Chapter 16
Light
I can’t tell if it’s the hangover or the nerves making my stomach uneasy. Perhaps both. After last night's glasses of champagne, I felt pretty fragile this morning.
A heavy blanket of guilt and uncertainty weighed me down when I couldn’t remember how we got home or even how I got out of my dress. I didn’t ask either, not wanting to feel steeped even deeper in the embarrassment of being drunk in front of Damon. What if I did or said something bizarre?
But he acted like nothing out of the ordinary had occurred and, thankfully, helped me through the worst. He managed to coach more glasses of water into me than I typically consume in a day and a hearty vegetarian breakfast from somewhere close to where we live—my new favorite place.
The meal was the best I have ever had. Perhaps the hangover speaking.
Mixed in with a headache tablet, and here I was, just after noon and feeling better than I could have imagined this morning .
And on my way to get a tattoo. If I still wanted one.
Damon did say there was no pressure, but if I didn’t change my mind, he designed something for me.
He must have done it last night after I fell asleep, which meant he got even less sleep than I did.
Considering he was awake and propped up in the bed when I woke up, scrolling on his phone.
I steal a glance at him as he deftly navigates through the traffic, looking fresh and irresistible.
Definitely not showing any signs of sleep deprivation.
I wish I possessed that ability. When I saw myself this morning, the effects of last night's alcohol were evident. My skin was dry and lackluster, while he looked like a model. I can’t help but feel a mix of admiration and envy towards him.
“You are staring at me.” His dark chocolate eyes don’t leave the road, but he does smile, making my heart flutter. The unease in my stomach multiplies as the little critters add to the equation. Would that feeling ever subside?
“How did you get the scar on your face?” The question had been lingering in my mind for ages, a puzzle piece I was desperate to fit into the larger picture of Damon.
The question burned even brighter after last night when his fighting skills were on full display.
He was a seasoned fighter. That much was clear.
But where did he learn it? And was that the reason for his scar?
“My mother. She attacked me with a fishing knife when I was fourteen. She was aiming for my eye, but luckily for me, she missed.”
The blood drains from my face as he tells the story so casually, leaving all of my theories shot to pieces.
I turn my body in the passenger seat to face him, the shock leaving me speechless.
“Your sappy emotions are misplaced.” His eyes briefly meet mine and sweep my face, checking if I am okay .
“She got what she deserved a couple of days later when a bus hit her during one of her heroine-induced psychotic episodes.”
I blink a couple of times, trying to understand how someone can tell this story with such ease, not even flinching. But this is Damon. He seems to process things differently. Perhaps because of this very experience.
I don’t bother saying I’m sorry because I don’t think Damon feels sad about the situation.
And while I am shocked, when I truly look at my feelings, I’m not sorry either.
That makes me flinch. Was that bad? Would karma come for me, thinking such a thought?
She hurt Damon, but did that justify her dying?
No. But it happened, and I didn’t feel bad about it.
It can’t have been easy growing up around someone taking drugs.
Especially not the person who birthed you and who should protect you.
“I’m glad,” Damon says when the silence stretches on.
“So am I.” The words leave my mouth, and there is no shoving them back in. They were out in the world, attracting to it god only knows what energy and karma.
They even surprise Damon, who smiles.
Not his usual half smile.
No.
This one destroys worlds and creates fantasies.
Once again, I find myself staring at him and then blinking rapidly as I tear my gaze away from the addictive view when he looks at me again.
“We are nearly there.” His voice is husky, and I squeeze my jean skirt-clad thighs together as I think about last night and how he had stroked himself to completion in front of me. Damn, I was grateful for my photographic memory right now.
A picture of him looking at me as his big hand encircles his massive dick sends a wave of arousal crashing through me and bursting into flames. I quickly shift my gaze to the window, fearing he might read my mind if he sees the flush on my face.
“Do you like what you see?”
That question he asked me last night as he stroked his perfect, pierced cock while looking me directly in the eye was making my panties slick even now.
The veins running under smooth skin, the shiny metal disappearing into purple-pink flesh right on the tip.
Did I like what I saw? Yes. The hardest, wettest yes ever.
It should be in a museum somewhere. Along with the rest of his chiseled body. Those V-lines that pointed the way were a piece of exquisite art all on their own. I wanted to run my tongue along those muscles, letting it dip into the groove.
