Surprise!!! We reached 1k reads on the 31st!! So here's the little gift I promised!! A new chapter full of everything we love 😘

'Slow, slow hands

Like sweat drippin' down our dirty laundry

No, no chance

That I'm leavin' here without you on me

I, I know

Yeah, I already know that there ain't no stoppin'

Your plans and those

Slow hands'

"Can I see it?" It may not have been the most important, yet with all the sensations he'd already created, the curiosity only sprang fiercer.

As soon as he stepped away, I rushed down my desk, even faster than what my wobbly legs could handle, but luckily, he was there to hold my hand, not without a sly chuckle, of course, and when I stopped in front of the mirror, I didn't mind the raspy sound rumbling louder against my back.

"A shooting star?!" I jumped once and then, leaned closer to the reflection to take in the ink, while, inside, the leaps continued with all the possibilities.

It was the same design as on my fidget toy, but bigger and more detailed, the navy paint stretching from the point where my heart was hammering in my throat to the base of my neck, near my collar bone, and for an anodyne painting that wasn't mean to last, each stroke was incredibly precise and meticulous.

I wished I could keep it forever, and the thought, although impossible, still crossed my mind like a meteor.

"Of course, for my shooting star." I wasn't sure what he was talking about as my gaze flicked to his in the mirror, and the devious twinkle there appeared magical, but my answer held an infinity of possible meanings.

"Thank you, my evil genie."

I kept my eyes on the reflection, unable to look away, and it became more hypnotizing when his fingers sauntered around the fresh paint. Intriguing branches were dancing around the streaks of blue like completing each other.

"Can I tattoo you too?" I turned to him with a new possibility in mind.

"Yes, sure, but I gotta warn you... There's not a lot of blank places left on my body." He spread his arms wide, showing most parts of his body covered in inks, including his dimple, and I carefully avoided his bad intention.

My mind, my gaze, and then, my fingers were already set somewhere else as I grabbed his hand, though I was surprised he didn't add any wily comment.

He was too focused, staring between my face – and my freckles, of course – and his left hand that I was tugging on. It was the hand already inked, contrary to his right hand, and other parts of his body he'd been implying, and I knew last night's conversation wasn't only fresh in my memory.

Even our touches reminded it: my fingers, determined and guided by an instinct as I grabbed his thin paintbrush and dipped it in the green can, and his strong body letting me move him with no resistance when I took my seat on the desk again and he sat on my chair.

His gaze was hung, pinned, to all my movements, and it made my fingers tremble as I put his large hand on my thigh and approached it with the brush, going ever so slowly, yet straight to the point I had chosen.

I barely tapped the tip of the paintbrush on his knuckle first, testing the color, and maybe also his reaction.

With the blue paint left on the bristles, the green became turquoise, but it would do. As for the remaining blue in his eyes, it seemed calm enough to dive more.

"It's better than real tattoos, it doesn't hurt. I could get used to it."

I eased a breath through my smile. If someone had told me that devious dimple would calm my shakes when the lightest hint of a smirk was making me skittish two weeks ago. 

My heart was still jumpy, but here, it was to count all his tattoos as I was almost seriously considering it. He had a lot of tattoos, and surely more than what I had seen so far.

Though I shook the thought away before it could bring too many flutters of curiosity and maybe something else.

For now, I was focused on the intersection of the two branches between his middle and ring fingers on the back of his hand, and I was careful, my eyebrows furrowing more and more with each stroke of brush as I made sure to not tremble or slip.

It would be washed away before sunset, I was well aware of it, yet I wanted to leave a mark in him and add more meaning to his tattoo. It felt like it worked a little when he started to recognize what I was drawing.

Of course, I wasn't as talented as he was, and the oval shape of green could have represented anything; however, from the way he held his breath, there was no doubt he saw the leaf. It wasn't as detailed and flowing as the ones flying around the branch inks, but the most important difference was the thin line that connected it straight to the branch, and when his other hand softly reached to graze my knee, it encouraged me to paint a few more.

