I ask in a whisper, watching as Damien draws an intricate floral design over my outer thigh. I’m lying on my side, naked on his bed after spending hours in his arms, lost in his body, in this feeling we share. It’s almost 3am, my body is buzzing from a night filled with love making and refusing to sleep, for fear I could miss a single moment with him. “Branding you,” he murmurs, planting a kiss, just next to where he’s begun drawing a butterfly. “It’ll wash off, won’t it?” I ask, grinning as I watch the concentration on his face – the gentle crease of his dark brow, the slight narrowing of his light brown eyes, the pull of his lip by his teeth. He’s beautiful. “Eventually.” He smiles slightly, as he blows gently over my skin, drying the ink. “What kind of a pen is that?” “Don’t move. You’ll ruin it.” “Damien,”
