Chapter Thirteen #2
"You bought four different flavors because...?" she asked, coming to sit beside me, pulling one leg up, and eyeing the containers.
I shrugged and patted the couch. “Angels never have to choose. And I’m not above bribery if it means getting painted in ice cream.
She settled close, closer than before, like the distance between us was nonexistent now.
I handed her a spoonful of the strawberry, and her eyes lit up, a tiny sound escaping when she tasted it.
Strawberry. Noted. My angel liked strawberries—detail filed away for a lifetime of spoiling her rotten.
Isla’s gaze flickered to my chest, to where my tattoos snaked under my collar. Her cheeks pinkened, her tongue darting out to catch a drip of ice cream from her bottom lip.
The sight made my dick twitch, hard and sudden, my body forever quick to respond to the tiniest cue from her.
I dug a spoon into mint chip this time and watched her every micro-expression—the little hum when the cream hit her tongue, the spoon twirling in her mouth, the way she bit down on her bottom lip like she was already thinking of something wicked to do with it.
"So," she purred, licking her spoon slowly, and I flat-out leered. “What happens now?”
I considered her question, twirling my jade knife between my fingers. She watched the movement, eyes tracking the blade with curiosity.
"Now we eat ice cream," I announced. "And then I take you somewhere nice. Show you off a little." I grinned at her blush, spinning my knife. “We’ll see where the night takes us."
Based on Connor’s and Jax’s very kind advice, I was gonna figure out a real date for my angel.
She blushed and played with a lock of her hair. "Just like that? We're... together?"
That question settled differently. I set down my ice cream and turned, hand in hers, scanning her face like I was afraid to miss one single new color.
“Isla, I’ve watched for you. Hunted you. There’s nothing ‘just like that’ about any of this. But yes," I said, squeezing her fingers, "we're together. Unless you have objections?"
She shook that pretty head, earnest and shining. “No objections.”
My chest felt too tight, so I kissed her temple, breathing her in, needing to hear that affirmation again and again. "Good. Because I couldn’t let you go if I tried.”
The truth of it hit me as I said it. This wasn't just desire or obsession. This was something deeper, something that had hooked into my chest and wouldn't let go .
I'd killed men for less important reasons than the way Isla looked at me right now.
I grabbed a spoonful of strawberry, the cold sweetness a sharp contrast to the heat simmering between us.
Isla's eyes flicked to mine, a playful glint sparking as I brought it to her lips.
Her mouth parted obediently, and I pressed the spoon against her tongue, watching as she savored the taste.
Without missing a beat, I leaned in, my tongue flicking out to enter her mouth, licking into her to steal a taste.
"You taste better than this," I teased, voice rough with desire.
Her cheeks flushed a deeper pink, but she didn't pull away. She reached for the spoon, scooping up some sherbet and bringing it to my mouth.
I opened for her, letting her feed me, my eyes locked on hers as the cold sweetness melted on my tongue.
When a drop escaped the corner of my mouth, she surprised me by leaning forward, her tongue flicking out to lick it.
"Look at you," I grinned, pulling her closer. "Learning fast."
The tension between us was electric, every touch charged with unspoken promises.
I unbuttoned my shirt slowly, watching her eyes widen as I revealed the rippling muscles beneath, the intricate tattoos that told my story.
The ink coiled around my body, the constellations mapping across my pectorals, arms, and torso.
"You can touch," I offered—more a plea, voice dropping to a growl. "They're all yours now, angel."
Her fingers reached out, tracing the lines of ink on my chest and abs, her touch light. I watched her face as she explored, memorizing the wonder in her eyes, the way her lips parted slightly in awe.
I unbuttoned it completely, shrugging it off my shoulders to give her full access. Her breath caught as she took in the full canvas of my body—every scar, every line of ink, every story etched into my skin .
When her fingers brushed over a particularly sensitive spot near my ribs, where ink covered old scars, I couldn't suppress a low rumble.
"Like this?” she asked, confidence growing in her voice.
"Just like that, angel."
"They're beautiful," she whispered, fingers following the path of chains that wound around my ribs. "Like art."
"That's what they are," I agreed, catching her hand and pressing it flat against my heart. "Stories, memories, pieces of me."
With a playful grin, I scooped some strawberry ice cream onto my finger and smeared it across my abs. "Want a taste?"
Her eyes darkened, and with a boldness that made my cock throb, she leaned down and licked the melting cream from my skin, her tongue hot against the cold trail.
I hissed, one hand fisting in her hair.
"Fuck, angel," I groaned as she continued, her tongue tracing the lines of my muscles, following the paths of my tattoos.
Most of them covered old scars, but she didn’t flinch. She just… worshipped.
She looked up at me through her lashes, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "Good?" she asked, and the innocence mixed with mischief nearly killed me.
"So fucking good," I assured her, voice stuck somewhere between a laugh and a confession.
I pulled her up for a proper kiss, tasting strawberry and all the years between bruises and now.
She glanced at me, wicked and soft all at once, as she ran another streak across my ribs, this time lemon yellow from the sherbet.
"Stay still," she ordered, and holy fuck , I would have let her tattoo me with fire if she asked.
She painted me—strawberry pink on the skull, mint green on a spiderweb, cookie dough art over my chainwork, orange and rainbow blended in with the shapes dotting my pectorals.
She used her hands, laughing softly when the colors began to melt together over warm, inked skin. Every brush of her finger was gentle and reverent, turning scars into art.
I let her, holding so perfectly still, like a criminal desperate not to disturb the scene.
“Look at you,” I joked, voice full of something too big to hide, “making art on an imperfect canvas.”
Then, softer, almost afraid to say it out loud, “You know you’re the only person who’s ever touched these like they mean something.”
She just kept painting, face flushed, eyes taking in every line. “Every mark on you… It’s beautiful,” she corrected, voice hushed, a confession in a world that never gave us softness for free.
A grin broke free and let her run wild, let her make art out of me, let her skate yellow, mint, and pink across the dark ink, across skin I turned into art.
I wanted her to see how feral she made me, how close I was to breaking. I wanted her to know that for every scar and stain, I’d spend my life letting her repaint my story.
When she finished, she set her spoon down and ran her tongue over a stripe of strawberry running under the barbed wire at my hip.
I hissed, jerking, unable to hold back the savage laughter spilling from my lips. “You’re playing a dangerous game, angel," I warned, but it came out totally wrecked.
She smiled back, all innocence and wildness, then bent lower, tongue tracing every melting color with painstaking attention, licking me clean, and leaving trails of heat in her wake.
The closer she got to my waistband, the harder I had to clench my fists, fighting every last instinct not to flip her over and show her how a caged thing loves—hungry and grateful enough for a lifetime.
When she finally licked up to my chest, she pressed a kiss to my sternum, then drew back, examining her work as if admiring a finished painting.
“You’re a masterpiece, Adrian,” she whispered.
Even I couldn’t laugh that off.
I just swallowed, heart pounding, and pulled her into my lap .
Ice cream smeared everywhere, sticky, shining under her soft lights. My hands wrapped around her waist, thumbs pressing into her skin as I held her close, not letting her slip an inch.
“You don’t know what you’ve done to me,” I whispered, dizzy with her, nosing over her throat, pressing my lips to the spot where my ribbon and her pulse met.
She blushed, but didn’t look away. “Don’t ever stop making me into whatever you want, angel. Paint me, mark me, just don’t leave me wanting.”
She smiled, brave and sure. “I won’t. I like you messy, Adrian.”