It was all implicit message, and as we leaned closer to the new inks and to each other, even the air was carrying it. It was probably why his breaths were growing heavier, and my movements were still feathery when I pulled the paintbrush away.

My fingers zigzagged between the fresh and permanent inks as I took in the result.

Was it bad that I liked this tattoo even more now? With my mark, with the dashes of green making it messier yet adding colors to the dark ink like a spark of hope, the start of opportunities.

I realized there was nothing to add when goosebumps arose under my fingertips, like conveying the message up his wrist, and if I continued my caresses, sliding to his palms and until the remainings navy stains on the tips of his fingers, it was with no other purpose than hear his breathing quicken progressively, see the tensions of his muscles along the roots designs, and feel his gaze burn my skin.

"Here you are." My hoarse voice was as charged as the air, and when I lifted my gaze to his, I found the same electric thickness in the dark shades there.

I sucked in an empty breath as he slowly got up, his hand feeling heavier on my thighs, and I knew what was coming. When there were so many sparks, it was inevitable, and the snap happened faster than I'd expected with his mouth on mine.

There were the flames, the heat, and the explosions, all of that on our lips, along with the meanings of our paintings, and from the passion with which he was devouring my mouth, I guessed he liked my little drawing.

I could get used to his way of expressing with caresses of lips, nibbles, and swirls of tongue, and I didn't have to think before replying. It was easier, natural, and instinctive, making the kiss grow in a crescendo until we had no breath left.

However, in the frenzy, I still caught how careful he was with his left hand, gently skimming to the side of my neck that wasn't painted to not mess any of our inks, and he stayed as cautious while his other hand ran all along my back, and the kiss deepened with moans.

It was this softness that made my heart beat faster, and the soft tingle of his thumb caressing over the tender hammering skin of my neck that pulled my arms to reach out in need of more touch.

Actually, in spite of the feverish kiss, it was only when he leaned away from my mouth, his dark gaze sliding all over my face until where his hand was, and those sinful swollen lips formed into one of the purest smiles I'd ever seen that I took in the throbbing desire rushing to my core.

My legs wrapped around his waist, and I was glad to notice that I wasn't the only one touched by all those soft gestures as I rocked my hips forward once, twice, three times...

His lips didn't move from that wide grin, but the darkness spreading from his pupils progressively fell on the smile, and when a groan escaped it, there was nothing pure left about it.

His gaze wasn't fixed on his hand anymore; it was on me, all over me as his hips started meeting mine, keeping that same slow pace but adding more intentions, and there was no need to mention which kind of intentions.

Quickly, my lips parted to let out breathless moans instead of shallow pants, and I arched closer while the exposed muscles of his shoulders tensed, and I could sense those tensions under his hands pulling me closer. It was drawing me in to feel more, and my hands slipped away from their favorite place in his hair to explore down his neck, shoulders, biceps, and all those taut muscles.

I could have pretended I was in search of more inks to complete, yet when my fingers sneaked under the back of his shirt, and his lips crashed on mine, it was clear that I didn't see anything else than dark desire. A maddening spiral of dark desire as this kiss resumed as frantic, and the rest of our movements stayed as languid, every sensation heightened by the other.

My overwhelmed nerve-endings didn't miss one: the slow collisions of our centers along with the friction of our pants, and each time we pulled away, the desire pumping faster, his tongue reaching every inch of my mouth like he knew it by heart, and my hands treading carefully new territory directly on his smooth skin.

However, there was a detail that swamped all my attention when he broke away from the kiss for a second and tore off his tee-shirt.

I stilled my hips and leaned away.

It could have looked like it was too much, too fast, and I wanted to stop, but on the contrary, even if it was indeed too much, I only craved more, and judging by his smirk and cocked eyebrow, my expression was giving it away again.

Maybe my pupils were wide and dilated. Maybe my lower lip was falling on the floor, or I was eagerly nibbling on it, and my freckles were undoubtedly popping out. Yet I was too focused on trying to memorize each line, indent, and shade of this new part of him, and also his tattoos.

"You like my tattoos here too?"

