Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 63741 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 319(@200wpm)___ 255(@250wpm)___ 212(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63741 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 319(@200wpm)___ 255(@250wpm)___ 212(@300wpm)
It’s the little song he wrote about me.
You’re the jam on my bread, you’re the salt in my sea
You’re the song in my devilish heart, Emmy
Though I know you don’t see what you mean to me
You’re the reason I sing all day long, Emmy
Maybe it’s just because he’s musical, and that’s how his brain works, but it seems romantic of him to write something about me, even if the lyrics are a bit silly.
Is Griffin starting to catch feelings like I am?
He can’t. We can’t. We don’t have a future, but the truth is that I feel so much for all three of these men.
“Ready, Emmy?” I bite my lip and nod. He may think I’m bracing myself for pain, but what I’m really trying to do is hold back the emotional pain that nickname triggered.
“Can you do that instead?” I say quickly as I blink my eyes to keep tears from falling.
“Do what instead?”
“Emmy. Can you put Emmy there instead?” I gesture to where he was going to freehand his flower.
His eyes meet mine, and there’s so much there that I have to look away. When I look back at him, he nods, and his voice is thick when he says, “Sure.”
He sketches the nickname on my thigh with a marker, and after checking that I’m happy with it, he makes it permanent.
For some reason, it hurts more than the others, and I’m grateful for the distraction the pain provides.
Later that night, the four of us are sitting around the living room, and Frank’s reviewing the aftercare instructions with me, even though I’m very well versed in the topic from answering clients’ questions at work.
Zeb rolls his eyes and lets out a huff. “Dude, she’s got it.”
Ignoring him completely, Frank continues. “I’ll take your bandage off later and help you wash the area.”
“No need,” Griffin says. “She’ll be with me tonight. I’ll take care of it.”
Zeb gets to his feet, glaring at Griffin. “The fuck she will. You were in her bed two nights ago.” Frank opens his mouth to speak, but Zeb cuts him off. “And you were with her last night.”
Before I have a chance to head off the argument that’s brewing, Zeb turns to me. “I’ll make you some toast and tea and meet you in the bedroom, Ember.”
He strides off, leaving uncomfortable silence in his wake. Suddenly tired, I stand to get ready for bed. “I’ll see you both in the morning. I promise to take good care of the tattoos, Frank.”
Both men tell me goodnight, and I head for the shelter of my room. My thigh is a little sore, and the symbolism isn’t lost on me. The artwork they created for me is beautiful and I’ll always cherish it, but each element stands alone. The three tattoos don’t necessarily fit together all that well, and right now, they’re causing me pain.
ZEB
Ember was so brave getting inked for the first time. I know she was in pain, but she soldiered through. She’s strong in so many ways.
The whole time Frank and Griffin were working on her, I was thinking about all the ways I plan to soothe her pain tonight, while I numb mine in the process.
I add a spoonful of honey to a mug of chamomile tea, something I turned her on to since she’s been living here, and cut slices of cinnamon toast in half.
In the bedroom, I find Ember scrubbed free of makeup, wearing pajamas, her hair piled on top of her head. She’s gorgeous.
“You didn’t have to do that,” she says, when I give her the food I prepared. She offers me a piece of the toast, but I wave it away.
“Something bothering you?” she asks after she finishes one of the triangles.
I arch a brow, surprised by her question. Here, alone with her, the door closed to the outside world, I’m feeling the best I’ve felt all day.
When I shake my head, she says, “You’re quieter than usual.”
I don’t have an answer for that, so I just shrug and gently massage the calf of her tattooed leg as she sits on the bed and eats the snack.
When she finishes, I take the plate and set it on the dresser, then prop her up against a stack of pillows at the headboard. “Is your thigh sore?”
“A little.”
I stroke my thumbs up the insides of each of her legs before spreading them a few inches apart. “I’ll make you feel better.”
Her eyes flash as she bites her bottom lip. The grin she gives me hits like a shot of whiskey.
My mouth weaves a path upward from her ankles, alternating back and forth between her legs, sometimes tickling her with my tongue, sometimes nipping with my teeth.
I pull her shorts and panties down, mindful not to disturb her bandage. Her pussy glistens with desire, inviting me to dive in. She squeals when I take my first taste, plunging my tongue deep, fluttering it against her inner walls.