Chapter 31
You Look Incredible
Emily's Search History: what does it mean if I'm worried my stalker might lose interest in me?
Emily
“I have to go to work today, but I don’t want to leave you in the house alone. So you’re coming with me.”
I just stare at him, not blinking.
Eli sighs. “Please, will you come with me so I can keep you safe?”
A small smile tugs at my lips. “Sure. This is the tattoo parlour… not your other job, right?”
He rolls his eyes. “Yes. I have a client coming in at one.”
It’s mid-morning. I’ve been working on my laptop while Eli sits beside me doing the same.
“Okay,” I say, closing the lid. “I’ll go get ready.”
Upstairs, I rifle through the wardrobe. It’s mid-May—warm, bright. A sundress? I haven’t worn one in ages. But maybe… maybe I could feel confident enough today.
The dress is creamy white, fitted at the bust, flowing to my knees from my very-much-non-existent waist. When I put it on, I groan.
I look fat.
Eli’s voice whispers through my memory: Next time you call yourself fat, it better be followed by ‘and sexy as hell.’
I just… don’t see it.
“You’re taking up too much space, Emily.” Gia’s phantom words dig into me like a sharp needle. “You shouldn’t wear something like that. It’s embarrassing.”
I remember Eli’s words about the traffickers. Six pounds per square inch of skin. How much would I be worth on their market? Am I more valuable because there’s more of me to harvest? Or less, because my excess skin is a failure?
Twisting in the mirror, all I catch is the sag of my arms, bingo wings waving mockingly, the stretch marks glowing pale across my breasts, my calves looking like tree trunks, and—
The door creaks open. I brace for the critique.
“You look incredible.”
Eli’s voice slices clean through the spiral.
I blink hard, fighting the stupid sting of tears.
His eyes meet mine in the full-length mirror from where he stands in the doorway.
How can he say I look incredible? He’s fit and healthy, muscles stretching the fabric of his T-shirt.
He doesn’t have cellulite on his thighs or ass.
He doesn’t have a stomach that hangs so far forward he can’t see his own vagina without bending into weird angles or physically lifting—
Okay, maybe I’m projecting with that one.
Eli strides towards me with quiet grace until his presence is directly behind me. Heat radiates from his front where it’s almost touching my back.
My hands tremble at my sides. “I don’t like it.”
“What don’t you like about it?”
I swallow, still fighting back tears of self-pity. “My arms.”
Eli runs his hand up my arm, starting from my fingers, all the way up to my shoulder. Goosebumps pebble on my skin despite the warm air. “What’s wrong with your arms?”
“They’re too big.”
Eli’s head shakes. “Agree to disagree. What else?”
“My breasts.”
Eli groans, his head tipping back. “You mean your tits that I want to knead and suck on like my life depends on it?”
My breath stammers. “You… You do?”
He flashes his teeth at me. “More than I want air.”
“I don’t like my legs either.”
Eli moves around me, blocking my view, then drops down to his knees in front of me.
“You have no idea how much I’ve imagined having these very legs wrapped around my waist while I fuck you so hard you can’t think straight.
” He pressed one finger gently to my calf, then runs it up, just as he did my arm.
When he reaches the hem of my dress, he pauses, eyes searching mine.
I nod. His hand slips upward. Then his other hand is joining it, the two of them flattening against the skin at the back of my thighs.
I can’t breathe.
Then his hands are on my ass and I’m trembling—with fear, with self-doubt, with desire.
“I want to watch your ass bounce as I fuck it from behind.”
I gulp. “You… You want to fuck my ass?”
His fingers tighten on my skin, hard enough I worry—or hope—I’ll feel them forever.
“You have no idea how much I want to ruin you, Angel. I wish you could see yourself through my eyes. If you did, you’d know that every—” he squeezes my ass again, “—single—” squeeze, “—part of you—” squeeze, “—is perfect.”
He stands slowly, his thumb reaching out to graze my lower lip. “I know that Gia wanted to cut away the parts of you she couldn’t control. She wanted you to be a hollow shell that fit her mould. And those men I’m hunting? They see the money. The pieces.”
He leans in, breath hot against my mouth. “But me?” His gaze darkens, turning possessive. “I don’t want your parts, Em. I want the whole messy, beautiful wreck. You are more than your body, but your body is a masterpiece. And I’d kill anyone who tries to take a single piece of it.”
Then he’s moving away from me, back towards the door. He stops at the threshold, turning his head back to me. “Wear whatever makes you comfortable. But Em”—he fixes me with a hard stare—“you look beautiful in this.”