I wished I wasn't feeding his ego and that smug dimple so much, but at least, one wavered with a sigh when my fingers grazed the muzzle of his gun tattoo.

I could feel the thuds of his heart under, almost as fast as mine, and I wandered around to touch everything else.

Just like for his face, he might have looked sharp with the edges and chiseled outlines of his abs, the contrasts of white skin and dark ink along with some hair, but under my fingertips, everything was smooth, the skin like satin, the few scars pale and polished by time, and even the firm muscles softening on my way.

As I gazed up at him, it made me wonder if it was the same for his piercing eyes, and I traced each of his tattoos like it could lead the way there.

From a small anchor to angular shapes and lines, he had a lot scattered here and there, yet the ones I lingered on were the gun design with my fingers, and a compass rose with my eyes. 

The gun was pointing straight to his heart like I'd guessed, and the compass, although being the bigger one and taking up half of his stomach, had for center his belly button and for north, well, the insides of his pants. Shouldn't it have been the contrary?

It definitely wasn't ordinary, and drunk mind or not, I doubted he'd chosen it with no meaning.

My fingers went lower, sliding over his nipple, and all the sinful kinds of tickles in my insides – curiosity wasn't the only sin – were outnumbering the shakes of my nerves because the twitches of his muscles didn't stop me, and the rapid rises and falls with his breaths even led me faster to the East peak of his compass, where a bump slowed me down – my hands, of course, but also my heart.

It was a scar, nothing extraordinary on his sharp body, as I'd already glimpsed a few on his arms, hands, and like for his tattoos, I feared there was more. However, this one was smoother than the others, probably older, and it was the only one hidden perfectly by inks. Only while following down the lower arrows could I feel all the rough patches, and as if sensing the questions forming in my hazy mind, his own hands snaked under my tee-shirt, gliding over unmarked skin.

He was distracting me; I didn't need to look in his eyes to know it, and even if it made everything rush faster inside, my fingers didn't stray from their languid route, at least, until he bunched up my shirt and exposed my stomach.

I was right at the top of the South peak, and the mix of his satiny skin, some dampness from all his efforts while painting, his heavy breaths, and maybe also, the desire running in my veins, made my fingers skid straight to the belt of his pants.

There, it was only one thing guiding my hand down the rough fabric until his bulge: pure lust. Of course, there was curiosity and the need to understand, but they were just sparks in a fire of lust, and he was the fuel: his groan, his calloused fingers on my skin, and the twitch of his bulge when I traced the outlines above his zipper like I'd done for his inks.

"You should stop."

I was above the tip of his hardness; I could feel it, and the strain of the black fabric along with the way he slightly hunched forward and his grip on my breast and neck unconsciously tightened was contradicting his words, inviting me to keep going.

That was what I did. Just the fact that he was here today was proof that I wasn't good at following demands, and I trusted the sensations fusing in my guts, adding the same pressure that his fingers were putting on my breast on his bulge.

"You don't have... It's not because– You don't have to return for your bullshit politeness." His voice was more strained than I'd ever heard, and when I looked in his eyes, they were shadowed by heavy lids as if he was battling with everything inside to hold a part of him, a wild part of him. I could glimpse it already through his half-closed eyes as I licked my lips and searched for the words to say, pulling my hand away.

"I'm not." Both of my hands grasped firmly the loops of his pants, and I straightened the best I could when his touch was melting me weak. "I want to make you feel good." I used his words from last night, although my voice wasn't as confident. "If you want to?"

His hands dropped from me, and before an ounce of rejection could reach me, I was engulfed by his deep chuckle as he leaned forwards and his hands rested on my desk on each side of me. "You really have the words every man dreams to hear."

He kissed my neck just above the star ink, and the soft touch was enough to send a surge in my fingers to fiddle with his belt – 'fiddle', and not unbuckle because I was struggling, and he did nothing to help me. On the contrary, his smoldering gaze observing me from so close and his figure hovering over me were making it hard to see and focus on what my shaky hands were doing.

