Chapter 12 #2
I twist my body on the couch and lean forward, pressing my nose into his neck.
Constantine stiffens, and his breath hitches.
“I know you hate the holidays, but how about a little gift in return?
Not something fake or disgusting. Something pleasing.
Something to make you heat up and your heart beat faster in the best of ways.
“Y-yes. I’d really love a gift like that.” His voice is soft and trembles slightly. Fuck, I love how he reacts to me. Like, he just melts with need as soon as I get near him.
“Would you like to suck on my thumb again, Little Bird?”
“Yes,” he whispers.
“How about my cock?”
A whimper escapes him, and he quickly nods.
“You said I can do anything to you?”
He’s already answered this question, but I need his clear consent, especially since he’s so new to this.
“Anything but beat me,” he reminds me.
“Anything,” I echo. “I like that ‘anything’ part. And I don’t want to hurt you.”
I should rush to my phone and call Alfonzo with the news, but Constantine is calling to my basest needs. And honestly, it’s been a while since I had a good fuck. Well, no fucking him tonight. He’s not ready for that. But it doesn’t mean we can’t have some fun.
“I’ll do anything to make you happy,” he rasps.
That vow is definitely enticing. I imagine having someone who worships the ground I walk on. I have no idea why Constantine is clinging to me, other than that I understand him. I guess that’s my answer right there. If no one ever did, I could see how addictive it would be. To not be invisible.
“Another ‘anything.’ You sure are in a giving mood for someone who hates Christmas.”
“Christmas Eve.”
I smile crookedly. “I stand corrected.”
My hand dips underneath the hem of his sweater and T-shirt.
His skin is hot on my palm, and his breathing grows rapidly, panting on my face.
My fingers travel up his stomach with surprisingly tight abs, but then I stop when I feel a round scar.
I swallow the sudden growing lump, but my throat is tight and dry.
His scar brings back a horrible memory. I have a similar scar on the back of my shoulder from when one of my foster fathers put out his cigar on my back. I’d only been nine at the time.
I move up over smooth skin until I come across another one, and then another.
My molars grind against each other, and my jaw tightens. “How many?” My fucking voice comes out raspy. I’m angry on behalf of Constantine, who had once been a boy so abused that he turned into the very thing that hurt him. But had he? He’s not malicious.
Constantine shoves my hand out from underneath his clothes and scoots away on the couch. “It doesn’t matter anymore.”
“Then why did you push me away? Why are you backing away?”
“I-I don’t want you repulsed by me.”
“Psh… Repulsed? I’m fucking angry for you. I’m angry about what that bastard did to you.”
His blue eyes are so round, a common look for him, and they glisten with moisture. “I knew you’d understand me.”
I quickly yank off my hoodie and T-shirt and turn my back to him. Then I reach over my shoulder to point at the nickel-sized scar.
Tentative fingers reach for me and gently roll over the puckered skin. “You were burned, too?”
“Yes, but clearly not as much as you.” Leaving my shirt off, I turn back to face him. “Show me.” This sudden protective mode kicks on inside me. I have to see his skin.
Constantine pulls off his sweater first, neatly folds it, and sets it aside before pulling off his white T-shirt. He folds that too and places it on top of his sweater. After he runs fingers through his hair to push back his bangs, he glances at me.
His skin is covered in ink. I mean, I don’t see any unmarked skin except on his face.
He also works out, but he’s not as built as I am.
He must exercise, but he doesn’t do it daily or use heavy equipment.
But it’s his art that has my full attention.
It’s fucking stunning. I saw the flowers and such on his arms before, but I had no idea they traveled across his entire skin.
Are his legs painted, too? It’s like he’s got an entire English country garden on his body.
Nothing’s in color. It’s all black ink, but whoever the artist is, they did a phenomenal job.
There are roses, poppies, and other flowers I can’t name, but it’s all done in a vintage style, like from one of those old gardening books from a hundred years ago.
Mingled with the flowers are moths, honeybees, butterflies, cicadas, and more.
“Fuck.” I breathe out the word. It’s all I can do since I’m in damn near awe. It had to have been expensive. “Your body is stunning, Little Bird.”
His face heats again, and he looks away, smiling and gnawing on his bottom lip. The more he does that, the more I’m drawn to him. He’s fucking adorable. “I wanted something pretty to be painted over the ugly.”
I realize that as soon as he says it. Yeah, that makes perfect sense.
“What do you do for a living to afford such a piece?”
He glances back at me and shrugs. “I work at a liquor store. I-I know it’s not much, but… It’s not like I have a ton of expenses. My house is paid for, and I don’t spend my money on much.”
I reach for him again and find all the circular scars tucked away between the flower petals, in the center, or as the bodies of insects. Yeah, I’m fucking floored. He puts my tattoos to shame.
“I did them as soon as I got a job, so I’ve been building this for about eight years now.”
“I can’t stop looking at you,” I admit.
Constantine smiles shyly and chews his bottom lip again. God, I could fucking gobble him up. I pluck his lip out from between his teeth and slip my thumb into his mouth as I’d done before. He instantly suckles it and his eyes flutter closed.
A groan slips out of one of us, but I can’t tell who, with me being so hyper-focused on his mouth. My cock instantly swells, tenting through my sweats.
“Fuck, I want to do naughty things to you.”