Free By the Book by Scarlett Parrish

frowning.
    “Honestly, the pair of you look so worried.” He laughed on his return, now jacketless. “This is just me doing some showing off.” He pulled the waistband of his shirt up and over his head in seconds.
    Obviously has experience undressing in a hurry.
    “Jesus, Daniel; we’re not even in the bedroom yet.” Georgia laughed, not in the least shocked although pleasantly surprised, judging by the shine in her eyes.
    “I’m assuming that room’s for subdued lighting or darkness.” Daniel winked, shameless about being the center of attention. “And you need to see this when the light’s good.” He tossed his shirt onto the countertop, doing nothing to hide his bare skin. A man who was brazen enough to rip his own shirt off in front of a couple he was about to go to bed with would have no reason to cover himself, of course.
    I’d seen bare male torsos before on numerous occasions—mostly hot summer days during games of football in the park—but this situation was unique to say the least.
    He turned his back, drawing audible gasps from me and Georgia.
    “Jesus Christ.” Georgia’s soft voice articulated what I couldn’t, staring in mute amazement at the most elaborate tattoo I’d ever seen, covering most of Daniel’s back.
    He turned his head to the side, not looking at us, but paying closer attention to our surprise and, yes, admiration, even if in my case it could only be expressed in silence.
    “That is some ink you’ve got there.” Georgia’s words emerged in a gasp of admiration, and I could only agree with a slow nod. “That must have taken a lot of work.”
    “Yeah.” From here, at this angle, Daniel’s cheeky grin was clearly visible. But it only distracted me for a second, and his tattoo drew me again.
    Two wings inked in incredible detail with trompe l’oeil feathers layered his shoulder blades and trailed to the small of his back. Folded angel’s wings threatened to unfurl with each twitch of his shoulder blades. The colors were subtle: just enough pale blue at the ends of some feathers to make them look snow-white, enough yellow here and there to give the appearance of light refraction.
    “Daniel Cross, only here to show off.” He stayed still. Everything about him screamed cocky little shit ; he knew his tattoo would have such an impact the first time we saw it.
    “Hell, I would if I had a tattoo like that,” Georgia murmured, nearing him to touch his bare skin.
    He shivered—or perhaps it was a shudder—when she laid her palms against him.
    “Sorry; are you ticklish?”
    “No, no, touch me all you like, gorgeous,” Daniel said, punctuating his words with a quiet laugh. Twisting his neck even more, he looked me up and down, adding, “You don’t mind, do you, Reece?”
    Wondering if I was more drawn by the sight of his ink or my girlfriend touching his ink, I took a deep breath, willed myself to speak. “No. Not at all.”
    And I didn’t. And I wanted a piece of this. I wanted the games to begin. “That’s what we’re all here for, isn’t it?” I asked, and the room was silent. Not an oppressive silence, but one gravid with promise. All it would take was one word, a few words, a look, one move.
    Georgia ran a hand over one of Daniel’s shoulder blades. Her other came to rest on his hip, and for a moment her mouth was so close to his skin I thought she was about to kiss him, but instead she spoke. “I think we should take this into the bedroom.”
    Still touching Daniel, she looked back at me, the corners of her mouth lifting, a near-imperceptible accent to the lust in her eyes.
    * * *
    Daniel stopped after crossing the threshold to a bedroom that wasn’t his, looked back over his shoulder— dear God, what shoulders —and silently inquired of either Georgia or myself.
    Not that his reticence was born of uncertainty. Given his cocky nature, his ink, the fact that he wore makeup, he wasn’t shy. Neither was he impolite, and that was why he hesitated. Your