Though it wasn't the hardest part, and when I finally opened his belt and pants after a too-long minute, my fingers were as clumsy as if invaded by pins and needles. My pins and needles were inexperience paralyzing me and desire flooding in the opposite way. It made my movements too pressed or too light.

Yet Blade didn't seem to mind, on the contrary, as his forehead fell on my shoulder, and he hummed a groan that sounded pleased. If I had any doubt left, his hips erased it with a thrust forward towards my hand.

So with the same clumsiness as before, I hooked my fingers in the elastic of his briefs, and I was glad that he decided to help me roll down the tight fabric.

I didn't know which one of us let out the biggest sigh of relief, but surely him when his erection was released, and I sucked back the shaky breath.

I had never seen one for real, in that state, and the pins and needles sensations were spreading throughout my whole body with a shudder.

It looked even more impressive than it felt, and of course, it fitted the rest of his handsome body. Thus, it was easy to imagine my fingers were attracted to it. Yet it didn't stop the shakes inside and outside, and I approached it carefully, following the lines pointing there, of his tattoos and muscles, while he kicked off his pants the rest of the way.

It didn't mean his eyes strayed away from me though, and I could feel it adding heaviness to each of my movements from the empty breath I tried to take to the tip of my fingers as I grazed the destination. With the lines and reliefs resembling a map, it could really be called a destination, and like for a hidden treasure, I traced with an unsure finger from his base all the way to his tip, exploring new territory and sensations.

It was warm, hard, and velvety at the same time, of course, full of contrasts, and what surprised me the most was his reaction to my featherlike touch. The twitches and tensions were hypnotizing and unsettling, my fingers hesitating between pulling away and touching more.

I could handle guns easily, but here, I was completely clueless. Well, it was also a dangerous weapon, and I jumped higher than if I'd heard a gunshot when his voice pulled me out of my trance.

"It doesn't bite." Before I could even glance at his mischievous smile, he let me feel it over my ear. "But I can't promise you the same with my mouth." He tugged my earlobe between his teeth, and I couldn't decipher if he was trying to help me relax or just tense me more because both reactions happened in my nerves, echoing the throbbing between my legs.

Though at least, the sight and sensations of his magical smirk were tensing and relaxing me enough to release the question on my lip. "What do I do?"

I caressed his length again, focusing on his husky voice and the breath coming with it. "Wrap your hands around, don't be shy, and... just trust your instincts."

Of course. If he hadn't been sucking his mark below my ear like a devil on my shoulder, I surely would have rolled my eyes. But instead, I closed them and did as he'd told.

I felt. I felt the warmth and all the contrasting textures under my small hand, the slow intake of air he sucked in, the plumpness of his lips melting and halting near my pulse, the quivers of his abs under my other hand, and all these details about him.

All my senses were directed towards him as I wanted to make him feel good, and it was instinctively that my hand slowly slid along his length.

"Yes, just like that, Shooting star."

It was known by now the effect that this nickname had over me, and propelled by a trail of sparks, my other hand joined as I accentuated the pressure and the rhythm, still guided by each of his reactions and my primal instincts. 

When his hips jerked forward, I picked up the pace, and when he pulled away from my neck to look at me, I peered up at him, slowing my movements near his swollen end.

"You can brush the tip too," he rasped the words with the gravelly syllables of a demand and the breathless echo of a plea, and I didn't know which sound sent electricity through my nerves, yet I complied, sliding my thumb there once, twice, three times while continuing my other movements.

"Like that?"

"Yes, but fuck! Don't look at me with those big innocent eyes when your hands are so talented."

I could tell him the same, or the opposite because the look in his eyes was dangerously sinful, the pale colors of my room only highlighting the dark wilderness, and it was surely why my eyes were so large, taking in everything. I couldn't help it. I was hung on everything about him.

Each shallow wind he panted made me take in emptier breaths, and the way he sucked on his lower lip made me lick my own dry lips. Every faint tension in his muscles was sending shudders in mine, and the pulsations under my palm were setting the pace for the ones in my core. It was like I could feel each of his sensations, and he wasn't touching me – if we didn't count his penetrating gaze reaching straight to my core – yet I was a melting mess of adrenaline, sparks, and desire.

