15. Atticus
FIFTEEN
ATTICUS
My lips are spread into a shit-eating grin as I leave the closet and head into the kitchen.
If I hadn’t already been head over heels in love with Lemon before, I would be now.
Impact play has never really been my thing, but having her put herself over my lap so I could spank her until her pussy was wet and her ass was hot and red was invigorating.
My dick is hard, but I’ll live with the ache, the same way I’m making Lemon deal with the need I’m confident she’ll be feeling all day.
I still don’t want to spend hours without her, but knowing she’ll be thinking about me every time her dress touches her ass makes the separation a little easier to take.
I’m just putting the first pancake onto the griddle when she steps out of our bedroom in a dress that would easily fit in at the Renaissance fair.
The skirt is pink and straight, but with two splits that part and expose her sexy legs when she moves.
The top is white with long flowy sleeves, and a pink brocade-style corset over the top that cinches at the back, pushing her perfect fucking tits so high they’re almost touching her chin.
On anyone else it’d look like a costume, but on Lemon, with her perfect face and head of blonde bouncy curls, she looks incredible, like a modern-day sexy Maid Marian.
“Jesus, Princess, you look amazing,” I praise, eating her up with my eyes.
“Do you think this is okay? I don’t want to look overdressed. But as you’ve hidden my panties again, I didn’t want to risk wearing any of my shorter dresses.”
“I haven’t hidden them. I’ve thrown them out,” I tell her smugly as I flip the pancakes over.
Rolling her eyes, she ignores me, smoothing the front of her dress down self-consciously.
“Princess, you look amazing, and Tori won’t care what you’re wearing.”
“I just don’t want to look like I’m trying too hard on my first day, especially when your sister is my new boss.”
Lifting the cooked pancakes onto a plate, I move the pan off the heat and close the distance between us, pulling her into my arms and grabbing and squeezing her butt.
“Hey,” she squeaks.
“There it is,” I growl against her ear. “That’s where I want your mind…focused on me.”
“God, why does it burn more now than when you were doing it?” she asks as I grip and squeeze her ass firmly.
“It’ll stay hot and achy for a few hours, then when the heat starts to fade, it’ll tingle, and you’ll feel it even more. Every time this sexy skirt brushes against your ass, it’ll reignite the heat, and every time you feel it, you’ll think about how you felt being naked and face down over my lap.”
“Atticus,” she says breathily.
Chuckling softly, I squeeze her butt tightly, then release her, stepping back and calmly sliding the pan back onto the heat.
She gets more and more nervous as we eat our breakfast, picking up and putting down her coffee mug twice while she fidgets with her napkin and silverware. When she glances toward the clock on the wall, sheer panic flashes across her face.
Jumping out of her seat, she rushes toward the door. “I need to go,” she says, frantically skidding to a stop, then spinning on her heel and darting back toward the bedroom.
Throwing my arm out, I catch her around the waist as she walks past. “Settle,” I tell her.
“Atticus, I can’t be late on my first day,” she pants, pushing at my hands like she thinks I’ll let her go.
“Princess, it’s going to take us less than five minutes to drive to the store,” I remind her.
“Oh,” she says, deflating, her hands falling to her sides. “I forgot about that.”
Smiling, I bury my face in her neck, inhaling her deliciously sweet scent. “Go and grab your purse and anything else you need, and we’ll head over there.”
Five minutes later, I slow the car to a stop at the curb outside the store.
“Thank you,” she says, unfastening her seat belt and reaching for the door handle.
“Stop,” I growl, reaching over and covering her hand with mine. “Wait.”
Like she needed me to help her calm down, she exhales shakily, then nods, keeping her hands in her lap while I slip out of the driver’s seat and make my way to her door.
Helping her out of the car, I close her door behind me, then sling my arm over her shoulders and start to guide her toward the store.
“Atticus, I can’t have my boyfriend walk me to the door on my first day. It makes me look like a child,” I tell him.
“Fiancé,” I correct. “And this is my sister’s store. I can’t just wave you off without going in to say hi to her.”
“Oh god, the other staff are going to hate me,” she whines balefully.
Chuckling, I shake my head. “They were always going to find out who you are. It’s not like I’m going to stop coming here. But Tori is a good boss, and I expect all of her staff adore her, so they won’t care if you’re her sister.”
Huffing adorably, she makes a disgruntled sound, but her body betrays her, relaxing a little beneath my arm. When we reach the front door, I push it open and hold it so Lemon can step inside first, then I follow after her.
