means you’ll relax, because I’ll know where the
boundaries lie.”
He shakes his head, as if he can’t quite believe that
he’s about to let me draw all over his body.
“Open the lipstick,” he orders.
Oh, he’s in über-bossy mode, but I don’t care.
“Give me your hand.”
I give him my other hand.
“The one with the lipstick.” He rolls his eyes at me.
“Are you rolling your eyes at me?”
“Yep.”
“That’s very rude, Mr. Grey. I know some people
who get positively violent at eye-rolling.”
“Do you now?” His tone is ironic.
I give him my hand with the lipstick, and suddenly he
sits up so we are nose to nose.
“Ready?” he asks in a low, soft murmur that makes
everything tighten and tense inside me. Oh wow.
“Yes,” I whisper. His proximity is alluring, his toned
“Yes,” I whisper. His proximity is alluring, his toned
flesh close, his Christian-smell mixed with my bodywash.
He guides my hand up to the curve of his shoulder.
“Press down,” he breathes, and my mouth goes dry as
he directs my hand down, from the top of his shoulder,
around his arm socket then down the side of his chest. The
lipstick lea一ves a broad, livid red streak it in its wake. He
stops at the bottom of this ribcage then directs me across
his stomach. He tenses and stares, seemingly impassive,
into my eyes, but beneath his careful blank look, I see his
restraint.
His a一version is held in strict check, the line of his jaw is
strained, and there’s tension around his eyes. Midway
across his stomach he murmurs, “And up the other side.”
He releases my hand.
I mirror the line I’ve drawn on his left side. The trust
he’s giving me is heady but tempered by the fact that I can
I count his pain. Seven small, round white scars dot his
chest, and it’s deep, dark purgatory to see this hideous,
evil desecration of his beautiful body. Who would do this
evil desecration of his beautiful body. Who would do this
to a child?
“There, done,” I whisper, containing my emotion.
“No, you’re not,” he replies and traces a line with his
long index fi
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