Free Flirting with Sin by Naima Simone

quiet.” He crossed his arms.
    Taut muscles flexed, and the vivid mural painted over his skin drew her attention like a bee to the sweetest honey. A beautiful but haunting Day of the Dead tattoo covered his bicep. Long, dark-brown hair flowed around her human and skeletal features. Hearts, graceful lines and swirls decorated her face, rendering her lovely but almost…disturbing. Life and death. A remembrance of someone lost.
    A fist-sized lump lodged in her throat. God, how he must have loved her—love her still. Raising a hand, she stopped just short of tracing the inked art, her finger hovering above the rendering.
    “Your girlfriend?” She didn’t say her name. Didn’t need to. There was only one woman who would warrant such devotion to be permanently marked into his skin.
    Silence beat between them, loud and thunderous. Cursing herself for prying and bringing up “she who shall not be named,” Neveah dropped her hand. “Never mi—”
    “It’s my mother.” He lowered his gaze to his arm, his voice a low rumble. “I inherited my love of tattoos from her. She used to wear Mehndi designs on her hands and feet. They were gorgeous…just like her.” Tracing the lines of the tattoo, he smiled. “I think she would appreciate my tribute to her.”
    “I’ve seen pictures of her.” Neveah hesitated, unsure if he would welcome her talking about his mother. “She was a beautiful woman. I see her in you and your brother.”
    He lifted his head, a small smile gracing his sensual mouth, though his eyes remained shadowed and soft with memories and an old sadness. “Did you just find a round-about way to call me beautiful?”
    She snorted, shaking her head.
    “I love when you do that. When you snort. It’s like you’re saying, ‘I call bullshit.’” The corner of his mouth hiked higher. “Other than my brother, Liam, Oliver and Jack, no one has the balls to do it.”
    The compliment scored her, and she must not have been able to conceal the hurt, because a frown replaced Ari’s smile. Concern deepened the green in his eyes as he reached for her, stroked the back of his finger down her cheek. Her lashes fluttered close, and she savored the gentle caress even though indulging in any touch from him was a mistake.
    “What’s wrong?”
    Nothing hovered on the tip of her tongue. But unlike in the kitchen—God, had it only been this morning?—she didn’t avoid his question. Didn’t want to. Not anymore. It’d just been a few hours ago, but they were past evasion and non-answers.
    “Troy, my-ex, hated when I snorted. He called it unladylike. Said I sounded like a pig.” Humiliation singed her face. God. She inwardly cringed, detesting the remnants of shame shimmering through her. Why am I even telling him this?
    “What a fucking douche.” His full lips flattened into a grim line. “How long were you with him?”
    “Two years.” Again with the mortification. Not only because of her admission over how she’d allowed a man to systematically flay her self-esteem. But because she’d stayed.
    “Why?” His tone was just as soft as hers had been, but void of the condemnation. “You don’t strike me as the kind of person who would put up with his kind of shit. Not even for a minute.”
    She huffed a humorless chuckle . “Remember my fixer syndrome? Well, I’m also a chronic people pleaser with the unfortunate habit of choosing assholes as partners. Troy worked for my father, who really liked him, and he seemed nice, stable. Even when signs popped up—his coldness, the criticisms, punishing silences—I explained them away and racked my brain for things I could change to please him. I was so tired of failing at relationships, I convinced myself this one could work if I only did better.”
    “Oh, baby…” he breathed, cupping her face.
    “I know it sounds pathetic—”
    “Don’t.” A small muscle ticked along his clenched jaw. “Don’t do that to yourself.”
    She blinked and, in the midst of the