I point to my boobs. And then heat creeps up my face when he looks down at them. He grins.
“Oh, jeeze,” I say, burying my face in my hands.
He pulls my hands away. “What?” he asks. He must have thought I said something when my face was buried.
“Nothing.” I shake my head.
“I don’t do those often. Just once in a while. They give my name out at the cancer center.”
“You never charge them.”
He shakes his head. “I can’t. They need it.”
“So, how many boobs do you touch a day?” I ask playfully.
He grimaces. “Some,” he says.
“Really?”
He nods. “It’s a popular place for tats. Even when people aren’t getting new ni**les.” His face colors. I think he’s embarrassed.
Our discussion about boobs makes me think of what we’d just done in the bathroom. When I ran my hands up his chest, I’d discovered his piercings. He’d even let me look at them. “How many piercings do you have?” I ask.
He starts to count on his fingers. He stops at seven. “Seven?”
“Where?”
He points to each nipple, then his ears, then the shell of his ear. And then his gaze goes down to his crotch. He’s not smiling, and his eyes narrow, like he’s waiting to see my reaction.
I gasp, and nearly choke on my inhale. “Down there?” I whisper, a grin tugging at my lips.
He nods, taking a sip of his root beer.
“Did they hurt?” I suddenly have the most obnoxious desire to see every last one.
He shrugs.
“Can you do one for me?” I ask. Then I rush on to say, “Not today. Or any time soon. I don’t have enough money.”
“Where would you want it?” he asks.
I’ve only had my ears pierced, and never thought of doing any other part of my body. My ni**les go hard just thinking about it. “Did your ni**les hurt?” I whisper. Then I realize he can’t tell I’m whispering, since he’s just reading my lips.
“It hurts a little when you do it. But it goes away. Just like any other piercing.”
I can’t stop thinking about the one down there. Heat creeps up my cheeks again.
“I could pierce you. Anywhere you want,” he says. And his face floods with color.
“Anywhere?”
He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. When he opens them, he only opens one and he looks at me like he’s wincing when he says carefully. “Anywhere.” He looks at my boobs again and licks his lips. “Take your pick of places.”
Suddenly, I’m curious. “You do a lot of those?” I don’t know why that bothers me. “The… ones… down there?”
He shrugs.
I don’t like the idea of him touching anyone’s private places. Not at all. Although the idea of him touching mine… I squirm in my seat, and he arches a brow at me. “Something wrong?” he asks. He’s smirking.
I shake my head, biting my lips together. “Can anyone get a piercing like that?” I point toward my lap. I don’t know why I’m being so bold about this. But I’m curious.
“Most people can.” He plays with the salt shaker. “We’d have to take a look to see what type of piercing would be best for you.”
My face flames at the thought of him taking a look down there. He pushes my root beer toward me and says, “Drink. Before you pass out.” He’s grinning, though, and I’ve never seen such a look of confidence on a man. The awkwardness of a moment before has passed. And he’s enjoying making me squirm.
“Are there, like, different kinds?” My words don’t want to come out of my mouth gracefully.
He nods. He takes my hand in his and drags his thumb across the back. “There are as many kinds as there are types of women.”
I take a deep breath.
“Is there, like, a purpose for it?”
He grins. “There can be.” He takes a sip of his root beer. “Some people just like the idea of it. Then others like to play with it.”
“Play with it?” I choke out. His thumb is still stroking across the back of my hand, and he might as well be touching me right where a piercing might go. Because it’s thumping like crazy.
He leans closer to me, speaking softly. “Lips. Tongue. Fingers.” He licks his lips again. “Teeth.” He arches a brow at me. “I can go on, if you like.”
I hold up a hand. If he goes on, I might just spontaneously combust. “No thank you.”
“Another time,” he says.
He threads his fingers through mine.
“You scare me,” I blurt out.
He startles, jerking his hand back from mine. “Me? Why? What?” he asks, leaning forward.
He’s worried. I can tell, so I feel the need to fix the error I just made. “I have all these feelings for you,” I say.
He sits back, laying a hand on his chest, heaving a sigh in relief. “Oh, you scared me,” he breathes. “I thought I offended you with the sexy talk.”
“You didn’t offend me. But you make me want things I can’t have.” There. I admitted it. I want him. I want all the things that come with him. But I can’t have them.
“I feel like I need to tell you something,” he says. He’s thinking about his next words, and he’s talking very slowly, like the weight of them is hard for him to carry.