Marked

The restaurant glows warm with orange light, the tinkling laughter of wine glasses and the sharp clink of metal singing in the background. She doodles on the napkin in front of her, the ink as heavy as her heart at the thought of leaving him.
She doesn't feel like talking.
She aches to linger in the frigid city, warmed by the strength in his lean build, his soft skin as delightful as a late morning spent lazing in silk sheets. Dragging her thoughts back to the party, she forces a laugh at another lame joke cracked by the struggling stand up comedian across the table from her. His thin lips are distracting.
She heaves an involuntary sigh, stealing a sidelong glance at the full, heart-shaped mouth of the man beside her. She smiles softly. Reaching out her fingers she grasps his, marveling again at the absolute perfection of the way her hand fits his, a tailor-made pattern of skin and planes, of lengths and scales.
Grinning mischievously to herself, she subtly turns over his palm, trying unsuccessfully to mask her devious plan.
His hand slips from her grasp as he laughingly realizes her intent.
"Sorry, sweet, I can't have you doodling on me, too." She stifles a giggle. Even when he scolds her his lilting brogue makes her knees weak.
Ah, so he has yet to learn that she rarely gives up without a fight. She'll teach him.
Setting her bottom lip into a petulant frown she crosses her arms and sighs deeply, her chair now angled away from him. She need only be patient.
Three, two, one...
"No, wait, it...it's okay. Here."
She slightly glances behind her to see his upturned palm being offered like the sacrificial lamb. Triumph gleams in her eyes as she smiles broadly at him, poising her pen above the warm skin of his wrist, contemplating her design.
He leans down to murmur in her ear, his breath hot on her neck.
"Just so you know, I've never let anyone leave a mark on me. Ever." She senses a deeper meaning behind his words.
"So, I'm special?" she intones, cocking an eyebrow.
"Sorta," he grins, placing a quick kiss on her rosy lips.
Setting her tongue between her teeth she draws a solid heart, simple and clean. She adds the first letter of her name with a flourish, settling back to admire her handiwork.
He begrudgingly admits that it isn't so bad. She asks if he'd like to visit the tattoo parlor to make it permanent?
They all laugh at that.
Even the stand up comic. Score one for the new girlfriend.

Later, she sways in his arms as they dance to Sam Cook in the middle of his miniscule bedroom.
"So, why'd you let me?" she wonders aloud.
He sets the steel blue ice of his gaze on hers and answers simply.
"I can't say no to you."
She giggles at that.
"Kiss me," she mockingly commands.
"Aye, milady."
He is good at following orders.
Very good.