Chapter 23 Willow
WILLOW
My jaw falls open in surprise, and I’m suddenly filled with a rush of nerves.
“You want me to tattoo you?” I ask, incredulous. “I’ve never done that before. I wouldn’t even know how. I’m definitely going to mess it up, and you take such pride in your tattoos.”
I look at the ones I can see on his skin, the ones I’ve practically memorized by now. The last thing I want is for him to have something wonky and ugly there, standing out from the good work he’s done on himself, or had done in prison.
But Malice just chuckles, coming over and cupping my face in both hands. He draws me up into a kiss, and I can’t help but melt into it. It’s possessive and messy, all teeth and tongue and sharp edges. If I wasn’t already so fucked out, it would have me tingling with the need for more.
As it is, it leaves me breathless, and I have to stare at him for a second to get my brain back online after we break apart.
“I don’t care,” he says, the rough edge in his voice making it sound deeper than it usually does. “You could tattoo a stick figure or a blob on me, and I’d still love it. I want to wear your mark.”
I laugh, shaking my head. “You’re crazy.”
But I can tell he’s serious. He means it unequivocally, and it makes my stomach turn over with nerves.
At the same time, something about the idea is so appealing.
Malice is marked up in so many ways, from his tattoos to all the scars that litter his body, and the thought of having something permanent on him, something that I put there, is thrilling in a way I didn’t expect it to be.
Maybe some of his possessiveness has rubbed off on me.
I take a deep breath, then nod. “Okay. I’ll see what I can do. But you can’t get mad if it looks like shit.”
He grins, kissing my forehead before stepping back. “I promise. Now come here.” He purses his lips before he adds, “And don’t get dressed yet. I want you naked while you tattoo me.”
My nipples harden, my thighs unconsciously squeezing together. Leaving my scattered clothes where they are, I scoot to the edge of the couch as he sits down beside me.
He shoves the coffee table out of the way a bit and then sets the tattoo equipment down on it, and I listen attentively as he gives me a rundown on how the gear all works. I have a basic understanding of it from watching him, but it’s impressive how much he knows, and how easily he explains it.
There’s still an anxious rumble in my stomach, but the more Malice talks, the more excited I get to tattoo him. It’s a huge show of trust—and knowing Malice the way I do, I understand it’s a big deal for him. He doesn’t trust easily at all.
Once he finishes his lesson, I stand up and run my gaze over him, struck as always by how unfairly hot he is.
He might not be model gorgeous the way Ransom is, but there’s something about his dark intensity that’s so striking.
The way he carries himself, the way his muscles stand out.
It’s all very appealing, and there’s so much of him to work with.
Even though he has a lot of tattoos already, there are some empty spaces, and I look at him the way he looked at me the first time he tattooed me, like a canvas to be evaluated.
Malice just lets me get on with it, one eyebrow raised, heat flickering in his eyes while I take him in.
“See something you like?” he asks, a teasing note in his voice.
I roll my eyes. “You already know the answer to that.”
“Maybe I just like hearing it from you.”
“Vain,” I tease back. “I’m checking out what I have to work with.”
He nods, letting me look my fill, but I know we’re both aware of the heat building between us. It’s bright and undeniable, and I swallow hard, letting my fingers trail over the skin of his shoulders and upper arms.
Finally, I pick a spot on his chest. It’s not a large spot, just a bit of open space between his other tattoos. But I don’t want to do anything big anyway, and I like the idea of him having my mark near his heart, just like the first one he gave me.
“Okay,” I say, taking a deep breath. “I’m ready.”
Malice nods. He wraps my fingers around the tattoo gun. “Remember what I told you, and you’ll be fine. Even pressure, don’t go too deep.”
“Right,” I murmur.
I flick the gun on, and the loud buzz makes me jump at first, but I settle into it. My heart races as I touch the needle to Malice’s skin, but he doesn’t flinch, and nothing terrible happens.
There’s just a clean line of ink, and that gives me more confidence.
“Wipe the spot every few passes,” he instructs. “So you can see what you’re doing without ink everywhere.”
I nod and do as he suggests, cleaning away the ink that smears over his skin.
“Good. Don’t be afraid to go back over a line if you think it’s going to be patchy. Just keep a light hand.”
His tips help a lot, and I adjust as necessary, trying to keep my main focus on the needle and his skin.
“You’re doing great,” he praises after a few moments. “I knew you would.”
