Chapter 13 #2
He rubs my back. “Fuckin’ A,” he says, and I can hear he’s smiling before I lean back and see him grinning down at me.
Jesus, that mouth of his is gorgeous. “I’ve been hoping you’d let me do this someday.
And, I mean, yeah, no way would I want anyone else tattooing my girl.
” He kisses the top of my head, and I squirm happily.
I'm someone's girlfriend again. Scary? Yes.
But also pretty exhilarating. I feel a lot more comfortable with my decision to give this, us, him a chance. “What would you like?”
Ah. I hadn’t actually gotten that far yet. “I...don’t know. I mean, I know what I’ve always planned to get, but I want to start off with something small, just to test the waters. Cos everything else on my tattoo wish list is a bit too large for my first time.”
He nods thoughtfully. “Yeah, I mean, you’re doing the right thing. Start small, and then maybe build up if you’re alright with it.” He lifts one corner of his mouth. “But you best believe I wanna be the one doing it. Every time.”
I grin. “Promise. No-one but you.” He smiles one of his rare face splitting smiles, and I love that I put it there.
“Come take a look at my sketches,” he says.
“See if there’s anything you like. I mean, my specialty is for larger work, but I can do smaller.
'Specially for you.” He winks, and it’s hot as hell, and I can’t help but think how much being cheerful and laid back suits him.
And how lucky I am to be the one to see it.
He picks up the sketch book that had dropped on the floor and flicks through it until I see a couple of pages of tiny designs.
I smile as he hands it to me. They all have a high level of detail, a spin that’s pure Eli.
A small set of Valkyrie wings, the feathers so fine and tangible I expect them to have a soft, fluffy texture when I run my fingers over the page.
A black wasp casting a shadow mid-flight.
A tiny daisy that looks more like a photograph on the page than a sketch.
I take a steadying breath. I’ve wanted tattoos for a while, and I know he’ll do a great job, and be as gentle as it’s possible to be while jabbing someone with needles.
Plus, the designs are so small, they shouldn’t take more than a few minutes, probably. Maybe? Either way, I’m doing this.
And then I see it, and it’s perfect.
A red and black ladybird holding on to a seed from a dandelion clock, riding the air currents. I don’t know precisely why, but I relate to the image. I point to it. “That’s the one. Definitely.”
I feel his chin on my shoulder. While I’ve been perusing, he’s moved behind me, and I find myself leaning my temple against his like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
He smells so good. Clean and fresh and warm.
Although my heart rate has picked up, I relax to the soles of my feet.
“The ladybug?” he asks, that baritone Cajun voice turning my stomach to jelly, particularly as it’s being murmured directly into my ear.
My spine tingles, and I shiver. “Sure thing. I doodled it a few weeks ago. Bit cuter than my usual work. It’ll suit you.
” He picks up my hand in one of his and runs his thumb slowly along the delicate skin of my wrist, making my toes curl.
At this rate, he won’t be able to tattoo anything on me at all because I'll have turned into a puddle of swoon at his feet. “Where do you want it? Your wrist?” He turns my hand over and runs a finger over the back of my hand, over a freckle between my second and third knuckle that I’ve had since birth. “Back of your hand?”
Taking a deep inhale, torn between just relishing the pure sensuality of the moment and putting a stop to it before I lose the power of coherent speech, I raise my arm and indicate somewhere between the crook of my elbow and my wrist. “I thought maybe here-ish?” My own voice is a little huskier than normal.
His energy is clearly contagious. I haven’t the first clue how to play this, since he doesn’t want to rush any sexy times, but I have to admit.
..this feels good. Really good. And actually pretty comfortable, like it’s right, though the air around us seems to hum with possibilities.
“OK,” he says, giving my shoulders a quick squeeze, “take a seat.”
Eli
My girlfriend is sitting in my red leather chair, waiting for me to mark her, and Jesus take the wheel, or pinch me, or something, because having the woman of my dreams sat here waiting for me to ink her makes this one of the hottest moments of my life.
Quickly but carefully, because although I’m eager to do this I don’t want to screw it up by hurrying, I prepare the needles and inks and put on my rubber gloves, and then I’m sat on my stool in front of her, marveling at how the day has done a complete one eighty.
Thank god I haven’t ruined this with clumsy words, and that she’s opened up to the idea of us.
“Ready?” I ask her. Her eyes are wide and unblinking, and she’s been fidgeting while I prepped everything; I felt her tremble when I did the alcohol swab, and her pulse was throbbing fast. But my brave girl nods, placing her trust in me to do the thing that scares her and to do it right.
It’s very humbling.
“Tell me if you want me to stop,” I say gently, and then begin freehanding the small doodle halfway up her arm.
She jumps slightly at the first touch of the tattoo needle, and gives a soft little grunt of surprise at how it feels.
I’m burning with curiosity about her thoughts as I work, and keep looking up so I can enjoy the changes on her face, from the initial wince to the realization that it’s been built up in her head as worse than it is. “How does it feel?” I ask.
“Um…” She smiles briefly, watching the drawing take shape. “I mean, it’s not the best feeling in the world, but, ah, it’s...not as bad as I thought it would be.” She winces. “Ow.” Her face clears quickly, and, while she is still watchful, she’s less tense. She even laughs.
I grin. I’m relieved. “I’m glad you’re alright with it,” I murmur, carrying on, “I mean, you wouldn’t get people like me covered all over in the damn things if it was as bad as I’m sure you’ve imagined.” I smile at her. “Maybe this will be the first of many, after all…?”
