Now they must find each other in not just one world, but two.
Marie and her award-winning tattooist, Paul, are working on her intricate tattoo, the layers of complexity deepening with each appointment. As the tattoo evolves, so does their desire and longing for each other. Yet they’re both experienced in love and wary of being hurt; can they overcome their fear enough to trust each other with their hearts? And when they begin having shared dreams about a strange land called Arkham, will they be able to overcome the obstacles to find love together in not just one world, but two?
There were no words as I strained up against his touch. He left his fingers there between my throat and my hand, and after another long still moment he leaned down and kissed me. I sank back against the floor and my muscles loosened. The decanter clinked on the linoleum, and then the palm of his other hand brushed my lips. I whispered against his hand, “Drink, Paul.”
He nodded slowly, and his fingers left my throat. Light shone through the wine and turned it scarlet as he held the decanter above my skin. “Breathe in.” As he tilted the decanter, he whispered my name.
I held my breath as the liquid trickled against my throat and slowly filled the depression. I followed him with my eyes, and kept my head still as he leaned over me again. Without thinking I started to release my pent-up inhale, but drops of wine began coursing down the side of my neck. I sucked my breath in again as he murmured, “No no, hold it. There you go.”
My pulse throbbed, my blood singing in my ears with the distant roar of the ocean, as Paul’s tongue touched my skin and lingered there. I found my fingers rising, without any conscious intent, to caress the back of his head and pull him tighter.
His lips formed a seal against my skin as he drank the wine. When he’d finished I felt the change from the wet of the alcohol to the humidity of his breath, but he left his mouth there for a moment longer before moving. I closed my eyes as my breath escaped in a sigh, and a wave of lightheadedness swept through me.
A palm, warm and slightly callused, stroked my cheek. I knew what he’d do, and I parted my lips a second before he met them with his own. The kiss was a slow dance. He tasted of the wine, musky tannins and the suggestion of black cherries, and the heavy brown taste of oak at the back of my throat.