Covered Part Two by Mina Holt, Jaden Wilkes

I said, “I mean for somebody from your social upbringing.”
    “What do you mean by that?”
    “You came from money. Here in the US we think of you guys as preppy private school kids. Not exactly the tattooed bad boy image.” I smiled and wiggled up a little so I could look at him. “Not meaning you’re a bad boy, but you know.”
    “So you think a kid from a nice family with a wealthy background can’t have ink?” he asked and grinned.
    “Do your siblings have any?” I asked, “or your parents?”
    “Dear god, no,” he laughed, “although I might pay good money to see my brother the investment banker get a full sleeve. Or my sister the international broker with a neck tattoo.”
    I laughed with him, thinking of my own lack of ink. I hoped he didn’t see me as too boring because of it. “I have nothing,” I said, “maybe one day. I just don’t know what I want to look at on my old, wrinkled body. It might look pretty bad by then.”
    “I think it would look fantastic, love,” he said, “but then again, I think you’ll be one hot old lady.”
    I giggled and play slapped him, “I doubt you’d think my old wrinkled ass would be hot.”
    “I think anything about you is hot, love,” he said and pulled me up on his chest and kissed me. I slid myself against him and felt him harden at my touch. I was already wet for him, I was pretty much always wet for him though. His body still affected me on some weird electrical chemical level. My nerves felt heightened around him, like they’d been rubbed raw and were sensitive to every cell in his body.
    “You’re only saying that because I happen to be half naked on top of you,” I said, “I have a feeling you’d tell me anything right now to keep me here.”
    “That’s not true,” he replied, suddenly serious, “I think you’re beautiful, and I’m not just saying that because you’re here. I care about you so much, Ms. Britton, and want you to know it.”
    “I feel beautiful when you say it,” I replied and frowned, “and that worries me.”
    “Why would it worry you?” he asked and rubbed my back slowly.
    “It either means you’re sincere, in which case you will slowly deconstruct my carefully constructed walls at some point soon and I’ll be vulnerable…or you’re a very good liar. If that’s the case, guaranteed I will get hurt at some point soon.”
    “I’m very good at a lot of things,” he said and pulled me in for another kiss, “but lying to you is not one of them. I mean it when I say it, you are beautiful and I care for you.”
    “I care for you too,” I replied and kissed him this time.
    “In fact,” he continued against my lips, “one might even say I love you.”
    I pulled back and scanned his face for a joke. There was none, he was being sincere. I smiled, pressed my lips against his and whispered, “One might say I love you too.” Then we kissed again, his frantic tongue swirling around mine, his hips grinding against me, and his hands running all over my back. I moaned and felt a snake of pleasure travel up my spine. I shivered and fell deeper into the kiss.
    After a moment he pulled away, furrowed his brow and was silent, his hands stopped moving. He scanned my face, as if looking for an answer, and appeared to have gotten what he needed. His face relaxed and he said, “They’re for my mother and my brothers.”
    “What are?”
    “The tattoos.”
    “But you just said your family doesn’t have any,” I replied. I was confused, everything I’d read indicated his family wasn’t the kind to appreciate gestures such as this.
    “My real family,” he said quietly, then closed his eyes. I felt him tense up, and I felt him withdraw from me, as though instantly regretting what he’d said.
    I sat up slightly, propping myself on his chest and looking at his face. His eyes opened and he stared at me. “What do you mean?” I asked.
    “I’m adopted,” he said and screwed his mouth into a twisted grimace. The