Heather Rainier by His Tattooed Virgin Page B

a long sigh, his warm breath caressing her skin like the stroke of a silky feather. “Experience is overrated.”
    She could tell his memories troubled him and didn’t want to bring down his mood by asking any more questions. She knew what it was like to not want people prying in her private affairs so she afforded him the same consideration.
    The instrumental music played on, this time with a dark, decidedly melancholy element to it. He worked his way slowly down her rib cage and across, toward her left hip bone. Besides the now-manageable pain of the tattoo machine, there was also pleasure as his gloved fingers rested on her body and wiped with the soft cloth every so often.
    At one point, she twinged minutely, and he drew the machine away from her skin. “Let’s take a short break. You’re doing great.” He rubbed gently at the design with the cloth and then reached for a hand mirror. “Want a peek at it so far?”
    Her jaw dropped when she saw her torso in the mirror. “It’s exactly like the drawing.”
    “Do you like it?” He didn’t sound insecure when he asked the question, but she saw a trace of vulnerability in his eyes and she gave in to the overwhelming urge to reach out to him, laying her hand on his solid, muscular shoulder.
    “I love it. I’m so glad I decided to go through with it.” She felt like saying more, the endorphin high she was on inspired her to say more, but she breathed deep and closed her eyes instead.
    I did it. I seized the day. I’ll never regret this choice, no matter how old I am. This is like a new part of me showing through.
    She gazed in the mirror one more time.
    I love it!
    He stroked at the part he’d been working on with a fingertip before she handed him the mirror. He seemed like he wanted to reply but said nothing. His touch, even though his hands were gloved, inspired a wave of heat that coursed through her core. She knew it was just the endorphin rush that enhanced it, but she wanted him even more since he’d begun this work of art on her flesh.
    That’s hormones talking, ninny. He already told you no once. Don’t make him feel worse by flinging yourself at him.
    He continued on with the tattoo as her thoughts ranged freely. He’d made his point eloquently the night before. He thought she should save her virginity. By the time she found a man whom she felt comfortable enough with to marry, she might be forty. She had some living and loving and lost time to make up for, and that was a fact. In this day and age, her teenage resolution seemed obsolete.
    Fuck it. I’m taking care of this on my own. Maybe then, down the road, I might have a chance with him.
    In her endorphin-induced high, she slammed the mental door on the thought of how he might react if she ever told him that she’d taken matters into her own hands and her virginity was a nonissue.

Chapter Four
     
    Jayne smiled happily at Ben Lawrence when he placed the Divine Margarita, Ethan Grant’s special recipe, on a square napkin in front of her at the bar.
    This was her second.
    “Sip that slowly. The last one was pretty potent, so I made this one just a bit weaker, okay? And thanks for not griping about handing over your keys. Ethan would kill me if I let you get toasted and then drive. I put your purse under the bar.”
    Jayne giggled, and her joints felt loose and flexible as she scrunched up her shoulders and then sighed happily. She took a long sip. “Thank you, Ben. I understand and appreciate you looking out for me. This is delicious.” She happily took another sip as “Springsteen” by Eric Church played on the club’s sound system.
    It had been a week and a half since her first tattoo session, and the work Seth had done so far had healed enough that she felt reasonably sure about going out and having some fun and just seeing where things went.
    Condoms and lubricant tucked in the zipper pouch of my purse, and my loins are girded with one and a half kick-ass margaritas.
    A loud snicker