Sugar Love by Victoria H. Smith

Author:Victoria H. Smith [Smith, Victoria H.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Amazon: B01BRU6U6O
Published: 2016-03-30T23:00:00+00:00

She was artwork, her body the canvas.

God, how did this girl have more ink than me?

But she did, though, and I drew my finger down a set of music notes. I’d tasted those notes. She had them running down the side of her waist before wrapping around to her lower back. They ran right along her panty line so it wasn’t a wonder why I’d never seen them. It was like she hid them away, only to be seen when she was intimate with someone, when she was touched.

Her forever-smooth skin tempted me to continue doing so, but I kept my touch light, her eyes still closed in slumber. It was the middle of the night and I didn’t want to wake her up.

More ink took my attention, her ass cheek, and I squeezed, the warm flesh so full in my hand. She had a star there like the one on her ankle, an exuberant flourish on her dark skin. I circled it, the tip of my finger skimming the burst as I doubled back. On the beach, I noticed she had those little embellishments all around her, but now, I could see more of them, the complete picture. A heart near her belly button matched the one on her inner thigh, and a small arrow could be witnessed at the underside of her breast. Lots of little bits of ink covered the surface of her but nothing too overwhelming on her beautiful skin. She had just enough, something here and something there, and they all made sense. She was a free spirit, Harley. She clearly did what she wanted.

How awesome that freedom would be, wouldn’t it?

Thoughts flashed back to my fight with my own artwork. Yeah, I had them, but each one came with a lecture when I went out on my own to get them. It would always be that way; forever be a fight in this industry.

A bit of black shown through thick purple strands, Harley’s hair over her back as she lay on my chest.

My hand on her shoulder, I pushed the strands away and smiled at yet another tattoo underneath them. She had a bar code there, several solid black stripes and I thought how fitting for her. It reminded me of the work she did, CDs and such.

My thumb moved over the surface, words ringing in my head from a far off place.

“You have always been about the music.”

What Haze said still drummed, bleeding into my thoughts well into the night. I had always been about the music and still was. I never wouldn’t be. Music was my life, my go-to of stability in many moments alone. My mom worked her ass off so I could have a future, and though I loved her dearly for it, that commitment often left me to my own devices in her absence. It was in those moments I found music, and that would always be a part of me. It would always make up a huge part of my soul.

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