Chapter 6
Ink stayed quiet while following Aidan out to the truck, which sat battered and scratched-up on a dirt road and regarded him warily. He didn’t blame it; he was the interloper here.
But he wasn’t. Not exactly. Aidan had brushed fingers against his while walking, once and then twice; Ink had finally laughed and grabbed that oddly bashful hand in his. Aidan’s fingertips needed warming, anyway.
Emotions lurked and tangled under his skin. Exhilaration. Brilliant shuddering aftermath. Lingering floaty completion, drenching thoughts in blurry ecstasy. Pink and rose-hued soreness, the glorious kind, radiating inside and out. Aidan had fussed over the cold and Ink being naked and had plopped his own leather jacket on Ink’s shoulders for the walk. Ink’s heart had done a small somersault
