“Kiss all four and I'm yours,” you whisper, as I touch the small tattoo of a number 1 just behind your ear.

Softly, I kiss it.

My eyes search for number 2, finding it on your breast. My lips comply, less softly.

Indulgently exploring, I finally conquer the number 3, nestled where your thigh meets your groin, and devour my prize.

“Keep searching.” You eventually moan. Calves, toes, soles. Fruitless. Hips, ass, spine. “Not yet.”

Until you're on all fours, hair falling. I find 4, in the back of your neck, claiming my whole prize as I bend to kiss it.