It was a different kind of pleasure, arising from a rush of power to make him feel that way, but at the same time, it was fully dependant on his own pleasure.

It was on a quest for more of all of this that my hands trailed lower down his member.

"Can I?" I glanced up at his features, and judging by the carnal look in his eyes, mine must have widened, and again, I was captivated by his reaction.

His gaze flickering between my hands brushing his balls and my face made it appear like a hesitation, yet not to answer my question, as his nod was sharp enough. It was more a dilemma between if or when he would pounce on me, and his decision was taken when I massaged slowly his balls, and he jumped on my lips, mumbling on them,

"Those hands will be the death of me..."

I doubted it when his own fingers snaked inside my pants, and my heart crashed against my ribcage.

I hadn't noticed him opening my pants and pushing my briefs to the side, but I felt him against my throbbing heat. It was overwhelming with his mouth crashing on mine and the wave of pleasure he was already sending through my body.

How did he expect me to keep making him feel good?

Well, I seemed to still manage to do it with the messy and fast strokes of my hands because a low groan rumbled from his chest straight to my lips, and the only thing I might have forgotten in all of that was to breathe.

I gasped out of the kiss when his fingers slipped through my wetness.

"Not so innocent, huh?"

I could only reply with a sinful moan, not even trying to pretend. Those devious eyes were piercing through me, and with his fingers coated in my desire, I couldn't hide. I was a mess, and everything here was pure sin.

Just the image of him, my evil genie, with his eyebrows furrowed in bliss and his erected member under my hands was something I would never erase, like a sinful tattoo seeping under my skin. It would haunt my lonely nights, and now, listing his inks would be different, and not only because I'd discovered new ones.

I was seeing them in a new light as they were dancing and glistening with each of his sinful movements – our sinful movements actually because we were perfectly in sync. His hand was following the rhythm of mine, which was dependant on his reactions and my instincts. 

It was a harmonious waltz of pleasure, where I couldn't distinguish his bliss from mine; it was just fusing everywhere like two shooting stars mirroring each other, and maybe they would crash. I would crash; I could sense the impending explosion.

After barely a few circles and flicks against my nerves, his killer fingers were bringing me there, gathering everything that we'd done for each other today. It was a lot of sparks, and they were taking control.

"Blade! I'm– I'm–" I was fighting with the outnumbering sparks, and they were already taking away my voice as I tried my best to focus on him.

It was about him. I wanted to make him feel good, and I could feel he was close too.

Nevertheless, his pleasure was only heightening mine, and the tingles weren't only taking over from my core; they were also climbing up my fingers, which accelerated their rhythm in a desperate need to take him with me in the crash.

"I'm close too, baby... Just come for me." He rested his forehead on mine, and I might have been staring at his hardness for minutes; however, when his hazy gaze dived in mine from so close, I couldn't resist the explosion.

All the sparks burst somewhere deep inside – my core, my guts, my chest, there were so many that it was hard to tell.

I was a shooting star propelled higher and higher as his fingers continued tracing their magical patterns, and when his left hand cupped my cheeks, it added a spark that heightened everything, and not only because he crashed his lips on mine. No, it was the softness of his large hand and the attention he was putting to preserve my painting in all this whirlwind that was stronger than anything, and it was bringing more than all the pleasure we'd built together. There were also the emotions we'd painted before, and all added, it was so intense that my hands stilled as I arched in pure bliss.

It was like my body couldn't react while my soul was taken in outer space. Yet my senses were still hyper-aware, and I felt acutely the thrusts of his hips to meet my hands, and all the tingling spreading through him as he jolted forward, and I took him with me.

"Fuck–"

Two shooting stars crashing together, and we were getting lost in the infinite. There, I felt it: the glimmer of hope in all those bursts of fire, the start of possibilities. We'd escaped those four walls in our own way, and we had created our lights in more than the ceiling.

