Chapter 1

DESIGNS

LILY

Randy’s on the couch stroking Wiener. Not his wiener, but the wiener we’re dog-sitting for the weekend. Sunny’s been having some trouble sleeping thanks to being pregnant, so we’re taking Wiener off their hands for a few days. Also, Randy loves dogs, and so do I.

Wiener sits to Randy’s left, making little whimpery noises while he alternates between patting Wiener’s butt and scratching under his chin. Meanwhile, he’s using his free hand to flip through a magazine in his lap. Randy, I mean. Not Wiener.

I flop down beside him, fully expecting it to be hockey-related, since Randy’s a professional hockey player and all. Except it’s not. It’s a tattoo magazine. I curl into his side, checking out the designs along with him. Some are pretty and colorful, others are dark and macabre. Randy’s mostly a landscape and nature guy, based on his sleeve, but there’s a lot of empty canvas, so maybe he’s looking to diversify.

“Is this for entertainment or research purposes?” I ask.

The Vagina Emporium really, really likes the idea of Randy adding to his ink. She’s already preparing to open the doors and give him an all-access pass based on the thought alone. I didn’t put on underwear before I pulled on my sleep shorts, so it isn’t going to be much of a problem.

Randy folds the page over and flips to the next one. “Me and the guys planned to get some ink together a while ago. I have a consult with my artist, ’cause I’m thinking about incorporating it into a new sleeve, and he’s got a few design ideas he wants to go over.”

“Oh?” I remember Randy and Miller talking about tattoos last week, but I didn’t think anything of it because, well, Randy has an arm full of them. I look over at his sleeve, and that warm feeling spreads from between my legs through my whole body. “Another sleeve?”

He stops leafing through the magazine to look at me. “Are you okay with that?”

At first I think he’s kidding, and then I realize he’s actually quite serious.

“Are you asking for permission?” I glance at the flower on his right hand. His dominant hand. His fingering hand. “Or just my blessing?” I try really hard not to sound all breathy and excited.

“Is this you giving it?” He’s wearing an odd expression. I’m not sure where he’s going with this, but I’ll play along.

“Why would you even need it? It’s your skin.” I trace the outline of a tree on his forearm. “You can put whatever you want on it.”

His smirk makes an appearance. “So you’re cool with me starting another sleeve?”

He knows I like the tattoos. I trace them all the time with my fingers, and sometimes my tongue, which is exactly what I want to do right now. “Why wouldn’t I be cool with it?”

“I don’t know. Maybe one sleeve is enough? Maybe you only tolerate my ink because you love me.”

I snort. “Your tattoos have nothing to do with why I love you. They’re just a bonus.”

I wasn’t even really a tattoo lover until I met Randy last August. And it isn’t that I didn’t like tattoos before then; I’d just never understood the obsession with them. Then Randy had come slamming his way into a bathroom while I was shaving my legs, with his tattooed hand shoved down the front of his shorts. As enraged and embarrassed as I’d been, I’d still noticed how hot he was—especially his tattooed arm.

After being with him for the better part of a year, I have a serious appreciation for ink. Particularly his. So much so that I’ve even entertained getting a tattoo myself. Not a sleeve or anything, just something small and pretty and meaningful. At least to start.

I keep following the outline of the forest on his forearm until I reach the crook of his elbow. It’s a sensitive place on Randy, as is the inside of his arm close to his biceps. Sometimes when I’m horny and he’s distracted by game highlights, I’ll start tracing the designs there. It’s usually enough to bring his focus around to where it belongs: Me.