Page 153 of Shade
The next day I’m on a plane with Shade to Seattle.
Alone.
Just the two of us in first class.
You wouldn’t believe what we talk about on the plane to Seattle. Or, maybe you can. You know us pretty well by now.
About halfway through the flight, we start talking about piercings. Probably because Shade’s been playing with his lip ring for the last half hour and I can’t stop watching. It’s sexy as fuck.
“So when did you get your clit pierced?”
“When I was sixteen.”
He smiles, looks between my legs, then swallows and shifts in the seat next to me, his body leaning toward mine. We’re sharing body heat now. And our breathing, take a look. We’re both hot and bothered.
“Can I see?”
“No.”
Soft laughter rolls through him. “Why not?”
“Do you have piercings?” Jesus Christ, why am I doing this? I know the piercing he has. Nipples. Anti-tragus, vertical labret, tongue, lip, dick. . . .Gah! Stop. Just stop.
“Aside from my lip, nose, tongue, nipples, and ears?”
“Yeah.”
There’s a moment there. Do you see it? It’s when he slides his sunglasses down his nose and looks at me over the top, searching my eyes like he can’t decide what he’s going to do next.
He leans over and whispers, “Mydickis pierced.” Then he pulls back. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”
Gulp.
Goddamn it. Now I’m sweating. Between my legs. And everywhere else for that matter.
I ignore it completely and go with, “When did you get your tongue pierced?” And what I really mean is dick pierced, but I don’t ask.
“Thirteen,” he says, chuckling around the words. His tongue darts out, licking his bottom lip and then he pushes the barbell in his tongue out.
Goddamn.
“That’s young.”
“I suppose.”
He flashes me a devilish grin, notably straightening his posture. “What made you pierce your clit?”
Of course he’s curious about that. Most men are. “Dated a guy who owned a tattoo parlor when I was in high school. I’d never let him tattoo me, but the crazy bastard had a thing for making me bleed. Got off on it I think. Started with my belly button, then nipples and finally, clit.”
He’s quiet, an emotion I’m not familiar with tightens his jaw and digs at his brow. “And you let him?”
“Yeah, didn’t know any better. I was sixteen, mom didn’t give a fuck, so I just sort of did what I did. I don’t regret them because I enjoy the piercings.” My breathing deepens, my body giving away what I’m trying to hide from him.
“Why wouldn’t you let him tattoo you?”
It’s a loaded question and he knows it. It’s why he asked. “Because he wanted to tattoo his name on me, but also because it’s permanent and I’ve yet to find anything I want permanently tattooed on me.”
“I kind of like that you don’t have any.”
