Texting The Tattooist: A Steamy Standalone Instalove Romance by Flora Ferrari

Author:Flora Ferrari [Ferrari, Flora]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2023-02-12T18:30:00+00:00

CHAPTER 15

Killian

“Where is it, boy?” I say, looking around the motel room.

Speeder’s normally the most well-behaved dog a man could ask for, but while I was in the bathroom, a car alarm went off in the parking lot, and it sent him into an anxious frenzy, his lean body leaping around the room, knocking the TV over, messing up the blankets, scattering the cushions….

And, in the fray, somehow I lost my phone.

Maybe he picked it up and dropped it, or accidentally knocked it somewhere.

It was the worst time for me to use the bathroom, just as I was texting my woman.

I’ve been looking for the phone for what feels like an eternity now.

Checking the digital clock on its side from Speeder knocking it off the bedside table, I see it’s been more like twenty minutes.

No matter how much I search, I can’t find it. I’m beginning to think he swallowed it.

I make another circuit of the room, Speeder following with his eyes the entire time, an innocent look on his face as if he’s wondering why his human is causing such a fuss.

Kneeling, I look under the bed again. It looks dusty, but I can’t see anything.

And anyway, I’ve checked under here twice already.

Even so, I reach under, covering every inch of the floor, patting it down as though searching a person.

It’s dark down here, the bed casting a shadow. Maybe that’s making it difficult to see the phone?

I’m not holding out much hope, but then my hand snags on something.

A piece of the carpet is overturned, coming loose from the floorboards.

“How the….”

My phone’s under the folded piece of carpet.

I take it out, looking at Speeder.

“And you don’t even have the decency to look guilty.”

His mouth hangs open, tongue lolling out. I’ll need to run back to the apartment soon, and get him some food, his bed, and a bunch of supplies.

But first, my woman.

I scratch Speeder on the head when he pads over, then give him a tickle under the chin to wordlessly let him know I’m not really mad at him.

It was terrible timing, though.

The first new message is her telling me she’s a virgin.

My blood feels like it gets hotter, as if I’m burning up from the inside.

I savor the message, staring at it for a long time, taking in the declaration as it pounds through me and fills me up.

It’s true, then what I guessed.

Nobody else is ever going to touch her, ever going to get close to touching her. It’ll only be me, her man, her owner.

That’s not some prehistoric thing.

She owns me too.

We belong to each other.

I read through the following messages, taking my time to absorb everything she told me.

As I read, I wondered if my cute-as-hell woman was nervous when she sent these messages, firing them off in a flurry of anxiety.

There’s something confessional about them, like she thinks she owes me an explanation.

The only thing she owes me is the exact thing I owe her.

Our lives.

Her Dad had a mental illness, resulting in him shielding my woman from the world.

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