CHAPTER NINE
ALEXANDRA JONES
WE STEPPED INTO THE TATTOO PARLOUR.
The receptionist, Aliza, gave me a piercing stare. Her tight vest top accentuated her tattoos, and a row of silver necklaces adorned her neck, giving her a fierce and edgy look. What does this woman have against me? She looks at me as if I have stolen her man or something, and trust me, she should worry around Catherine for that.
“Hey, Aliza. Is Ares ready to tattoo my sexy legs?” Cathy chimed in; her voice filled with excitement. Aliza nods and points us to Ares’ room, all the while giving me lingering glares that made me uncomfortable. I follow Cathy down the narrow hallway, memories of the last time I was here flooding my mind. As we reach Ares’ door, Cathy pushes it open, and Ares looked up, his eyes locking with mine. There was something about his gaze that made my heart race, and I quickly looked away, settling down in the corner of the room. I didn’t want to act as if we were best friends in front of Catherine, I didn’t want to make her feel uncomfortable or anything.
Cathy confidently declared, “ready for my sexy legs, Ares? I need you to make it look amazing because I have a date.” I watch as Ares put on latex gloves and gently cleaned the back of her thighs, making sure the area was prepared for the tattoo.
Envy surged through me as he touched her with such familiarity.
I wanted him to touch me like that.
However, I don’t really have a right to be jealous after my kiss with Diávolos last night. For some reason, I regret it. I wanted it to be Ares. I want Ares to kiss me like that, not Diávolos. The sound of the tattoo machine filled the room, and I tried to avert my eyes as Ares began his work. It was hard to watch him in such close proximity to another woman, and my mind couldn’t help but wander into thoughts of his touch.
“I thought this would be more painful,” Cathy whispers, her voice strained from the sensation.
I smiled, trying to distract myself from my feelings. “Guess you can handle everything.”
As Ares continued his work, Cathy mentioned the events of the previous day. “Anyways, what happened yesterday?” She asked.
I hesitated for a moment, not wanting to reveal too much. “Nothing much, just a boring dinner. Although, Mr. Johnson was acting a little weird...”
I could sense Ares listening to our conversation, and there was a momentary pause in his movements.
“Weird?”
“Or I was just overthinking, but I was uncomfortable, I just hate having them around.” I whisper honestly.
Catherine took that I felt a bit weird speaking about this in front of Ares and went back to sleep. Hours pass by as the tattoo machine come to a stop. Ares wiped off the ink from Cathy’s leg with a wet wipe, then skill-fully patched up the fresh tattoo with black patch, all while Cathy gave her approval.
“You should get a tattoo,” Cathy suggested, looking at me through the mirror.
“Oh, no, no way...” I stammer.
“What happened to wanting to experience things? Just get one where your parents would never see. How much, Ares?” Cathy reaches for her purse, determined to convince me.
“Twenty,” Ares replied.
“I-I can’t afford it, Cathy. Expenses?”
I remind her.
“You can do it for free,” Ares interjects, his deep voice sending shivers down my spine.
His eyes bore into mine, the same way Diávolos had looked at me.
Cathy’s widened eyes reflected my own surprise. There was something undeniably familiar about Ares, something that went beyond the surface. But how could I explain that this tattoo artist shared a striking resemblance to the man who kissed me and then vanished into thin air?
I glance back at Cathy who mouths, ‘experience things.’
I then turn my focus back to Ares who crosses his arms over his chest, awaiting my response. “I’m going to go get some food, leave you two to it.” Catherine excuses herself and closes the door behind her.
And now our friendship resumes.
“Do it.” He whispers, in that same daring tone.
“No.” I shoot back, a blush creeping across my face.
“I dare you.”
“You dare me?”
“I do.”
“Fine, I want one here.” I point to the middle of my breast, a sinister smile spreads across his face once I accepted his dare.
“Of what, butterfly.” He asks, taking a step forward.
“Of a butterfly.” He pushes my hair away from my bare shoulder, and gently grazes my neck. “The same one on your hand.” I slide my fingers around his wrist, and he glances down at the butterfly tattoo on the back of his hand. I bring his hand against the middle of my breast, “do you think it would look nice?”
His eyes darken.
A flicker of surprise crosses Ares’ face as I confidently expressed my desire to have him tattoo a butterfly between my breasts. Cathy had urged me to experience things, and I wanted to seize the opportunity.