Hot. It’s hot in here.
I open the window, grateful for the gust of air that cools my heated cheeks.
“Are you okay?” Damon's concern tells me he cannot read my mind, and I am glad for this.
“I’m fine,” I squeak, and then repeat it at a more decent decibel.
“We're here.” He puts the car in park and exits his side, giving me only seconds to compose myself before my door opens.
He holds his hand out, which I take. The same hand that had stroked…No. No. Must stop these thoughts before I explode into a million pieces.
Focus, Sienna. Focus.
I look around, only now noticing that we are in front of a house and not at a shop as I expected.
“I thought we were going to a tattoo parlor?” I ask him as he leads me to the front door.
“We are. She runs her business from home. More private. ”
The door swings open, and a woman my height, covered in tattoos and sporting some piercings, greets us. Her brown hair is cut into a shaggy, unkept style that suits her well. She must be the most gorgeous woman I have ever seen.
“Back again and with a virgin, I see,” the woman introduced to me as Trixy says, her eyes caressing my bare flesh.
“A virgin?” I ask, not sure how she sees that.
“A tattoo virgin, gorgeous.” She takes my hand, pulling me into the house while Damon follows, closing the door behind us.
She lets go of me when we enter her studio.
Two tattoo beds are pushed close to the wall, while a jukebox, arcade Packman game, and a pool table live on the other side of the room.
The walls are filled with tattoo pictures, either designs or actual images of people's tattoos. It’s phenomenal.
I have never seen work like this. It is like art on the skin.
“So, what’s the verdict? Are you both getting one?” Trixy asks, looking between myself and Damon as she pops a sucker into her mouth. Her red lipstick and lip ring move as she sucks on the sweet, and I look away, the feeling I have when watching her causing a flutter in my stomach.
“I will be going ahead with the design I sent you. Sienna?” Damon redirects the conversation to me.
My first tattoo. Another first with Damon. Not something I would have ever considered doing before meeting him.
“Is it very painful?” I ask, worried I won’t be able to handle it.
I had a high pain threshold. James used to marvel at it. But high enough to endure this?
“Depends which part of your body Damon will be tattooing. I think his design would look amazing just above your pubic area, either on the left or right. People have said it’s quite painful there, though. ”
Wait, what? Trixy’s words sink in, and I blink a couple of times.
“Wait, you will be tattooing me?” Damon looks bored and just nods in agreement, not elaborating any further.
“He is very skilled. One of his designs won first place in a competition five years ago. You didn’t know?” Trixy laughs, shaking her head.
“Considering you are the first person he has brought here, which is significant, you don’t seem to know much about him.”
Trixy’s words resonate with a truth that I hate.
“My thoughts exactly. But Damon can be difficult to get to know.” My frustration comes through in my tone, and Trixy raises her eyebrows in surprise.
“She is feisty, Damon. I like her.” Trixy puts the sucker back in her mouth, smiling as she looks between me and Damon.
Damon seems unfazed by my words. As usual. Calm. Cool. Collected. Aloof.
And yet. Here I was. Wanting him nonetheless.
“Yes. I will let you tattoo your design on my body.” I look at Damon pointedly, waiting for a reaction. None.
Trixy claps her hands together excitedly.
“Excellent! I will set everything up while you sort out the design. My laptop is over there.” Trixy points to a laptop on a table in the corner of the room.
While Damon does whatever he is doing on the laptop and Trixy sets up some very complicated-looking machinery, I wander around the room. My mind goes to the design Damon has made for me. Would it be like his? All dark and tormented? Maybe a skull?
“Sienna.” Damon, right behind me, makes me jump.
“You’re very jumpy. Are you worried?” His voice holds a little concern—a reaction, finally.
“A bit,” I say honestly, but don’t elaborate. On the pain, the design, and Damon’s skills. Yip. These all worried me.
“Do you remember when I spanked your ass in room one?” I blush, remembering that incident all too clearly.
“It was painful. But there was also pleasure. I think it will be like this for you. And don’t worry. I know what I am doing.” Damon's confidence is, as usual, almost arrogant.
“Male entertainer, business owner, fighter, tattoo artist. Is there nothing you haven’t done?”