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I feel her nudge me. “So, you, basically.”
“You’re starting to get it. If your name isn’t Daphne Chekhov, then yes—be very, very wary of me.”
I spot the place I was looking for and lead Daphne across the street.
“A tattoo parlor…?” she says in confusion.
I press a finger to her lips. “You’ll see soon enough.”
It’s clean and cozy in here, with dark wood floors and golden lamps suspended from the ceiling. All the waiting area seating is real leather, and I know for a fact that the coffee table is hand-carved mahogany.
I know because it’s a gift from me. The owner of this shop once did me a favor, so I sent a little token of my gratitude once everything calmed down.
She suddenly spins on her heels to gape at me. “Are you getting a tattoo?”
“I think it’s time to commemorate my family. Get something for you and Tatyanna. On my chest, maybe. Over my heart.”
“Oh, no,” she purrs with a wicked grin. “I want my name where everyone can see.”
The way she says it sends a rush through me from head to toe. Moya plamya. My little flame.
I grin back at her. “H.R. might be upset. But I think you’re right. I want my wife’s name where the whole fucking board of directors can see it.”
The tattooist comes out with a bright smile and respectful nod. When I nod back, she starts setting up the chair and equipment for us.
“I’m thinking… here.” Daphne softly strokes her fingertips from the right side of my jaw down my neck. “Something that wraps me around you.”
“Are you both getting a design? Or just one of you?” the artist chimes in.
I’m about to say it’s just me, but Daphne stops me with a hand on my arm. “I… I kind of want to get something, too.” She blushes. “If that’s alright.”
I can’t resist the growl of aroused approval as I rest my hands on my sexy wife’s waist. The thought of her walking around with my mark permanently on her body, permanently visible for everyone to see she belongs to me… I like it.
I tip her head to one side to see the hickey I left on her neck last night. It’s right under her jaw. Right where I can taste her moans when she comes apart on my cock.
I trail my thumb down her neck to her collarbone. “Something beautiful, but delicate. Like you.”
“You think I’m delicate?”
“I think you want people to think you’re delicate.” The concept gives me an idea. “Do you trust me?”
Daphne sucks in a breath and blinks up at me. “Always,” she breathes.
I turn to the design pad and grab a pencil. As I sketch out our family symbol, the Chekhov crest, I make a mental note to find the necklace I gave her. She hasn’t worn it in a while—and she hasn’t needed to, with my rings on her finger and my name on all her paperwork—but it’s still a beautiful piece.
I add some filigree to wrap around the crest like the vines of her namesake. Our name will be on her neck, but the curving leaves on swirling tendrils will dance along her skin down to just above her breast.
I can’t wait to trace each detail with my tongue.
This design gives me inspiration for my own tattoo, so I flip to another blank page and start sketching that one, too. Daphne peeks around my arm and blows out a low whistle.
“Damn. If you ever decide to change careers…”
“I just might. From Mob Boss to Bauhaus: The Pasha Chekhov Story.”
She giggles and slaps me on the arm, and it occurs to me, not for the first time, that I’d like to spend the rest of my life hearing that sound.
The room is set up with two chairs for us to use and a few hooks on the wall to hang any clothes we need to remove. I don’t think twice about peeling off my shirt and hanging it up.
