Chapter 3
Hands – calloused and firm – travel down my bare shoulders and arms. They circle my waist, then slowly move to my belt buckle.
The room smells too clean, too…dry, I guess – making my nostrils burn a little. But, given that it’s a tattoo parlor, I can’t really expect it to smell like a damn spa, now can I?
The mauve curtains in the room are pulled back, making the early-morning sunlight stream through the glass window and cast warm shadows on the wallpapered wall and worktable.
It’s kind of a laughable contrast to the tattoo guns, inks, gloves, gauzes and various other items that fill up the area, but I think that’s exactly what makes it mundane.
“How ready are you for me, huh, Princess?” Gavin asks from behind. He unbuckles my belt and unzips my denim shorts, then brushes his long fingers over my panties.
Oh, how my mother and uncle would react if they saw me like this. 28-year-old daughter of the county’s most fashionable woman, niece of Riverside’s County Administrator himself, getting ready for a quick fuck in one of the private rooms of a tattoo shop on the Main Street in the suburbs.
There’s a sound of something falling outside, followed by a muffled curse.
I move my long, flamingo-pink hair over a shoulder. “You really wanna do this here, with your girlfriend just outside at the reception desk?” I say, then arch against Gavin’s chest when he cups my pussy in a rough grip.
“I’m sure she’s too busy schmoozing with the customers to care about what I’m doing with my cock right now,” he whispers in my ear.
I grab his wrist so that I can pull his hand away from between my legs, then turn around and raise a brow at him.
“It’s 9 in the morning, Gav,” I tell him.
“It’s safe to assume that Nicole is most likely busy waiting for you to leave this room than she is chatting up your customers.
” I click my tongue. “I don’t think people wake up and decide to just walk into a tattoo shop on a regular basis. Doesn’t seem very logical to me.”
Gavin scowls. “Well, you’re here, though, aren’t you?”
I run my eyes over his shoulder-length blond hair, piercing jade eyes, clean-shaven jaw, tattooed forearms, and broad shoulders that are concealed behind his fitted black t-shirt.
“Hmm,” I start, then glance at the bulge straining his dark jeans.
“But I’m here for the lovely view, and nothing else. ”
Gavin continues to scowl. “You’re a fucking menace, Cigs.”
I chuckle and hop onto the worktable behind me. “And that’s exactly what makes me so special, doesn’t it?”
Him and I don’t fuck in his shop; the first time had been the only exception.
It’s always in his jeep, in his apartment, or in the bathroom of a grocery store.
We like it convenient, quick, and filthy, but we also don’t want Nicole walking in on us.
I prefer Gavin’s balls exactly where they are, thank you very much.
I’d met him three months ago, when I’d first visited his shop, Radical
Ink. I’d had a craving to get a tattoo, both to have something that would define me in a way nothing else ever would, and to spite my mom whilst also living up to my colorful reputation in Riverside. You know, the ‘fucking and drinking around’ kinda reputation. Pure classic.
They don’t call me the Flawed
Princess for nothing, after all.
So, back to the tattoo. A quick Google search had shown me that the best place to get inked was Gavin’s shop, and so, one random afternoon, I’d lied to my bodyguard, Maverick, about having to meet a “friend” for brunch – unchaperoned, of course – before driving over to Main Street.
The moment I’d seen Gavin, I’d known that he’d be something to look forward to. We’d fucked on the recliner in his private workroom twenty minutes after having met each other – unbeknownst to Nicole, obviously – and let me tell ya: he didn’t disappoint at
all.
The tattoo he’d inked on my upper-back that day – a massive swan with her feathers disbanded around her – is a true piece of art, and the exact reflection of how I feel.
I’d merely given him a vague idea of what I wanted, and he’d done nothing short of an outstanding job of defining the essence of me through ink on flesh.
Because it really is an essence of me – a cygnet. A swan.
That’s what my name is taken from, modified by my uncle to make it sound more…posh.
But, as much as I love my tattoo, my mother despises it twice as much. That afternoon, when I’d gotten home from Radical
Ink, she’d left more bruises on my body than she has in a while.
Her beating me is a usual feat, but sometimes, she crosses the line; makes me see exactly what I mean to her, which is absolutely nothing.
Because really, I don’t mean shit to her.
I’m the product of a drunken one-night-stand, for Christ’s sake.
I’m as neglected as they come. All I’m good for is managing the social media accounts of her fashion brand, Lure, and on several occasions, being a toy for her to manhandle and mark.
Gavin doesn’t care about said marks, though.
He sees them, but he doesn’t ask, doesn’t offer anything in regards to them.