“Probably,” she agrees softly, watching what I’m doing.
I cannot stop thinking about the conversation we had just before this.
The fact that she thinks her sexuality is all she brings to the table, as she puts it, explains a lot about last night, but it is so incredibly sad that she’s based her worth on that.
This is going to take some careful handling.
She’s not only gunshy - to the extent that I’m amazed she’s agreed to give us a try - but she’s also got a lot of toxic bullshit to unlearn.
And that's not going to be easy. But I’m good.
I don’t care how long it takes: I’m going to make her understand how awesome she is, both in the bedroom and, more importantly now I know what she believes about herself, out of it.
At the thought of her in my bedroom, I sneak a look up at her face, my eyes drawn to her mouth.
She has beautiful lips, plump and soft and delicious.
I can’t wait to taste them again. And, for all I told her I didn’t want to rush straight through to the bedroom, the anticipation of those lips running down my neck, across my chest, and brushing down my abs - shit, I’m getting hard, back up, back up - but god, those thoughts are tempting, and set my blood racing.
I manage to disguise a slight groan as I clear my throat.
All too soon - because damn do I love inking her - the tattoo is finished, and I’m taking her through the aftercare.
She listens carefully, but a bright, ecstatic smile spreads across her gorgeous face.
“I did it!” she crows, throwing her arms around my neck exuberantly.
I laugh, cheering with her. “Thank you so much! It looks amazing!”
“My absolute pleasure, chere. Knew you could do it,” I say sincerely. I love the feel of her face nestling into my neck, and my stomach fizzes happily with the realization that such pleasures are going to become a regular feature of my life, all being well.
She sits back, staring at the little ladybug with gleeful triumph. It’s a great feeling to overcome a fear, and I’m genuinely pleased for her.
Her eyes meet mine. “How much do I owe you?” she asks.
“Pfft,” I say, waving my hand, “on the house. I'm not gonna charge ya.”
“No, really, I should pay you for this,” she insists.
“Oh, you should?” I ask playfully. “In spite of being a staff member, and the artist’s girlfriend,” - god damn, I will never get tired of that word if the buzzing joy running through me is anything to go by - “and it being something I really enjoyed doing for you?”
She smothers a smile and nods decisively. “Yes.”
“Hmm,” I pretend to think. I grin. “Give me a kiss and we’re square.”
My heart thuds happily with anticipation as her eyes widen. “You’re...um, you’re sure?” she asks.
I nod wordlessly, giving her a meaningful look. God, yes.
She scoots forward, tentatively resting her hands on my knees as her lips slowly come closer. “Just, um,” she mumbles uncertainly, “just tell me if I...go too far, or…”
I lift a hand to her face, and god, her skin is soft as thistledown.
“Let me be completely clear,” I say slowly.
“As long as I’m kissing you, and you’re one hundred percent with me in it, you’re making me the happiest I've ever been.” It occurs to me that reassurance is the best thing I can give her, and that this is likely to be the case for a while, at least until she gets used to being able to rely on me.
She says she trusts me, and I believe her and recognize that for the honor it is, but I can't take that for granted, and it’s going to need reinforcing.
I’m not fantastic with words, but I give it my best shot.
“I just want to know for damn sure that every step we take is a conscious decision you’ve made because you truly want it to happen.
If we kiss, if I’m going down on you, if you judo flip me onto your bed and ride me into next month, I want to know it’s your choice, that hasn't been influenced by anything but your own wants, and you’re not just doing things for my benefit.
Like right now, for example. I’ve asked for a kiss, but if you don’t want to, or don’t feel like it right now, it’s all good. ”
Her eyes soften, and her mouth comes closer still.
She hesitates a hair’s breadth from my own lips, but I wait, though my blood is roaring for me to close the distance and take her mouth in a hard, desperate kiss that shows her better than my words can how I feel about her.
This has to come from her. She has to know it’s OK to kiss me all she wants, as long as it’s from the heart.
The brush of her lips is like a little electric shock, and I sigh as she fits her mouth against mine.
She gains confidence pretty quickly, seeing how receptive I am and hearing the groans of pleasure I allow to slip out as her tongue licks into my mouth.
Her hands run up my arms, down my chest, and I bite at her lower lip as I deepen the kiss.
My stomach is liquid. My cock is hard as granite, again, but I ignore it.
No matter how badly I want her, no matter how tempting the thought of pushing her back on the chair, pulling down her jeans and panties, freeing my dick and sliding into her in one smooth thrust, I’m not a damn hypocrite.
Nor do I give mixed messages. We literally just got to the point where I’m her boyfriend; the rest will come in its own time.
Probably counting that in days rather than months, though, because Jesus...
It seems an age goes by before we stop kissing, and her face is flushed, her lips puffy and swollen. Her eyes glitter with lust into mine. I imagine my own face looks much the same as pure happiness settles into my chest.
“Y’all busy tomorrow?” I ask, nipping her softly just under her ear.
She bites her lip. “Unfortunately, yes. I have plans with Sadie. Hair appointment and shopping.”
“That’s OK,” I assure her, slightly disappointed but already looking forward to seeing her Tuesday.
I get an idea, and grin inwardly. Oh yeah, that’s happening.
“I’d best get tomorrow’s kisses in now, then,” I tease, relishing her smile and capturing it with my mouth as I kiss her again, addicted already, and refusing to think about the fucking bedroom upstairs in the parlor.