Chapter Thirty-Three
June
“Hey, Dom!” I say, heading to the chair in the back of the tattoo parlor. Theo still hasn’t told me what he’s getting, but he says it’s small and shouldn’t take long.
Dom is young and has big curly hair that’s mostly black with an outer grey layer. One arm is covered in colored tattoos, and the other is mostly bare. “Hey, Graves,” they say, spinning around on their chair. “And Graves’s tall guest.”
“Theo,” I say.
“Oh, right. I got your message on Instagram,” Dom says. They smile, showing off the shining gem on their outer incisor.
“Nice to meet you,” Theo says.
“Alright, another grave, Graves? Or flames?”
“Just the headstone for now. I’ll be back later for the flames,” I say.
The first time I came to them, not long after I moved here, I asked if they would add to an existing tattoo, because the first artist I visited refused.
Dom took one look at the cemetery, said, “Damn, and I thought I took the name ‘Dom’ too seriously,” then enthusiastically agreed.
I worried that they’d get suspicious with me coming in every few months to get a fucking gravestone tattooed, because how would the actual symbol of death not raise red flags, but I lucked out with the most ironic last name since Remus Lupin.
And I’m pretty sure if Dom found out I was killing asshole men, they’d give me that literal sparkling smile and comp my next tattoo.
“Still no dates or names?” they ask.
I shake my head. I considered getting the date of each kill, but decided that was far too conspicuous.
“Where are we putting this one?”
I pull off my jacket to show I’m wearing only a strapless bandeau underneath. Twisting my arm, I point out the spot on my tricep that’s still free. My entire forearm and most of my upper arm is already full. Two or three more graves, and I’ll have to move onto my shoulder and back.
Dom nods, snaps on their gloves, and starts shaving. They grab the pre-printed headstone stencil and prepare my arm to apply it.
“How’s that?” they ask.
I head to the nearby mirror to look. The stone fits perfectly among the others, right next to the one for Jared. Theo walks up behind me, touching two fingers to my elbow to lift my arm for a better look. Despite being a gentle, innocent touch, it still causes goosebumps to prickle up my neck.
“So?” I ask, meeting his eyes in the mirror.
He bends over, kisses the skin under my ear, and whispers, “My badass little reaper.”
The words instantly make me wet, and I know the tattoo will only add to that.
“I’m assuming that’s a yes?” Dom asks.
I spin around. “It’s perfect!” I lay down on my stomach, holding my arm at an awkward angle so they can start the tattoo.
Theo sits on my other side, and I turn my head so I can see him while Dom works.
The needle touches my skin, sending the addictive slice of pain down my arm.
It bites away at the smoldering logs in my gut, forcing the fire to decrease.
Theo’s eyes turn murky with desire when he sees me smile. “Of course you’d like being repeatedly stabbed by a tiny needle.”
“What can I say? I’m a masochist.”
“She is one of my only clients to literally fall asleep during a tattoo,” Dom says.
“That doesn’t surprise me at all,” Theo says. “So, Dom, how long have you been tattooing?”
“About eight years,” they answer, launching into the story I’ve already heard about how they were a third-grade teacher before and were fired when they wore a dress one day that left a few tattoos on display. “Private schools. They’re a whole different world.”
Not much later, they roll away and announce, “Finished!”
I return to the mirror and give them a wide smile when I see yet another flawless headstone tattoo.
Seeing evidence of a recent kill fills me with a similar feeling of euphoria that the actual kill provides.
Not nearly as intense of an emotion, but enough to satisfy the craving for a few more weeks.
“Your turn, Theo,” Dom says while they wipe down the chair, switch out their gun and needles, and prepare the new ink. Fifteen minutes later, they’re transferring the stencil to the outside of Theo’s right knee. I try to lean over to see it, but he holds out his arm, stopping me.
“Not yet,” he says.
I rock back on my heels and cross my arms, pouting.