“You have a lot of faith in me,” I murmur back.
He shrugs lightly, barely moving his shoulder so as not to disturb the skin I’m tattooing. “I’ve seen what you’re capable of. Working a tattoo gun is easy compared to some of the shit you’ve done.”
That makes me smile, and I keep working, going over a line a second time just to make sure it’s dark enough. I remember how much the shading hurt when Malice was giving me my last tattoo, but he barely seems to be feeling the needle at all.
“Does this even feel like anything to you?” I ask. “You’re not even flinching.”
He shoots me a savage grin. “Oh, I can feel it, but maybe I just like it.”
I grin back, knowing he’s telling the truth. Malice is just like that, and honestly, I guess I am too.
It’s easier than I thought it would be, but it does take a good amount of focus. The tattoo gun is an unfamiliar weight and thickness in my hand, and it takes me some time to get used to it. I go slow, taking my time and visualizing what I want each line to look like before I draw it.
“It gets easier every time you get one too,” Malice continues. “Well, maybe not easier, but you get more used to it. You sat better for your second one, remember?”
I nod, because I do remember that. The first tattoo was a surprising amount of pain. The needle felt like it was branding me, burning into my skin. The second time, I had more of an idea what to expect.
I blush, remembering how his brothers helped me with the pain of the first tattoo. With Ransom’s hand between my legs, working my clit, pleasure and pain mingled into something so different than anything I’d ever felt before.
The flush on my cheeks draws Malice’s attention, or maybe he just likes looking at me. But his eyes are on me, and even though I’m trying to keep my focus on the tattoo I’m giving him, I can feel him looking.
“What?” I huff. “You’re staring.”
“You just look hot as fuck doing this. Especially naked.”
“I have no idea what I’m doing,” I protest.
He shrugs. “You still look hot.”
Even though we literally just had sex, the tension between us is growing again. Malice’s skin is warm where my free hand is braced against his chest, and I can feel the beat of his heart.
“What are you thinking about?” he murmurs, his gaze locked on my face.
“The first tattoo you gave me. And how I needed help handling the pain.”
He chuckles, and I can feel the vibrations of that sound too. “You moved around more than I would’ve liked, but it worked like a charm in the end.”
“Too bad I can’t tattoo you and help you through the pain you’re not feeling at the same time,” I reply, grinning.
He laughs, and it’s a nice sound. This feels good, comfortable and easy, and even the nerves about possibly fucking up Malice’s tattoo have mostly faded.
“I remember when you were pissed at us.” Malice’s voice drops a little. “And you said you were going to get the tattoo removed.”
I make a face at that memory. Like a lot of stuff near the beginning of all of this, it feels like it happened a very long time ago. We’ve been through so much since then, both good and bad—but all of it has clarified how we feel about each other.
“I did think about it,” I murmur, chewing on my lip.
“But… in the end, there was no way I could’ve done it.
I didn’t want to lose you guys, even when I thought that was the right thing to do.
And you were right. The outward mark is just a signifier of something deeper.
Something I couldn’t have erased even if I wanted to. ”
He hums his approval at that, and when I sneak a glance up at his face, his gray eyes are fierce. His expression is full of love, Malice-style, and it makes me feel so treasured to bask under the warmth of it.
“Even if you had gotten it removed, I would’ve just given you another one when you came back,” he tells me. “Because yeah, it’s about the feeling, but I like to see the marks there too.”
“Possessive bastard,” I mutter, but I’m smiling.
“You know it. There are only two other people in the entire world who are allowed to touch you, and everyone else needs to know that you’re already ours. That you’ve been claimed by me and my brothers.”
My heart races at the conviction in his words, and my sore pussy clenches around nothing as my body reacts. Even though I’m not the one getting tattooed this time, I can still feel myself getting turned on, and I have to pull the tattoo gun away from Malice’s skin for a bit to take a breath.
He looks a little smug, as if he knows exactly why I needed to take a break, but judging from the way his pants are tenting again, I’m not the only one who’s been affected.
Luckily, there’s not much more to do on the tattoo. I pull back, eyeing it a bit, and then go back in, adding a line here or darkening a section there. It’s simple, nowhere near as ornate as some of the tattoos he’s given me, but I’m proud of it all the same.
I wipe away the extra ink and blood one last time, and then stand back, switching off the gun.
“Okay, I’m done.”