27. Before We Break
TWENTY-SEVEN
BEFORE WE brEAK
? The First Time - Damiano David
NOAH
Me: Did you take your meds today?
Princess: Yes
Me: Good girl
It’s been a helluva day, starting with Auggie’s right processor going missing—it was later discovered magnetized to the refrigerator—and ending in a consultation gone awry when I told a potential client I wouldn’t be able to cover up someone else’s shoddy work for the price they were willing to pay. I’m exhausted to my bones.
What’s worse is that I can’t seem to stop thinking about Clio. Ever since that night on the fire escape, my mind has been plagued by dangerous ideas—ideas I never would’ve given credence to before she came into my life. Now, I can’t seem to make it stop.
A quiet knock sounds on my studio door, and Clio appears like a mirage in the desert.
“Hey. You busy?”
“For you? Never.”
What the hell was that sappy shit?
She smiles, and dammit, I can’t look away. “I have tickets to Lexi’s opening night tomorrow. Do you want to drive or meet me there?”
“Why the hell would I want to go to a school play?”
“Because we’re together, and you should be there for your future stepdaughter.”
I instantly recall our conversation about what a shitbag her stepdad was, and something inside of me softens. I wheel my stool closer, palming her hips. “I’ll always be there for Lexi. You know that.”
Her gentle hands bracket my face, her expression morphing from sadness to smug satisfaction. She pats my cheek. “Good boy. Pick me up at six.”
My cock jolts, and my grip on her hips tightens ever so slightly. Fucking hell, I like the sound of that.
A burst of laughter comes from the other room, and Gwen materializes in the doorway, leaning against the frame. She holds up her hand for a high five that Clio enthusiastically reciprocates. “Well played.”
I narrow my eyes at both of them.
Gwen’s baby blues sparkle with amusement. “So, Clio. Got any hidden tattoos?”
“Nope. I was supposed to get a matching one with my sister, but I chickened out.”
“I was getting ready to head out, but I could give you one right now.” She lowers her messenger bag like she’s planning to stay.
Like hell she is.
I stand from my stool and playfully shove Gwen out of the room. “Go home. If anybody’s tattooing my woman, it’ll be me.”
“What about nipple piercings?” she calls over my shoulder, stumbling backward toward the entrance. “You’ve got a great set of—”
She doesn’t get the last word out as I shove her out the door and lock it behind her. She waggles her eyebrows and her muffled, sing-song voice travels through the glass. “Have fun.”
I flip the sign to closed and turn the deadbolt, striding back to my station.
Clio’s sitting on the edge of my tattoo chair, gripping the edge and swinging her legs back and forth. “Where’s Auggie tonight?”
“Movie night with Auntie Em before she jets off to her next shoot.”
“Do you have any plans tonight? Hot date?”
My hands bracket her hips, and I lean in close. “Why? Do you have something in mind?”
“Nope.”
I hesitate for a long moment, but I can’t seem to get the idea of tattooing Clio out of my head. The way her body would look with my art etched into her skin. I’ve already resigned myself to the fact that I won’t be in her life forever, but I can leave my mark. “Do you trust me?”
Twin pools of earthy sage stare back at me, steady and sure. “Yes.”
“Let me give you your first tattoo.”
She chews on the inside of her cheek, her fingers tapping out a nervous rhythm against the sides of the leather chair. “Will it hurt?”
“It’s not exactly a walk in the park, but I can use numbing cream, and you’ll hardly feel a thing.”
“Ok.”
I grab my tablet and sketch out a design, each detail taking shape without much thought. Nothing could be more perfect.
When the design is complete, I turn the screen so she can see it. Her breath catches, and her eyes turn glassy. “A penny?”
“So you can stop searching.”
The design is more whimsical than a traditional penny. I opted for florals instead of a portrait, since I had a feeling she might prefer not to have a dead president tattooed on her body.
“Does that say 2010?” she asks.
“Lexi’s birth year. I thought it would be fitting, but we can change it to something else.”
She reaches for me, resting her hand on my forearm. “Noah… it’s perfect.”
“Now all you have to do is figure out where you want it.”
She flips her left hand, palm up, pulling up the sleeve of her orange cable-knit sweater to run the opposite thumb over the inner edge of her wrist. “Right here so I can always see it.”
I take her hand in mine and glide my thumb over the same spot to apply the numbing cream, lingering there longer than necessary. Then I wrap her wrist in plastic wrap to let it set.
While we wait for it to take effect, I set up my station with everything I’ll need.
It’s routine at this point in my career, but it feels different knowing it’s Clio in my chair.