Theo winks, approves the location, then moves the extra chair to the head of the tattoo table.
He nods for me to take a seat, knowing I won’t be able to see Dom working from the location.
I hesitate, and he grips my shoulders, forcing me down.
I squeeze my thighs together, trying to ease the burn that grew from the pain of the tattoo and flares now as Theo manhandles me.
He lies on his back to give Dom the best access to his leg. Unable to see Theo’s face, I reach forward and run my fingers through his hair. He relaxes into the feeling, nearly purring when I scratch his scalp.
His tattoo takes longer than mine, about half an hour. After telling Dom he loves it, he says, “Alright, little reaper, come look.”
I eagerly jump up and circle the chair, taking Dom’s recently vacated spot to look down at Theo’s brand-new art. As soon as my eyes land on it, my lungs deflate, like Theo’s tattoo became a physical object and punctured them.
It’s a scythe. The weapon carried by reapers. Etched into the blade of the scythe, less visible in white ink, is a small outline of two familiar-looking wings. A second later, realization slices down, this time through my heart.
Tinkerbell's wings. At first glance, they’re not noticeable, but their location almost makes them look like a reflection in the blade.
Tink and the reaper.
Suddenly, the scorching fire and the burn from the tattoo are nothing compared to the heat filling my eyes. A bubble of tears gathers on my lower lids and breaks when I flick my eyes up to Theo, causing two fat tears to roll down my cheeks.
His eyes shine, reflecting my feelings back. Something undefinable, an emotion that feels too big, yet I never want to lose. A giant bubble of pure air living among the smoke and flames and dust I’ve been choking on for over a decade.
“Good?”
I nod. “Perfect.”
~
We thank Dom, pay, and leave in a hurry, the ache to be on him, in him, have him in me growing until it feels uncontrollable.
He goes well over the speed limit on the ride back, and I tempt fate further by groping him, effortlessly causing a pronounced bulge as his cock grows harder with each passing second.
The front door isn’t fully shut before Theo slams me against the wall, mouth on mine and hands pushing up my shirt. His fingertips drag over my hips, stomach, and rib cage, carving a trail into my skin. Our teeth and tongues tangle with a savage demand for more.
Holding onto his neck, I tighten my core and lift my legs to wrap around his waist. His hands drop to my ass, helping keep me steady, and I bite his bottom lip, then say into his mouth, “I need you to fuck me, Theo. Please.”
He groans. I stay clinging to him, and our kiss doesn’t break when he turns and heads for his bedroom.
We bump into something, and I hear what I think is a chair clattering to the floor, but neither of us cares.
He kicks his door shut and lowers me to the bed, stopping the kiss long enough for him to pull off his shirt and me my bandeau.
Then he’s on me again, exploring my mouth with his tongue.
He moves down my body and closes his mouth around a nipple.
Head dropping back, I suck in a breath and focus on the sensation of his teeth biting down.
The next second, his hand is on my neck, fingers settling into invisible grooves molded perfectly to his hand.
He squeezes, and exhilaration follows the loss of oxygen.
He moves to my other nipple, probably leaving marks behind, not letting up on my throat.
My hips buck up, rubbing against his thigh.
Just as glowing black spots begin filling my vision, he lets go of my throat and sits up.
I open my eyes and see him looking down at me, pupils blown.
He slaps the side of my breast, and my breath hitches.
Then he grabs them, one in each hand, and massages, pinching the sensitive nipples.
“You’re so beautiful,” he says, almost to himself.
I run my hand down his chest, studying the tattoos and marred skin with a brand new appreciation. It’s like whatever bubble of emotion that formed in the tattoo parlor is providing me enough oxygen to see him clearly for the first time.
“Please,” I beg, not caring how desperate I sound.
He grabs my hands, stopping their exploration of his pecs, crosses my wrists, and lifts my arms, elbows bent so my hands are about an inch above my head.