The store is empty and quiet. It doesn’t officially open for another hour, but Tori will have been here since dawn baking the cakes, pastries, and goodies that will soon fill the glass display cases.
“Little Bit, are you here?” I shout.
“Back here. Come through,” she calls from the kitchen behind the counter.
Lemon’s face blanches for a moment, then she visibly rolls back her shoulders, and with my hand guiding her on the base of her spine, she steps behind the counter and into the kitchen.
“Hey,” Tori says, her face smudged with flour, her apron tied tightly around her chef’s jacket.
“Good morning.”
Ignoring me completely, my sister speaks to Lemon. “Mornings are always hectic, so it’s probably going to be a bit of a running start. I hope that’s all right.”
“I’ll do my best to keep up,” Lemon tells her earnestly.
“That’s all I can ask. Daniel should be here in a minute, and he’ll walk you through how to use the till. Did you happen to look at the coffee machine on your way in?”
Lemon shakes her head.
“Okay—”
Whatever Tori was going to say is interrupted by the bell over the door dinging again.
“Oh perfect. He’s here. Daniel,” she calls.
“Morning.”
“Come on back. I want to introduce you to Lemon,” Tori shouts, her hands moving as she cuts and folds sheets of pastry without looking down.
The same young, fairly attractive guy who was here the other day steps into the kitchen and smiles at us all.
“Daniel, this is Lemon. She’s starting work with us this morning. She used to work as a barista, so she should be good with the coffee machine once you show her how it turns on. Could you walk her through the till, then she can just jump in and help until she gets into the swing of things.”
“Hey, Lemon, it’s great to meet you. The goddamn coffee machine is my arch nemesis, so if you can tame it, you’ll be my hero,” he says with a smile.
“I’ll see what I can do,” Lemon says sweetly.
Clearing my throat, I step forward. “We met the other day. I’m Atticus, Tori’s brother and Lemon’s husband,” I say, positioning myself slightly in front of Lemon and blocking her from Daniel’s view while I offer him my hand.
“Hi, Atticus. I remember. It’s nice to see you again,” Daniel says a little too easily, although I do see a hint of trepidation in his eyes.
“Okay, big bro. I love you, but you need to go. We have work to do,” Tori says, clapping her hands and then making a shooing motion at me.
“See you later, Little Bit,” I tell my sister before I grab Lemon and kiss her until we’re both a little breathless.
“Atticus,” she pants.
“I love you, Princess.”
“I love you too.”
“Be good. I’ll try to swing by at lunch if I can.”
“Okay,” she says, and then I’m forced to walk away, exiting the store and heading to my car.
It’s only seven thirty-five a.m. by the time I get to the studio, and my first client isn’t due to arrive until ten a.m. I could have gone home instead of coming here, but honestly, the thought of sitting in the loft and simply waiting isn’t appealing to me.
The metal shutters are down over the front of the store, but I use my keys and roll them up, unlocking the door and stepping into the dark studio.
Using my flashlight, I quickly locate the light switches and turn them on, then I make the most of having the place to myself and have a look around.
The one and only time I’ve been here before yesterday was when I met with Betty to discuss the idea of me having a chair here.
At the time, the shop had still been in a state of construction.
Now, as I wander into the breakroom, then over to the private workspaces, I’m amazed at how well the space flows and how well thought out each area has been.
Most tattoo studios feel like they’ve been shoehorned into tiny buildings that aren’t fit for the purpose, but even if I didn’t already know, this place feels like it was designed with usability in mind.
The private studio spaces are big without being echoey, and the break room is comfortable and doesn’t feel like it used to be a damp storage room. The main raised stage is deceptively large, much bigger than it feels when you step through the door.
Filling the machine with coffee, I switch it on, then head back to my car to grab my stuff.
Yesterday when I stocked my station, I didn’t bring my machine or my sketches.
I’ve learned the hard way in the past that artists can be cutthroat and dishonest. I’ve had more than one design stolen and ripped off, so I never store my sketch pads at any studio, although I mainly use a drawing tablet and digital pen these days.
Pouring myself a cup of coffee, I carry it back to my station and sit on my couch, pulling my tablet out of my bag and bringing the screen to life.
Clicking into my schedule for the day, I pull up the sketches for my first client and start to assess the design, making minute changes here and there.
