“Fucking beautiful,” he hisses under his breath.I tear my gaze from his hands, peer up at him through my lashes, and offer a faint smile. “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, Leo. And don’t curse around my baby,” I say, playfully slapping his chest, breaking us free from the heavy moment. Too many feels are happening, and I can’t afford to do feels. “Now it’s your turn. Strip for me, old man."
His hands leave my body, accompanied by a scowl. “You are beautiful and I’m not old.” Then, he swiftly pulls his t-shirt over his head and tosses it on top of the blanket.
I laugh and roll my eyes, trying desperately not to gawk at his very toned and very tan torso, but as usual, I fail epically. The tattoo of a lion’s profile inked across his left pec catches my attention instantly, and without his permission, I reach up and trace it with my fingertip, closely studying the intricate design. Entwined into the tendrils of the mane, a quote is hidden: Courage without conscious is a wild beast.
“Now that is fucking beautiful,” I murmur softly. “Tell me what it means.”
Bringing his forefinger up under my chin, he tilts my head so I’m staring into his smiling eyes. “Maybe later, and don’t curse around the baby, young lady.”“Touché,” I reply with a grin. Tou-fucking-ché.