Chapter 27 #2
“Hey, Em,” I said. “I should have known you’d be working today.”
“I was helping Fox get started with a client. You guys need anything before Cyrus gets to work?”
“Don’t think so.”
He nodded. “I’ll be around if you need me. Good luck.”
He hung my shirt on a hook affixed to the wall, then carried on to the next station. I was glad. Cyrus would obviously be here doing the ink work, and it wasn’t even close to anything sexual—this was exposure therapy, nothing more—but it was unnerving enough without an audience.
“Okay,” Cyrus said, returning with the transfer art. “You two ready to get started?”
“Yep.”
“Okay, before we begin, let’s make sure we’re on the same page. Do you want Shiloh wearing gloves?”
“Uh, no.” I swallowed. “That might be easier, but also less natural.”
He nodded. “Sure, sure. Okay, Shiloh. I’ll direct you on when and where to touch. We’ll get Holden’s consent before each and every touch. You won’t be going anywhere near the ink. That wouldn’t be hygienic.”
“Of course,” Shiloh said.
Cyrus adjusted the chair, tilting me back a bit to make my upper chest more prominent.
I’d decided to get the broken shield over my heart.
Symbolically, that felt appropriate. Also, it was easier to tolerate touch there than on my back, neck, or wrists.
Those were all trigger points, which was why it’d been so damn hard to get the Bro Code tattoo.
“Holden, you get ready like you usually do,” Cyrus said. “I’m just going to give Shiloh a few more instructions.”
With a nod, I pulled my phone out of my back pocket and opened it to a saved list of panda reels.
It was silly, but watching them relaxed me. As the first video started—a panda trying to climb a slide, failing, and sliding down to the bottom while baring its fuzzy tummy to the camera—my heart rate slowed.
A second panda watched from the top, eventually sliding headfirst into the panda at the bottom, and the two of them wrestled. I smiled as they rolled around together.
Somehow, everything they did looked playful. Joyful. As if they could fall off a two-story building and just bounce around like a basketball. As if nothing in the world could harm them.
Not true, of course, but it was a nice fantasy.
I envied their ability to roll with it when things didn’t go to plan. Literally roll head over heels and charge right for what they wanted all over again.
I wanted to be like that.
“Ready?” Cyrus murmured.
I took a breath. “Ready.”
“You’ve already shaved, so I’m going to clean the area, then apply the transfer solution.”
“Okay.”
This was all routine, and I knew what to expect. Cyrus sprayed a soap solution onto my skin, wiped it with a cloth, then swiped over it with alcohol.
“Ready for me to apply the transfer solution?”
I took a breath. This would be the first time Cyrus’s hands really touched me. I nodded.
He used a finger to rub the solution into my skin. He wore gloves and was quick, practiced, and steady. We’d done this many times before. Still, I watched his every move with hypervigilance, tensed to spring out of the chair if he did anything wrong.
He wouldn’t. I knew he wouldn’t. Still couldn’t totally relax.
“Okay, done,” Cyrus said, removing his hands.
I exhaled shakily. When I glanced at Shiloh, his eyes were filled with worry.
I smiled for his sake. “I’m all good, Shy. Promise.”
Cyrus stepped back. “Shiloh will apply the transfer now. I’ve told him how, but I may have to step in and help a little to ensure it transfers correctly. You ready for that?”
I blew out a long breath. “Yes. Do it.”
It instantly felt different when Shiloh touched me. My heart lurched at that first press of fingertips.
Then I saw his eyes, seeking me out, assessing whether I was okay. I relaxed. This was Shiloh. I trusted him more than anyone in the world.
He pressed the carbon sheet over my skin, holding it in place. Cyrus was murmuring quiet instructions to him, but I couldn’t hear the words over the rushing of my pulse in my ears.
And then it was over. Just like that.
I smiled reassuringly at Shiloh, adrenaline pumping through me as Cyrus got to work. The pain of the tattoo gun vibrated through me, pins and needles but a deep, steady touch that was easier to take. Nothing like hands on me. Nothing to trigger the trauma.
Occasionally, he’d call Shiloh over. They’d ask if they could touch me.
I’d told Cyrus ahead of time to have Shiloh touch me—even if not strictly needed for the tattoo job—so that we could work on my limits.
“Shiloh’s going to reposition your arm slightly so I can get a better angle. That okay?” Cyrus asked.
“Yeah.”
Shiloh cupped the back of my arm and gently urged it forward. “Like this?”
“Little bit more and tilt like…yeah,” Cyrus said. “Holden, how are you doing?”
“Okay,” I said.
It was a little like being underwater. I was present, but everything beyond the touch my body was experiencing was muted. It overtook all my senses.
Until Shiloh leaned in, eyes on mine. “I love you.”
I exhaled a shaky breath, snapping to awareness. “Love you too.”
“Can I kiss you?”
“Please,” I said, suddenly needing the connection. The reassurance.
His lips brushed mine. I couldn’t help it. The nerves, the adrenaline, the pain of the tattooing. It all conspired to make lust rise up hot and sudden.
I surged forward, kissing him harder.
He gasped, which gave me an opening to sweep my tongue inside and taste him.
He pulled back and glanced around. Cyrus had wisely left us alone for a minute. The color in Shiloh’s cheeks made me want to beg to suck his cock again.
I licked my lips, and he tracked the motion.
“I’m so fucking hard for you right now,” I said.
He looked shocked. “Holden, seriously?”
I laughed because here was a camboy, someone who’d been shameless on-screen for money, clutching his pearls over me getting a hard-on in a tattoo shop.
“I’m not saying we should do anything about it right now.”
I shifted, wincing a little as my chest gave a twinge.
“Does it hurt?”
“Yeah,” I said. “I was due for a break.”
Shiloh nodded. “The touching is okay?”
“Yeah.” He didn’t look convinced. “It’s therapy, hon. It’s not supposed to be easy. But I feel safe, and I know my limits. I won’t go too far.”
“Okay.”
The rest of the tattoo session went smoothly. Cyrus settled into the artwork, too focused to ask Shiloh to touch me. But we’d done enough to break down the barrier to entry. Shiloh had touched my chest and my arm.
Now, I clung to his hand as the discomfort from the tattoo gun washed over me in waves.
“Shy,” I said through clenched teeth. “Do me a favor?”
“Anything.”
“Go on my other side, away from Cyrus, and touch me again.”
“Are you sure?”
“I want a distraction. It’ll help.”
Shiloh rounded the table, pulled up a stool, and hesitantly laid his fingertips on my shoulder.
My focus instantly shifted there, away from the tattoo gun.
You’re in control here, Holden. Don’t fuck it up.
“Slide your hand down my arm.”
Shiloh slowly complied, his hand trailing tendrils of fire, nerves sparking in the wake of his fingers.
“Okay, stop.”
He lifted his hand away immediately. I took a breath. Okay. I could do this. Shiloh had complied with my every order. My skin was tight, overly sensitive. But the tattoo gun instantly pulled my focus right back there, away from my arm to my aching chest.
I closed my eyes, riding the wave of endorphins pouring in. When I was ready, I took a breath and did it all over again.
“Shiloh,” I whispered. “Touch me again.”