And I don’t exactly care that he doesn’t, to be honest. I love each and every one of my bruises, because they remind me that I’m real.
They’re temporary stamps of victory that come and go – victory against the hate my own mother has for me.
“Cigs?”
I look up and meet Gavin’s eyes.
“Are we doing this, or what?” he asks a bit impatiently. For a man so talented at his job, he sure is a dense motherfucker.
I pull up a fallen strap of my white tank top. “I can’t,” I say simply. “I just…not right now.”
The anger on his face is almost comical. “Then why the fuck did you come here anyway?” he all but spits the words at me.
Wow, seriously?
I clench my jaw and get off the table. “Watch your tone, Gav,” I hiss. “I don’t live on your damn commands, you get it? I’m Cignette Adler, and I don’t take shit from rock-bottom assholes like you.” I snatch my phone from the table, slide it into my back-pocket, and march out of the room.
“Oh, hey, Cig–” Nicole starts, but immediately stops when I walk right past the reception desk.
I briefly hear Gavin and her exchanging a few words as I push open the shop’s door and step out, but I don’t stop, even as I feel his presence behind me.
“Cigs,” he says helplessly. “Cigs, come on.” He tries to grab my hand, but I sidestep him and finally reach my pink Cadillac.
“Look, I’m sorry, okay? I’m fucking sorry.”
I take my keys out of my shorts and swivel around. “I’m this close,” I begin, then emphasize my point by bringing my forefinger and thumb close, “to stabbing my key into your skull, so don’t even try to test me right now.”
“Gee.” He scratches the side of his jaw. “Talk about anger issues.”
“Funny, especially because I don’t remember turning red in the face when I said no to having sex with you just now. It was you who almost lost it, not me.”
His lips part in surprise. “I did not–”
“Don’t even try to deny it.”
“I’m pretty sure I didn’t.”
“And I’m a 100% sure you did.”
He huffs and steps closer. “Look–”
“Stop it.” I realize we’re behaving less like adults and more like confused teenagers. “Just stop,” I say, then sigh and turn around. I unlock my car, get in, and put the key into the ignition before twisting it.
Nothing happens.
I try again, and there’s a weak clicking noise, but then that, too, is gone.
“No,” I breathe. “No, no, no.” This cannot be happening right now.
A shadow falls over my car’s open window. “Oh, look; the little Princess’s fancy carriage broke down on her,” Gavin muses, then pouts.
I grit my teeth, pull my keys out, and make to shove one of them into his eye, but he quickly grabs my wrist around a chuckle, then kisses the back of my fingers before saying, “Lemme help.”
“Fuck you.”
He winks. “Maybe later – if you’re lucky.”
“You–”
He stops me by leaning in and pressing a chaste kiss on my lips. “Shut the fuck up, Cigs,” he whispers. “For once in your uptight life, just shut up and listen to me.”
I glare at him when he moves back and looks at me, but don’t say anything.
He takes the keys from me and tries starting the car again, but it doesn’t work. After several attempts, he exhales loudly and rests his forearms on the car’s hood. “We’ll need to get it checked.”
I roll my eyes. “No shit, Sherlock.”
He grins. “There’s a garage at the end of the street,” he tells me. “The best one in the entire county.”
I look ahead, as if I’ll be able to see said garage.
“I’m sure you’ve passed by it the couple of times you’ve visited my shop,” Gavin adds.
I shake my head. “I don’t think I’ve paid any attention to it.”
He laughs. “Anyways…”
I glare at him again, which makes him laugh harder.
“I’ll push your car over to the garage,” he says. “We’ll see what they say is wrong with it, and if they wanna keep it in, that’s fine. I’ll bring it over to your place once they’re done fixing it.”
I work my jaw as I glance between him and the steering wheel. I kinda feel like a jerk for saying the shit that I said to him, but I also feel like he deserved some of it, if not all.
I lick my lips and put the car in neutral. “Okay,” I tell him, then meet his gaze. “Thanks for doing this for me.”
He smiles. “Don’t mention it.” He then knocks the driver’s side door twice, so I pop it open for him.
“Work the wheel and brakes while I push, yeah?” he says.
I nod, then clutch the steering wheel tighter.
Instead of getting ready to push ahead, though, he bends and looks at me again. “Listen…” He curls his hair behind his ear. “Just…just be careful while we’re there, okay?”
Confused, I shift in my seat and furrow my brows at him. “Why?”
An unmistakable shadow passes over his beautiful features, and his bright eyes seem to dim a little as he says, “Because, Cigs, the owner of the garage we’re going to, is Dorran motherfucking Ledger.”