“You know that means you have to take off your dress and your bra,” he warned me, trying to gauge if I was serious. I shrug my shoulders, determination bubbling within me. Where was this newfound confidence coming from?
“I trust you,” I whisper, looking up at him with unwavering resolve. He hesitated for a moment, his eyes searching mine for any signs of uncertainty.
“You shouldn’t.” He whispers.
“I guess I’m not a good listener.”
There was an undeniable tension in the room, and I could feel Ares’ gaze burning into my skin as I stood before him. He nodded, wordlessly understanding what I wanted, and gestured for me to sit on the tattoo bed. As he snapped on his gloves, I felt my heart race, nerves and excitement swirling inside me.
I struggle to reach the zipper of my dress, or more like I pretended to, I didn’t need his help, but I wanted his touch, “can you... help, please?”
Ares positions himself right behind me, right in front of a mirror so we could see each other. His fingers grazes my back, sending jolts of electricity through me. I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself as his skilled hands found the zipper of my dress. I held onto the fabric.
A part of me wanted to back out, to play it safe and stick to just getting a tattoo on my legs. But another part of me, the one that Cathy had awakened, urged me to take a leap of faith and embrace the daring side of myself. Ares’ hands, warm and firm, guided the zipper down. The dress loosened around my chest, and I instinctively held onto it, suddenly self-conscious about revealing my body.
But his hands gently push mine away, letting the dress fall to the floor. With the dress gone, I stood there in only my bra and underwear, exposing my full physique to him. My breasts, a modest c-cup, my waist, smaller than my hips, and a very distinct hourglass figure. It felt as if I was baring my soul to him, displaying a vulnerable side of me that I had rarely shown to anyone.
I could feel Ares’ eyes on me, and even without looking, I knew he saw more than just my physical appearance. He saw a glimpse of the real me, the part of me that had been hidden away for so long.
“So, fucking beautiful,” he murmurs softly, his voice almost reverent. His words sent a surge of warmth through me, making me feel cherished and admired.
In that moment, I knew I had made the right choice.
He hands me two patches, and my trembling fingers struggle to put them over my nipples. My heart is pounding like a wild beast in my chest, and I can feel the heat rising to my cheeks. I take off my bra, feeling exposed and vulnerable, laying onto the bed as instructed.
Ares settles into the chair beside me, pen in hand, and places his other hand on my stomach. His touch sends shivers down my spine, and I can’t help but gasp at the sensation. My eyes remain fixated on the ceiling.
He leans in closer, his broad shoulders blocking my view, and begins to draw the butterfly with utmost precision.
“Is it going to hurt?” I find the courage to look up at him as he continues to sketch the outline on my skin.
“You’ll see,” he replies cryptically, his fingers continuing their delicate dance. I can hear the faint buzz of the tattoo machine, and it sends shivers down my spine. My parents would never approve of this, and if either of them found out I would be in deep trouble. Not only for getting a tattoo behind their backs but because I’ve been spending time with a man they would never approve of. I mean, who would approve of a six-foot four man with tattoos all over?
“I can’t do this,” I whisper, sitting up abruptly, my arms wrapped protectively around my chest.
A small smile tugs at the corner of his lips, and he moves closer, resting his hand on my lower back. “Yes, you can,” he reassures me with a hint of determination in his voice.
“It’s going to hurt,” I protest, feeling the panic rising.
“You can squeeze my arm if you want,” he suggests gently, his warm breath brushing against my ear, “and if it becomes unbearable, I’ll stop.”
“You promise, Ares?” My voice wavers with uncertainty, but his comforting touch soothes my nerves.
“I promise, butterfly, trust me” he whispers, and butterflies flutter in my stomach at the affectionate nickname. I nod, trying to quell the rising fear, and lie back down on the bed. I should trust him. He wouldn’t hurt me intentionally. Right? Unless he’s like one of those men that like a bit of pain with their pleasure.
The tattoo machine hums to life, and I grip Ares’ strong arms for support. The sharp sensation of the needle puncturing my skin causes me to flinch, but I bite my lip to suppress any cries of pain. Ares’ hand on my stomach offers both reassurance and distraction.
