Chapter 28
SHADE
Millie’s legs swing beneath the table as I finish applying the small stencil to her wrist and linger a beat longer than necessary. I run the tip of my finger along the curve of her knuckles, hesitating to roll away from her.
Maybe it’s the atmosphere, or some emotion that I don’t want to touch with a ten-foot pole. I can’t decide yet.
“Can you promise that it’s not going to hurt?”
I take her question as an opportunity to force myself back, grabbing my tattoo machine and adjusting the settings just right. The black gloves on my hands are tight as I flex them and then scoot toward her again.
“I could, but I’d break it if you just have a really low pain tolerance,” I say gently before patting her bare knee. “Lay on the bed with your legs all the way out, and then rest your hand here on this table.”
It’s a small black one, already wrapped and ready for me to move it into position. I shove it to rest beside her and guide her hand onto it. She doesn’t fight me as I roll her hand into the position I need and stroke the bone in her wrist.
The blush-pink dress she’s wearing has ridden up her thighs, exposing more of her soft, pale skin. I tighten my jaw and ignore that, turning the machine on and getting started. She doesn’t flinch when I make the first line, and I snap my eyes up, curious to see if she’s trying to hide her pain.
Vibrant blue eyes are already on me, no sign of pain for me to see. “That’s not so bad.”
“That’s my girl,” I coo.
She smiles coyly. “Proud?”
“Very. Next time, we’ll have to do something bigger. Maybe right here,” I murmur, reaching up to palm her warm thigh, right above her knee.
“A thigh tattoo?”
“Mmhmm,” I hum.
“What would I even get there?”
I swipe away some extra ink and continue around the right side of the crown. “There are plenty of options for a ‘slutty little thigh tattoo,’ as Daisy calls them. I’ve got both my knees done, so mine are a bit higher on the thigh, but I’ve got butterflies.”
“I remember seeing them when I was . . . you know.” She tries to hide her smile, but the humour in her eyes gives her away.
“Go on, laugh it up, princess. I’m not ashamed of them.”
Millie rolls her lips, the corners twitching. “Why butterflies?”
“Why not?”
She lets that answer sink in before saying, “I’d get butterflies too, maybe.”
“Bryce did mine. She’d do yours if you asked.”
Idiot.
I don’t want Bryce to do them. If Millie chose to get another tattoo, I’d be the one to do it. I would fight with Bryce for the honour, and that’s fucked up.
Millie purses her lips slightly, head tilting as she looks at me.
I focus on the tattoo for the next several silent minutes, swiping the red skin gently to remove the ink every few strokes before turning the machine off and setting it down.
Grabbing the bottle of alcohol, I spray the crown and wipe it again, cleaning it well enough I can do a final look for imperfections.
There aren’t any, but I tell her to check anyway, just in case. When she lifts her hand, I watch eagerly, my leg bouncing. For the first time in years, I’m nervous for someone’s reaction to a tattoo I’ve given them.
“It’s so cute. Dainty. I love it,” she murmurs.
“If you choose to later, I can add something else to it. Some pink would look good.”
“I wonder where you got that colour suggestion from,” she teases, setting her hand back onto the table.
I spray it with alcohol again and use a clean wipe to make sure all of the ink is gone. Before I reach for the healing balm, I gently lift her wrist and take a final look at the design.
“If the colour pink was a person, it would be you, Millie.”
“Does that mean you’d be grey?”
“Grey? That feels like an insult.” I wink and slather some balm on the crown before cutting a piece of second skin and applying it. “Don’t take this off for at least two days. I’ll be checking tomorrow to make sure it’s still on.”
“Okay, bossy,” she drawls.
My brow slides up. “You’re not getting an infection, Millie. I’ll be bossy about that any damn day.”
“And I’m sure you keep all of your new tattoos covered, right?”
I lean forward on my stool and brace my arms on the edge of the table she’s still stretched out on. Her eyes follow the shift in my stance, and I trace the edge of her skirt, my groin tightening.
“Give me one and we’ll see how well I follow your aftercare rules,” I rasp, enamoured by the sight of her thigh breaking out in goosebumps, the short, thin blonde hairs rising.
“Give you . . . a tattoo?”
I sweep my gaze up her body. “Yeah, princess. Give me a tattoo.”
“That’s not a good idea. I’d probably hurt you. I’m not—”
“The first time Bryce came into my shop, she was eighteen and had never tattooed anyone or anything before. But I saw something in her. I saw the clutter in her head and the desire to dump it out into the world in a way that wouldn’t land her in prison or completely isolated from the people who loved her.
Tattooing gave her that, and it did the same for me.
And maybe I’m reading you all fucking wrong, Millie, and if I am, you can tell me to shut up, and I’ll listen.