Our eyes hold each other for a lingering moment. Then he’s gone.
My lip trembles as I bite down on it. Indecision wars within me.
Breathe.
You’ve got this.
I am strong. I am sexy. I am beautiful.
I don’t believe the words, not just yet. But maybe for today I can pretend.
I swipe on some make-up, fix my hair, then walk out the room without taking another look at my body.
I am strong. I am sexy. I am beautiful.
The buzz of the tattoo gun is the first thing I notice as I step inside the shop. The second, is the incredible artwork adorning the walls. Every inch is filled with various designs, from doodles to realistic imagery.
“Wow,” I breathe, as Eli pushes me forwards gently with his hand on my back.
The buzzing stops and then a man's bald, tatted head is poking out from a door at the back.
“Eli,” he greets brightly, coming to clap him on the back. Then his gaze swings to me. “You must be Emily. Tyler told me you had a girl, Eli. Didn’t quite believe him. But here you are.”
Eli’s grin is instant and proud. “She’s real. Aren’t you, Angel?”
There’s something about the question—like he needs to hear me confirm it for himself—that makes my stomach flip.
I roll my eyes. “I’m real, last time I checked anyway.”
The man laughs. “I’m Karl, by the way.”
My shock must be written all over my face.
Amusement twinkles in his eyes. “Yeah, that Karl.”
“You don’t care that I know?”
He waves a dismissive hand. “Nah, if Eli trusts you then I do too.”
And then he’s gone again, back behind the door.
Eli leads me through another door into a private room. A reclining chair sits in the middle; tools neatly arranged along the workbench. The air smells like cleaning spray and ink.
“What are you working on today?” I ask as he nudges me into a seat in the corner.
“A rose.”
“A rose? Where is that going?”
Eli hesitates. “On her ass.”
My eyebrows fly up. “You’re tattooing a woman’s ass?”
He grimaces. “Yes?”
“Why?”
He shrugs. “It’s where she wants it. Not really my taste, but the client is one of my regulars, so I didn’t want to say no.”
“Oh, so you regularly tattoo her ass?”
He snorts. “No, Em, I—” He pauses. “Are you jealous?”
“No,” I snap, glaring at him and crossing my arms in front of me like a child. Am I?
Before either of us can say anything else, a melodic voice calls out chirpily. “Eli!”
Eli pokes his head out the door and murmurs something I can’t make out before he’s opening it wide and in steps a woman who looks like she could be a model.
But it’s not the way her small perky breasts sit perfectly in her crop top, or her denim shorts that barely contain her pert ass, that has me frozen.
It’s her hair. Blonde. Bleached. But blonde, nonetheless.
She’s exactly Eli’s type to stalk.
Ice trickles down my spine.
Not from fear.
From doubt.
What if I’m just a phase? What happens when he gets bored? Has he stalked her before? Is he still?
“Megan, this is Emily, my angel. Em, this is Megan, she’s my client today.”
“Hi.” I force a pinched smile, and a weak wave with my hand before it’s dropping down to grip my thigh.
“Hi Emily.” Megan returns my greeting before stripping out of her shorts until she’s standing in just a G-string, then lays herself down on the chair that’s now flat as a table.
Eli gets to work quickly. He uses a stencil to get the position correct, then starts up the gun.
It takes two hours, and the whole time I’m fixated on his hands touching her skin. My jealous thoughts drown out the sound of the needle.
“All done,” Eli states, moving away from Megan to clean up. He smoothes an ointment over her new ink after giving it a clean, then covers it in a bandage.
Megan doesn’t even ask to look at it. Just hops off the table, presses a kiss to Eli’s cheek, then disappears.
“Have you ever stalked her?” The question bursts from me the second we’re alone.
Eli startles. His brow furrows. “No, I haven’t.”
“But she’s blonde.”
Eli drops down in front of me, hands resting on my legs. “That’s a new development.”
“And the change doesn’t make you want to… stalk her?”
He drops his head in my lap. “Why would I want to follow anyone else when I have you?”
“But Jenny—”
“Don’t.” His voice snaps like a whip. He stands abruptly, tension vibrating off him. “I don’t want to talk about Jenny.” An undercurrent of something dark threads through the words.
I swallow hard. “Sorry.”
His shoulders sink. He moves toward me slowly, like approaching a frightened animal. “No. I’m sorry.” He pulls me up gently and folds me into him. I hesitate, then wrap my arms around him.
But the reminder lingers—how volatile this man really is.