Craving The Wrong Brother (Sloane and Knox) novel Chapter 147

One of Jade's hands goes to my shoulder to adjust my position.

“First problem, your stance is completely wrong,” he says, using his foot to nudge my feet wider apart. “You’re standing like you’re afraid the gun’s going to attack you. Plant your feet. You want a stable base, not whatever this tippy-toe situation is.”

He continues his lessons. We practice the stance, the grip, the sight alignment over and over until my arms ache. By the end of the lessons, I’ve actually managed to hit the paper a few times. Not well, but it’s progress.

After we finish up, I head to the private room where Knox is getting tattooed. The buzz of the tattoo machine fills the air as I push through the door.

Knox is stretched out on his stomach, and his eyes track my movement the second I enter.

I settle into a chair in the far corner, deliberately positioning myself so I can’t see whatever design is taking shape on his back. He’s been so secretive about it, covering it up every time I try to peek.

“How were the lessons?” he asks.

“Jade’s an asshole.”

Knox grins. “That’s exactly why I like him. Absolutely zero moral compass. Just like you.”

“Excuse me? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means I love you,” he says, his voice dropping lower. “And you’d look incredible naked on this table.”

I have to give the tattoo artist credit; he doesn’t even flinch. Doesn’t pause in his work or give any indication he heard Knox’s inappropriate comment.

The heat in Knox’s voice and the way he’s looking at me make my cheeks burn. It’s ridiculous how he can still make me blush like a teenager. We’ve been having an insane amount of sex lately—like, constantly, everywhere, in ways that would probably get us arrested if we got caught. And somehow simple comments like that still turn me into a blushing mess.

Even now, I’m getting flustered thinking about yesterday when he pulled me into that supply closet behind the bar during peak hours and had me pressed against the shelves, one hand over my mouth to muffle my gasps while he worked me over with his fingers until my legs gave out. Then later, he had me sprawled across his office desk for what felt like hours, bringing me right to the edge over and over until I was crying and begging him to let me finish.

This level of constant arousal can’t be normal. I’m starting to think I need medical intervention.

“The tattoo’s almost done,” Knox says, giving me that knowing smile that means he can read every dirty thought crossing my face. “Want to see it?”

I get up slowly, my legs still a little unsteady, and walk over to where he’s lying. When I’m close enough to see his back clearly, I stop short.

Spread across the entire width of his back, rendered in bold black ink, is a large bunny. Complete with long ears and everything.

This isn’t what I expected at all.

It is not some cute cartoon bunny or Easter decoration. This thing is dark, almost menacing.

I study it for a long moment, taking in every detail. When it dawns on me that this mountain of a man chose to permanently ink a bunny on his back. Well, it's a terrifying bunny but still a bunny. I giggle. Before I know it, I’m doubled over, laughing so hard I have to wrap my arms around my stomach. Tears are streaming down my face, and I can’t stop. Every time I try to catch my breath, the image of Knox’s demon rabbit sends me into another fit.

“Is something wrong?” Knox immediately sits up, concern written all over his face.

I wipe at my cheeks and shake my head, stepping into the space between his legs. “No,” I breathe out, smiling as I run a hand through his hair. “It’s beautiful, Knox.”

“You’re not just saying that to stop me from suing the artist?”

I laugh again, leaning down a little. “It’s beautiful,” I repeat. “I hope we don’t have to twin or anything, though. That looked extremely painful.”