Of course, I would never be able to put this in my school project, but I still relished this sensation somewhere between our names clashing on each other's lips, our convulsing bodies, and the warm liquid on my hand, and when we came back down, it remained in a small corner of my chest. It maintained the lightness in my veins, and it was surely for this reason that I needed a few seconds after he'd pulled his hand away from my panties to realize I was still holding him.

When my hands jumped away as if bitten, I didn't need to look to know the sly remark at the corner of his lips. In fact, I could feel it as he was softly nipping my underjaw.

I didn't dare to glance down either, so I focused on the starry ceiling as the question slipped out of my mouth. "Did I make you feel good?"

"Not good."

Although my gaze was still on the stars he'd painted above, I saw the light flickering, and all the good I'd just felt wavered the same way if we hadn't shared it.

Yet his fingers were quick to lower my chin, and when I met his gaze, there were the lights.

"It was more than good." His Cheshire cat's grin widened, and I was dazzled in more ways than one when he pulled me to look down at the mess we'd made.

His rose compass tattoo had been completed too, and I nibbled on my smile as I tried to comprehend if the rush of blood to my cheeks was out of embarrassment or pride, or maybe want for more?

Anyway, I couldn't stare like this.

"Um, if you want you can use the bathroom to clean up. It's the next door on the right." I pointed, busying my hands awkwardly.

"Isn't it ladies first?"

"No, it's okay. You're more messed than me– I mean..." I didn't bother to finish my stammering sentence as his amused chuckle sounded like the perfect period.

He wasn't offended, and I suspected that he even guessed that I didn't trust my mushy legs to walk yet. At least, he made sure to send more tingling in them.

"You can join if you want." He left a lingering peck on my lips to emphasize his invitation, tilting my balance point as my body was drawn forward.

The thought of following him was tempting, and it wasn't my wobbly legs holding me back, but the sight of his naked body walking casually through my bedroom.

It was a contrast with my pale walls and the porcelain doll on my shelf. Mostly, it was a contrast with me as I glanced down at my fully clothed figure with just a few creases exposing my milky skin, and although it could have been his naked glory leaving me paralyzed on spot, it was, on the contrary, my insecurities weighing down on my ardors.

He'd seen parts of me naked, yet he hadn't seen me fully. No man had, and as I watched his strong back inked with a knife following down his spine and his nice perky butt leaving my room, I couldn't help but feel bland. I had no ink, nothing standing out in my silhouette, and I was far from the luscious forms of the women attracting all the men.

I tried to shake that lingering thought away, yet like a deeper wound, it couldn't be erased or even covered with shiny paint. That was why when I slipped down my desk, I didn't walk through my door, and I stopped in front of the full-length mirror, letting my gaze go down from my shooting star to my exposed ankles, and from my messy ponytail to... my butt. 

My eyes widened there, and clearly, it wasn't because of its size, but because of an ink.

'Priceless', the word was scribbled on the lowest part of my tee-shirt, at the same spot where a '$2.50' had stained my dress on that rainy day, and it would be one more piece of clothing ruined. Yet my smile stretched as wide as when I'd seen the shooting star painting.

I didn't know when he had written it, and with his magic powers and deviously talented hands, it could have been at any moment. But the most important was the meaning, and the light it fueled inside my chest. I would definitely keep this shirt, and I was twirling around as if I'd been wearing my most beautiful dress.

Nothing could stop me, not even when my dizzy eyes landed on the stain we'd made on the pale carpet. To think that we'd been careful to not leave a stain with the paint!

And now, there was one more stain to hide. I was a mess. I laughed to myself on that thought, and Blade would surely think I was crazy again. But that only made me giggle more.

Maybe, just maybe, I didn't have to cover the mess I was with him.

I think it's a nice way to end the year, what do you think? 😏🔥😈

If you liked it, you know what to do: vote ⭐ and comment!!

Tell me what you think of the hot part but also the 'tattoos' they have painted on each other! Aren't they too cute and hot? 😍🔥

Finally, I wanted to thank you one last time for the 1k reads! It means a lot to me: each little read, each little vote, each little comment, each little notification!! You're my best motivation, and I love you, my little shooting stars 🌠🤩😘❤