But I’ve got a feeling that if I put this machine in your hand right now and offered you a bare piece of skin anywhere on my body, you’d feel the same way Bryce and I do. ”
Palming her thigh now, I knead my fingers into the muscle. She doesn’t reply for a few long moments, her eyes drifting as she sinks into their thoughts. There’s still music playing, although it’s quiet and doing nothing to drown out the tension swirling around us right now.
The worst case here is that she tells me off for assuming things about her like a jackass, and I apologize because I’m too much of a suck for this woman to let her stay mad at me for anything. Especially not something like this.
Her hand shifts, covering mine. The gentle weight of it smothers my fingers, squeezing just enough for me to feel it.
“I don’t have a bubbling rage inside of me. That’s not what I feel,” she whispers.
My swallow is audible. “So what do you feel?”
“Helpless,” she admits, gripping my hand tighter. Her mouth flattens, eyes dulling. “And guilty. Guilty for feeling helpless in the first place when I come from a place of privilege. Being anything less than grateful for that is wrong.”
“You don’t owe anyone anything. Growing up with money doesn’t mean your feelings mean any less than mine do. I didn’t have shit when I was a kid, but I don’t believe that you deserve to be miserable because you grew up differently.”
“My resentment comes from being so sheltered. I feel like I’ve missed out on so much. So many years that I should have been, I don’t know, making stupid mistakes and getting my heart broken.”
“You yearn for the wrong things,” I muse, touching her in a way that reeks of . . . possession.
Her voice drops when she asks, “What should I yearn for, then?”
“This.”
“And what is this?”
I drag my palms over the tops of her thighs and to the inside, where she’s hot and so sensitive that her exhale morphs into a low moan. Wetting my dry lips, I roll forward further and let my pinky drag beneath the hem of her dress.
“Lust, Millie. The kind that turns your breath shallow and makes your muscles quiver,” I breathe out, pushing my hand up further until I’m wrist-deep up her dress.
She wiggles down the table, pressing against my fingers.
Her gaze glitters with mischief when I feel the slickness on the centre of her panties and pull in a quick breath.
“You should experience a sexual chemistry that pulses like a living thing at least once in your life.”
“I’ve already done that,” she admits before sinking her teeth into her lip.
“And?”
“And I’m afraid nothing will compare to it.”
To you.
It hangs on to the tip of her tongue, refusing to fall. The clarity in her eyes is so pure and honest that I nearly combust.
My heart pounds against my ribs. I let go of the groan I’ve been holding in and press my thumb against her panties while standing so quickly my stool shoots backward.
Millie doesn’t do anything but lie and wait, staring at me as I lean over her and pant like a man seeing a fucking steak after being starved for a decade.
Her head rolls on the table, her neck arching in invitation before I’m taking it and burying my face in her hair.
Lips dragging up the side of her throat, I shift her panties out of my way and rub my finger between her slit, finding her drenched and so hot I might have burn marks on my fingertips after this.
She writhes on the table, her hips lifting and falling as she tries to get me to touch her harder or faster, or I don’t fucking know.
All I do know is that I’m not going to stop touching her until she comes for me.
“Shade,” she whines, slapping a hand to my shoulder and trying to pull me closer.
I suck under her jaw, my teeth dragging over the mark I hope I left before bringing my lips to hers.
She kisses me hard, demanding and controlling.
My balls ache as I let her lead the kiss and slide a finger inside her.
There’s no resistance now, just a smooth, wet glide that has me spitting a curse into her mouth.
“Next lesson.”
I back up just enough to flick my eyes between hers, searching for any hint of fear. She runs her nose along mine and licks my bottom lip, the hand pressing to my shoulder trailing up to my neck, gripping me there.
“You’re sure?”
She nods rapidly, and I jerk in surprise when she brings her other hand to my chest, palming it so low she’s nearly at my jeans. “Yes.”
Without thinking, I lift her into my arms and haul her out of the studio.
She squeaks and tightens her grip on me, as if I’d ever fucking drop her.
I swallow my tongue when she pushes my shirt up and starts running her nails up and around my stomach.
She follows the path of tattoos, and shit—I’m going to lose it any minute.
“Not tasting your pussy for the first time on a tattoo table,” I answer her curious stare before shoving the side door open and hitting the stairs.
Her cheeks explode in pinks and reds. “Why, are you shy now?”
“Not shy,” I grunt, taking the steps two at a time. Possessive.
When we reach the top, I shoulder the door open and carry her through the apartment to her room. She dips her thumb beneath the band of my jeans and drags it side to side, those big blue eyes looking up at me through thick lashes. It’s filthy in a way only Millie can pull off.
“Keep looking at me like that.” It’s a warning and a plea.
I take wide strides down the hall and turn into her room. She unbuttons my jeans and then pulls the zipper down. My head falls forward, hanging there as I groan and say a silent prayer.
“Like what?” she purrs.
At the edge of her bed, I pull her close and let my words fall across her parted lips.
“Like you want more than my tongue, princess.”