For the next couple of hours, I work through all the designs for my day’s clients before I browse through some newer commissions I’m considering.
While I work, my thoughts keep drifting back to Lemon, but I refuse to text her just yet. When the buzzer above the door sounds, I’m just perfecting a detail on a design, so it takes me a moment to look up.
“Holy fuck, you’re Atticus Hoffman,” a guy says, slapping excitedly at the arm of the guy standing beside him.
“And you are?” I ask, keeping my tone cool. I’ve had mixed experiences with other tattoo artists. Some, like Betty, Octy, and Suede, are talented artists and decent human beings. Others, like the guy who owned the studio I’d been working out of in New York, are self-absorbed assholes.
“I’m Brooks. This is Sully. Fuck, man, I’m a huge fan of your work.”
“You work here?” I question, probably sounding like an asshole, but honestly not really caring.
“Yeah, we’re both fairly new, but we’re doing okay,” the bigger guy says.
“Nice to meet you both.”
“You too. Fuck. Sorry, man, I’m fucking fangirling here,” Brooks says, flicking his shaggy blonde hair out of his eyes as he grins from ear to ear.
“No problem,” I tell him, then feel obliged to throw him a bone. “What’s your style?”
“Right now, we’re picking up pretty much anything and handling most of the walk-ins since we don’t have a huge client base, but my forte is old school and neotraditional,” the surfer guy says.
I turn my gaze onto the guy who looks like he could be a boxer. “Japanese,” he tells me.
“Nice. Coffee machine is on,” I tell them, dismissing them as I refocus on my sketch. I’m honestly not trying to be an asshole, but I don’t know these guys, and until I do, I’ll reserve judgment and my time.
Betty turns up next, followed by her husband, Cody, who is pushing a stroller with their son in it. “Atticus,” she says, her face lighting up when she spots me.
Standing up, I make my way over to her, then pull her into a hug, her huge pregnant belly pressing up against me. “Hey, Bett,” I greet her. “Jesus, look at you. I thought you’d have popped by now?”
“She’s still got three weeks left,” Cody says, lifting their son from the stroller and offering me his hand. “It’s good to see you again, Atticus.”
“I swear I’ve been pregnant for about six years at this point,” Betty says, rubbing her stomach happily. “Have you met the guys yet?” she asks, motioning to the two men who are sitting at the stations behind mine.
“We’ve met,” I tell her.
Rolling her eyes, Betty shakes her head. “Be nice. They’re good artists, and they’re more than happy to handle the walk-ins so you don’t have to.”
Scoffing, I smile. “I’ll handle some walk-ins. My next available appointment is next December.”
“Ha ha,” Betty says dryly, then she looks at me. “Wait, are you serious?”
I nod my head. “Of course I’m serious.”
“Holy fuck. I’m going to need to warn Leo and Etta about that if anyone calls in for you trying to book an appointment,” she says.
“I have an inquiry email that I’d prefer they refer clients to. I already have a waiting list on the off chance anyone cancels, although that doesn’t happen often.”
“Fair enough,” Betty says on a sigh. “We use an online booking system that Knight, Octy’s husband, set up for us.
If you let me know your rates, I’ll get that added onto the system.
All appointments have to be entered into the system, or you don’t get paid.
The split is seventy/thirty, paid weekly on a Saturday.
Tips can be cashed out at the end of each day.
Etta handles the social media for the studio.
She’s fantastic, but if you want her to manage yours, you’ll need to negotiate that with her. ”
“I have someone who does that for Felix and me,” I tell her. “I have all of my appointments stored on my calendar. I’ll see if I can import them onto your system.”
“Knight can sort it for you. He’s handled all the installation for me.”
“Okay, I’ll speak to him,” I tell her.
“Perfect. Do you need me to show you where all the supplies are?”
“No.” I shake my head. “Lemon and I came yesterday, and I got my station set up.”
“Cody mentioned that you wanted to expand your loft because your fiancée moved in. When did you get engaged?” Betty asks with a hint of concern.
“A couple of days ago.”
“Who to? I thought you were single?”
“I was…until I met her.”
“Wait—” Betty starts, her face lighting up.
“Before you start, I haven’t met my wife because of some mythical love-at-first-sight spell for a family I’m not a part of,” I huff.
“So you’ve heard.” She giggles. “Happens to the best of us. When’s the wedding?”
“Six weeks.”
“I want to meet her. Come and have dinner tonight,” she gushes excitedly.