I find myself increasingly distracted by the idea of Bethany getting tattoos, most especially tattoos given by Garret. By Garret straddling her back, legs wrapped tight around her hips, working in silence, in song, occasionally wiping excess blood and ink away with a hand that lingered in the shadow of her skin, mapping the topography of sound. What brought forth a sigh, a twisting shift that brought her hands up to grip the sheets, grip him, a hum that resonated straight through him and made him pause, made him fold over her back without a sound, breathing raggedly through his nose in an attempt to keep still, to keep himself from touching her. He failed, as he always did when it came to his sister.
Tossed the gun aside to catch her up in his arms, bring her flush against his chest so he could touch and be touched, Bethany's head falling back against his shoulder with a breathless little laugh that went straight to his cock and made him bury his face against the damp of her skin with a groan, catching up handfuls of her and brushing, rubbing with the calloused pads of his thumbs places that made her arch, made her trail off into short little catches if breath that pulled at him, compelled him to tug her around for a kiss that felt so good it almost pained him. Bethany reached up and twisted her fingers deep in his hair, wringing forth a sound that made her smile, made her twist and arm between them to shove him down. Now it was her turn to settle across his hips, making herself comfortable with a little sigh that made him reach for her. She batted his hands away with a swiftness belief by her smile, pushed them down over his head. "Let's see what you've got written in between your lines," she murmured against his mouth.