37. Epilogue
Five months later
Serena:
“Are you sure this is a good idea?” I ask, shaking while I hold the tattoo gun.
“Yes, Serena,” Wolf sighs, sitting shirtless and upright on the tattoo chair.
“But what if I hurt you?”
He raises his eyebrow, and I am so tempted to wipe the smug look off of his face. “Princess, it’s a tattoo; of course it’s going to fucking hurt.” When I got home from my summer class this afternoon, Wolf called, asking me to come to the tattoo shop. He never told me that he wanted me to tattoo something on his damn chest.
“But what if you bleed?”
“Again, it’s a tattoo. Why are you so nervous about this?”
“Wolfric, I am nervous because I am permanently inking something on your skin, which is a collection of art and beauty and detail. Have you seen my pottery? The vase I made in my class last week looks like an anus.”
I watch as Wolf’s forehead wrinkles and his eyebrows pull down. “That was a vase? I thought it was a fruit bowl.”
“Why would I put flowers in a fruit bowl?”
“Fuck if I know. I still can’t figure out how you organize half the shit in your apartment.” He scowls, shaking his head at me. “Okay, princess. Now, can we do this tattoo? I don’t have all night.” Wolf twists his body and reaches for me, grabbing my waist and hauling me onto his lap. My legs fall on either side of him, and I straddle him while my right hand is still gripping Wolf’s tattoo machine.
“I can’t tattoo like this,” I complain, freaking out even more now that I can feel the obvious erection beneath me. How am I supposed to pay attention to what I’m doing if every time I shift my clit rubs against his dick?
“You had your chance to tattoo normally, but you’re being a wimp. All you have to do is trace the lines; it’s not like you’re performing brain surgery or rocket science.”
“Fine.” Sticking my tongue between my teeth, I bite down, concentrating on the instructions Wolf gave me on how to use the tattoo gun. He attached something to the gun called a trigger switch, making the foot pedal unnecessary for the application. “Okay, I’m doing it. Here it goes,” I narrate, lowering the gun to his chest. Before I even touch his skin, he yelps.
“Ow, fuck, shit.”
“What? Oh my God, what happened?” I rear back, hunting for the source of the pain. Wolf’s face cracks into the biggest, dumbest-looking grin. “God, I hate you.”
“No, you don’t. You love me, princess. But sorry, I couldn’t help myself.” He shrugs like he didn’t just take ten years off my life.
“Not funny. I hope this hurts.” Bringing the gun to his chest, I press lightly against his skin and begin tracing the small butterfly that rests over his left pectoral. The design is simple, nothing more than a few curves and lines, but I know that it means something. When he first told me that I was going to tattoo him, I balked and told him, under no uncertain terms, that it wasn’t happening. However, when he told me that he wanted a butterfly over his heart to symbolize me and our relationship, I couldn’t help but cave in.
“Is this even sanitary? I’m straddling you while I tattoo your skin.”
“Should I bury my dick inside you while you do it? Would that make you less anxious?” he asks.
Lifting the gun from his chest, I glare down at him. “Again, not funny.”
“I wasn’t trying to be.” His hands move from my thighs to my ass, pressing me further against his erection. “Something about you with a tattoo gun is hot as fuck.”
Squirming on top of him, I suck in a breath as he rubs against my clit. “Let go of my ass, Wolf. I will transform this butterfly into a penis with wings if you don’t let me concentrate.”
“Fine,” he sulks, dropping his hands to his side while I finish the tattoo. Not even five minutes later, I pull back and set the tattoo gun on the tray table beside the chair.
“Okay, that’s the best it’s going to get,” I sigh, keeping my eyes trained on the shaky lines and imperfect curves of the butterfly. “You would have done better tattooing it yourself.”
“I don’t care what it looks like, just as long as I know you did it. You have my markings on your body, and I wanted something from you.” He reaches up, cupping my jaw in his hands. “I love you, princess. I don’t know how the fuck we got here, but we’re here. It’s you, me, and these tiny little butterflies, Serena.”
I don’t try to hold back the smile that tugs at my lips. We’ve been trading “I love yous” for the last month, and each time he says it, my heart swells. “I love you, too,” I respond, pecking him on the lips. “Now, is it my turn for a tattoo? I think I’m owed something after this traumatic session.”
His hands clamp down on my ass, squeezing hard before pulling me forward. Capturing my lips in a hard kiss, he lines the seam of my lips with his tongue before working it inside my mouth. Licking into me, I shift against him, grinding into his erection before he wrenches his mouth from mine, breathing heavily.
“You’re a pain in my damn ass, princess.”