Stained

Chapter 98

I stiffen too. I'm about to take back my words, apologise but he speaks before I can.

"No one," he grumbles.

It can't be no one when he has permanently tattooed their name onto his body. But I don't say anything the way I shouldn't have in the first place because it's none of my business.

Pressing my curiosity, I begin to massage him. "Fuck!" He groans, loudly, when I put pressure on his shoulders.

"Be quiet please," I whisper in a panic. My mum could've heard that. Worse, her husband.

"Shit sorry," he apologises. I smile, an apology, how undamien like.

"You know what an apology is?" I tease, rubbing my fingers harder. He buries his face into my pillow and lets out a long, guttural groan.

His voice comes out muffled by the pillow. "Who knew you were so good at giving massages."

I press the heel of my good hand into his shoulder blade, over the rose tattoo and move it in long then small circular motions, watching in awe as the rose moves as if being propelled by the wind.

"It's both a curse and a blessing," I tell him. "I've been doing it ever since I was a kid. With each of my aunties pregnancies and my mums."

"Why's it a curse?" He asks, moaning.

I laugh and switch onto the other shoulder blade to give it the same attention. "Because whenever they get the chance they ask me to do it."

"I don't blame them." He turns his head to look at me. "I'd do the same. Hell, I'd even beg."

I smile. "Id love to see that." Damien begging is a sight I would love to paint and hang on my wall for the rest of eternity. I bet it would be worth more than the Monalisa.

However, I would never sell it. I'd cherish it for the rest of my life. I would even have it buried with me.

"You're the only one who could lower me to that," an emotion crosses his face and before I can decipher it, he buries his face back into the pillow.

Ten minutes into massaging him, Damien says, "stop now. Your fingers must be tired."

They are but I don't care. "No, they're fine, I usually go longer than this with my family." Thirty minutes to be exact.

"I'm fine now. I hardly felt any pain. You're overreacting for no reason." He tries to turn around but I press him into the bed.

"I'm not overreacting. I know what it feels like to fall off my bed." I've fallen off my bed three times. And one time, I think I hit my back against the wardrobe on my way down. "And it might not hurt much now, but trust me when I tell you it will later on."

"I've endured worse," he grabs my good hand, stopping me from pressing him into the bed again and turns around. My body angles to the side from the motion and he grabs my waist with his other hand to stop my head from hitting the wall.

He settles on his back. I try the puppy dog eyes. "Five more minutes, please," I add a pout.

He takes his hand off mine and brings it up to my face and parts my lips with his thumb.

I kiss his thumb. "Please," I plead very, very sweetly.

His blue-green eyes dance with mirth. "If you try to continue, I'll have to reciprocate, but not on your back but—."

My cheeks heat up and I lean forward, smack my palm against his mouth. Wide-eyed, I shake my head lightly. He was going to say something inappropriate. I know it.