel and roll onto his belly, so willing to let me draw on his body.
“Property . . . of . . . Taryn . . . Mitchell.” I wrote in script letters on his tight, bare bottom. I drew a little heart at the end to finish it off.
Ryan glanced over his shoulder. “You done?”
“Yep.”
He grabbed the marker out of my hand and tossed it in the general direction of the nightstand.
“Come here,” he said, slipping a hand behind my head to pull me down to his mouth.
He tasted deliciously minty. The fragrances of his body wash and shampoo wove me into a familiar cocoon of favorite scents. Gently, he rolled me over onto my back. His fingers wove and tensed into my hair, holding my head in his hand, silently telling me he’d never let me go.
For me, kissing Ryan Christensen was like drinking instant passion. Arousal tore through my body, awakening the hunger for his touch that always lies just below my surface.
He kissed my cheek, that tender spot under my jaw, down to the nape of my neck.