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He pulls it higher

All the way to his side

He turns to show off a tattoo on his ribs—the state of California, adorned with grey and red roses

"How much did that hurt?" I ask

"Like a bitch"

"Guys usually say it doesn't hurt"

"Liars"

"Can I?"

"Of course"

My fingers go to his skin It's soft, but he's bone and muscle beneath it

God, the feel of hiertips…

My knees knock together

"Didn't think you were the ink type," he says

Words dissolve on ue He's so close And so undressed And so hot

My hand knohat it wants