With every stroke of the needle, I can’t help but feel drawn to Ares. Why him? I ask myself. Why am I drawn to him? And yet after my kiss with Diávolos…I close my eyes, relishing the sensation of his hands on my skin. His profile is captivating, every contour of his face exuding a rugged beauty that mesmerises me. Compared to his flawless features, I can’t help but feel self-conscious about my own imperfections. My fingers tighten around his bicep as the pain intensifies.
But Ares is relentless, his determination evident in the unwavering focus he maintains on his work. “Distract me, Ares,” I plead in pain.
“What do you want me to do, butterfly?” His voice is soothing, and it momentarily eases the discomfort.
“Talk to me... tell me something... do something,” I manage to say, biting my lip to endure the throbbing pain. His hand pauses. “I didn’t know it would be this painful,” I admit, a tear escaping my eye.
“I know, but we need to finish this,” he says softly, gently wiping away the tear from my cheek, “so you talk about anything you want.”
As he resumes his work, I try to distract myself from the pain by sharing my thoughts. “I wanted to experience new things; I have strict Catholic parents who keep me sheltered,” I confess.
“You know getting a tattoo is a sin, butterfly,” he reminds me.
“Where are you from?” I ask, curiosity getting the better of me.
“Greece, Assos, Kefalonia,” he replies, and his voice carries a hint of nostalgia. His dark curls cascade over his forehead, and without thinking, my hand reaches out to brush them aside.
Surprisingly, he doesn’t flinch or pull away.
Almost as if he is used to it, used to me touching him.
His hair is soft, just as I imagined it would be. He closes his eyes for a moment, savouring the unexpected touch, and then opens them to meet my gaze. “Normally, I never let my clients touch me, butterfly,” he whispers, his voice low and husky.
“Oh, sorry...” I start to withdraw my hand, feeling a little embarrassed by my impulsive gesture.
“But you’re an exception,” he interrupts, surprising me yet again.
His eyes lingers on me.
The tattoo machine hums softly in the background, a constant reminder of the purpose that brought us together. Yet, in this small, intimate space, it feels like there’s something more, something unspoken, hanging in the air.
As our eyes lock, I see a mixture of emotions swirling in his gaze — curiosity, desire, and a touch of vulnerability. It’s a side of him that I hadn’t expected to witness, and it leaves me breathless. For a moment, the world outside ceases to exist, and it’s just the two of us, entangled in a dance of unspoken words and electric attraction.
But as quickly as the moment arrived, it fades away. Ares resumes his work, his fingers gently guiding the tattoo machine across my skin, leaving me with a tingling sensation.
After what feels like a few hours of tattooing, Ares finally stops the machine and sets it aside. He picks up a wipe, gently grazing it down the fresh tattoo to remove any excess ink. “Have a look,” he says, and I immediately stand up, eager to see the final result in the mirror.
As I gaze at the butterfly tattoo between my breasts, my heart swells with delight. It’s even more beautiful than I imagined. Ares stands next to me, leaning his back against the wall, watching my reaction with a small smile.
“Just like you wanted,” he confirms, and I can see the pride in his eyes.
I gently reach for his hand and compare the tattoo to the one on his hand; it’s a perfect match. He really did draw it himself. “I have to pay you, Ares. I put you through hell,” I say, feeling a sense of guilt for taking up so much of his time and energy.
I slide on my dress halfway before he stops me.
“You don’t need to pay me,” he replies, shaking his head. Ares then grabs a roll of black cling film and crouches down in front of me. I watch as he carefully covers the tattoo with the film, ensuring it’s protected and will heal properly.
His hand brushes against my jaw as he lifts my face to meet his gaze. “I love it, Ares,” I say, unable to contain my excitement.
“You know, many girls come asking for the same tattoo on my hand,” he admits, and my heart sinks a little. I knew this was a bad idea. What if I’m just like all the other girls? What if Catherine asked? But then he continues, “and I said no to every one of them, except you.”
I guess I am different to him.
It feels weird.
It feels right.
He stands and gently raises my dress; I slide my arms in, and he comes behind me to zip it up.
“Have you eaten?”
A mischievous grin spreads across his lips. “Not what I want to eat,” he teases.
“We can go to this place downtown; they sell the best wraps...on me. Since I didn’t pay for the tattoo,” I suggest, hoping to ease the tension between us and return to a lighter mood.
His smile widens, and he nods in agreement. “Sounds good, butterfly. Lead the way.”