Leaning forward, he gently kisses the new tattoo, lips touching the Saniderm rather than my skin.
With one hand wrapped around my wrists, keeping them still, he reaches down with the other to unbutton my pants.
He slides his hand beneath my underwear and pushes his fingers down my center.
“Holy fuck, little reaper,” he growls. “You’re so fucking wet.”
As if to prove my readiness to be fucked, I lift my hips, forcing his fingers deeper. He chuckles, hovering his head above mine. “Such a good little slut.”
My pussy flutters at that, and I reach up to catch his lips in another kiss.
His fingers curl, hooking into me. Before I can appreciate the new pressure, it’s gone.
I don’t get a chance to whine at the loss because he interrupts our kiss by shoving his fingers into my mouth.
I taste my own arousal and moan at the evidence of how much I want him.
Instinctively, I close my lips and run my tongue up his fingers, licking them clean.
Theo lets go of my hands and pulls his fingers free, then stands to easily kick his pants and boxers off.
I follow his lead, wiggling out of mine so we’re both fully naked.
My eyes find the Saniderm-covered skin outside of his knee, and the unnamed emotion, that bubble of fresh air, expands further.
His cock is fully erect, Prince Albert piercing glinting. He grips the base and gives it one pull before climbing back on the bed. I widen my legs and lift my hips in preparation, painfully throbbing for him.
Theo props himself up with one hand on the bed next to my head while he uses the other to guide his cock to my entrance.
Once he’s lined up, he thrusts forward, entering me all at once.
I gasp, neck straining and eyes squeezing shut.
Each time is better than the last, and I wonder if I’ll ever get used to the size of him or the feeling of his piercing dragging inside me.
He moans. “You were fucking made for me,” he says before pulling out and pushing in again.
His hand finds its way to my throat again, choking as he pounds into me, stealing my breath as he fucks me hard and fast, occasionally loosening his grip on my throat long enough for me to suck in air.
Then he moves his other hand down to rub my clit with brutal efficiency.
It’s not long before I’m coming, back arching with the intensity of the orgasm.
I don’t get to relax or fall back to the bed.
He pulls out, then flips me around onto my stomach, grabbing my hips and yanking me back so I’m forced on my hands and knees, then pushes inside again.
He continues slamming into me, his grip on my hips tight enough to leave bruises.
I gasp and moan his name, which drives him over the edge, his dick pulsing as he fills me.
We both collapse, me turning so I land on my back and Theo lying with his head on my chest.
We lay like that on the bed, breathing heavily, without speaking. I realize my fingers are in his hair, running through the strands without even thinking. His own fingers are softly drawing circles on my side, like we’re both mindlessly searching for active ways to continue touching each other.
I feel his cum leaking out of me but don’t even consider getting up to clean off. My eyes are heavy, and I could fall asleep if my mind wasn’t on overdrive. Despite the deep satisfaction, I want to scream at my brain to quiet. It should feel nothing but content after the past few hours.
But the silence gives it time to think.
It’s Wednesday.
In two days, the month will be over. There’s no question that I no longer want to kill Theo, but other than that, I have no idea what’s next. I’m not going to continue living here. I have a life, a house and a car and friends that I want to return to.
But I don’t want to leave him behind. I don’t want to forget about Theo or the Saints of Purgatory. Plus, that detective is still looking into me, and I have no idea if the South Five will retaliate against me personally for killing one of their members.
It’s too much. There’s no simple answer.
I know we should talk about it, but I don’t want to ruin the evening.
I want to shut my brain up and continue indulging in Theo.
So, after a few more minutes of lying together, I tug on his hair, coaxing him to look up at me.
His eyes are soft, and I drift my hand down his face.
“Round two?”
His smile turns evil. He answers by meeting me in another kiss. This time, I roll him onto his back and sink onto his cock, riding him from the top. We moan and pant and move together, attempting in vain to drown the uncertainty of tomorrow with the pleasure of today.