I take the time to refine the design. I won't be satisfied if it’s anything less than perfect for her.
Once everything is set up, we check if the numbing cream is working and apply the stencil, leaving behind a purple blueprint.
“Does it look ok?”
“Mhm. I love it.”
“Good. Sit back for me, princess.” The leather creaks as she shifts positions, and I place her upturned palm on the armrest.
“Ready?”
“I’m ready.”
I put on a playlist to give her something to focus on besides the whirring tattoo machine, and the opening chords to “Wonderwall” fill the silence.
The needle glides over her delicate skin, intricate black linework taking the shape of a circle. Adrenaline pumps through my veins as I work, that familiar artistic rush I only experience when I’m in the zone.
When I started tattooing, I felt an immense weight to get it right, and my internal monologue was filled with thoughts about fucking up, but as my confidence grew, that voice started to quiet.
It’s there now, in the back of my mind—not because I’m not confident in my craft, but because it’s Clio under my needle, and I need to get it right for her.
The tattoo takes roughly an hour, and Clio is the perfect client. I check in with her a few times, but for the most part she lies there with her eyes closed, listening to the music filtering through the speakers. At one point, I think she might’ve fallen asleep.
“All done, princess. Have a look.”
She sits up slowly, peering down at the newly inked penny on her wrist. Her bottom lip quivers, and she swipes at a stray tear. “Thank you,” she whispers. “It’s perfect. I love it so much.”
Another tear falls, and I capture it with my thumb this time. “Now she’ll always be with you.”
I apply a strip of Saniderm over the fresh ink and give her the usual aftercare speech I give to all of my clients.
She hops off the chair and bands her arms around my waist, resting her cheek against my chest. At its core, it’s an innocent gesture, but it’s also a reminder that she’s not just any client.
We’ve been teetering on the edge of something real for longer than I care to admit.
I glide my palm up and down her back as I breathe her in. Her chin tips up, my gaze drops to her lips, and the innocent gesture veers into danger faster than I can course correct.
Clio rises onto her tiptoes and plants her lips on mine. The devil on my shoulder perks up as alarm bells ring out. I should put a stop to this before the current drags us under, but fuck if I’m not already drowning.
I growl into the kiss, my conscience washing away with the tide.
My hands roam her lush figure, caressing and squeezing whatever parts of her I can reach, loving the way she molds beneath my palms. I sweep my tongue into her mouth, colliding with hers.
I swap our positions, walking us backward toward my chair.
She gasps as I break away from the kiss, leaving only a breath between us as my fingers graze the underside of her chin. “We should stop.”
“Don’t you fucking dare.”
I swipe my thumb over her bottom lip, smearing her pink lipstick. “If we don’t stop, I’m going to fucking devour you.”
“It wouldn’t be the first time,” she says in a breathy whisper. “Why stop now?”
“Mm. Mouthy little thing.” I grab a handful of her ass and roughly squeeze. “You’re gonna regret that.”
Her cheek brushes mine as she leans closer, her lips ghosting over the shell of my ear. “Make me.”
CLIO
I retreat, watching the exact moment when Noah’s mask slips. All signs of detachment and restraint have melted away; in their place is a ravenous beast, and he’s looking at me like I’m his next meal.
A feral sound crawls out of his throat as he lifts me into his arms and sets me on the edge of the counter. I heave out uneven breaths through my kiss-swollen lips, and his name escapes on a desperate exhalation.
His large palms glide up my parted thighs, sending my pulse skyrocketing. When he reaches the apex, he grips the seam of my tights and pulls. A tearing sound fills the silent space between us, and I gasp as a gust of cool air ghosts between my legs.
“What the hell,” I squeal.
“Easy access, baby.”
His deft fingers slide up my wet center, pausing when he reaches my sensitive clit, and he swallows my gasp, taking my mouth in a rough kiss. I tangle my fingers in his hair, trying to hold onto any scrap of him I can find, like he could disappear at any second.
Because he could. This is all temporary.
Everything is temporary.
The sinking feeling doesn’t have a chance to take root as Noah grabs a fistful of my hair and forces my head back.
He brings his fingers to my lips. “Taste yourself.”
I should be disgusted by the suggestion, but it only makes me wetter. As I part my lips, his fingers slip inside my mouth, gliding against my tongue. The bitter taste of my arousal makes me shudder. Closing my eyes, I swirl my tongue around his fingers, sucking on them.
His hand drops away, and he kisses me again, his tongue sweeping against mine like he’s chasing the flavor.