Just One More: A Valentine's Day Novella by Jodie Slaughter

Author:Jodie Slaughter [Slaughter, Jodie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Slaughter Publishing
Published: 2020-02-13T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 8

Vic

We settled for ice cream instead. Whitney laughed at me for being an “old ass man” for only having butter pecan, but she ate it anyway—smile and all. She was lax in her post-orgasmic state; her voice a little lighter, limbs a little looser, smile a whole lot wider. As much as I enjoyed seeing her like that, I spent every second of our late-night dessert waiting for the other shoe to drop. I felt like I was living on borrowed time. She could get up at any minute, give me one of her flirty smiles and traipse out of my apartment for good. I’d respect it, of course—I’d have no choice but to—but I’d still hate it.

I knew I was a romantic. I tended to fall fast and hard. Unfortunately, most of those hot and heavy relationships burned out just as fast as they started. I couldn’t say that I’d never felt what I was feeling for Whitney right now. The goofy ass butterflies and heart eyes. Those were both familiar, but there was something else, too. It wasn’t love, I knew that, but I still couldn’t name it. Whatever it was wanted me to drop down on my knees in front of her and beg her not to leave yet. I hadn’t gotten nearly enough of her. Not just the sex, but her presence. The scent of her hair and skin, the way her hips swung when she walked, the sight of her laughing loudly in my kitchen. I wasn’t thinking about forever—that would have been ridiculous. But I was thinking about another night. One more, at least; just a little more time to get to know her, to memorize her so that when we finally did separate, she was hard as hell to forget.

“You’re staring real hard.” Whit’s voice shocked me out of my thoughts. When my vision cleared up, I noticed that I’d been staring at her, hard. Not her face, but the large tattoo on her thigh.

“Yeah,” I coughed, trying to cover my ass. “I’ve spent plenty of time between those thighs, but I haven’t really gotten a chance to look at that.”

She looked down at it too, a soft smile on her face. “You like it?”

“It’s amazing.”

The tattoo was pretty big. A ten-inch rose sprouting sparse leaves along the long stem. Around the top was a thinly drawn half heart that framed it beautifully. The tattoo was dark, devoid of any of the coloring of her other ink, but just as gorgeous.

“Thank you. I did it myself, actually.”

“What?” I looked at it again, taking in the intricate line work and detail. “You can do that?”

“You can if you’re as skilled as me.” She laughed at her own words, but I knew she was serious.

“Did you do any of the other ones?” I asked, my eyes roaming her body, looking at the beautiful art.

“Nope. I normally like to sit back and let everyone else do the work, but this one was special. I knew

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