Chapter 1 #2
Taking a deep, steadying breath as quietly as I can - and believe me, that’s real quiet - I finger spell N-O N-E-E-D .
My dick is twitching towards full mast, and ain’t taking its time about it, neither.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m a heterosexual man, and of course I get horny now and again.
Clearly . I just don’t act on it, ever.
At least, not with other people. Internet surfing and my right hand has been all I’ve needed and all I’ve allowed myself for years now, and it’s been enough, it has .
But it turns out I’m not immune to a beautiful lady giving me easy permission to undo her bra, if I want to, like it’s no big deal.
This… thrill I’m feeling hasn’t happened in a while.
I’m not given to crushes, haven’t felt more than the most fleeting, momentary attractions since I was eighteen, so although this is unsettling, it feels good.
Real good.
And I don’t feel tired anymore.
Her head turns slightly, and the artist in me lights up because in profile she truly is stunning. Her nose is slightly upturned, pixie-ish, and that glorious hair of hers falls like a kawaii Venus di Milo. “What do you think? Overambitious for a tattoo novice, or can it be done?”
I reach for my tablet and open the notepad app, typing quickly with one hand.
I can do it. Go for broke. She turns and sits facing me again, and I try my hardest to ignore the way her unzipped dress gathers loosely around her.
I smile reassuringly (Smile Number Two) as I pass the tablet over, hoping she’s gonna really do this and isn’t the type to back out at the last minute.
But then, she’s not wrong; it is a total beast of a first tattoo.
No-one would blame her if she lost her nerve, least of all me.
I guess it depends if she’s confident she can take the pain, and if she’s at all scared of needles.
“So, needles don’t particularly bother me,” she says, as though she’s read my mind - or as if I’ve done the impossible and spoken out loud, “but I am a total newcomer, and that has to be a factor. So, bearing that in mind, in your professional opinion…do you think I can handle it?” She gives me direct eye contact and a smile that’s almost challenging, daring me to tell her she can’t.
I’m a professional. I have to be pragmatic here.
What she’s asking for is huge, and will take a while to do.
Most people I know would flinch at the scale of her request, including the hardcore tattoo addicts.
But at the end of the day, if she finds the kiss of the needle a little too much, I can create her a smaller piece that’s still in-keeping with the core concept.
And, of all people, she’s safe in my hands, in every possible way. The only harm I will do is the stinging of the machine. I’m not a sleaze.
So, without breaking eye contact, I hold my hand out for my tablet.
Get a good night’s sleep beforehand , I type.
Don’t take ibuprofen or aspirin before your appointment.
Bring a sports drink to each session for the glucose and hydration.
We have numbing cream, if that will make you more comfortable?
I think for a moment, and then, with a tiny smile, I add, You can definitely handle what I’m gonna do, Liaden.
I hand it back with a nod .
Her eyes dart lightning quick across the text.
Jesus, she’s a fast reader. I wouldn’t believe it was possible if I wasn’t watching her do it.
Her eyes lift to mine, and I’m enjoying the kittenish gleam in them.
“OK, clearly you’re more than up to the task, so you’ve got yourself a deal.
But I do have one final request.” She leans forward, playful, almost like she might kiss me if I was a little closer. “An important one.”
My heart skips a beat or two at the intimacy of it all, but I quickly lift my eyebrows in an easy ‘go ahead’ expression.
A wicked grin. “Show me your tattoos. That’ll really convince me I’m in good hands.”
I frown a little. I didn’t tattoo myself , I type, and show it to her.
“I’m sure you didn’t. But no truly good tattoo artist would tolerate bad ink on their own skin.
Plus, if you have some large pieces, I’ll know you’ll be able to empathize with me when I’m in your seat, under your hands…
” She trails off, still grinning. “Plus, maybe I just want to see what you’ve got. ”
She’s doing this deliberately.She must be.
A corner of my mouth pulls up, and I type, Fair point .
After a couple of seconds of hesitation, I decide there’s probably no harm in showing her the tattoos on my left forearm: a tardigrade inked by Sadie, and the beginnings of my skulls and clocks sleeve by Leo. I roll up the sleeve of my gray henley and show her.
She runs her index finger lightly, curiously, over my skin, tracing the designs. It feels really, really nice, and my breath catches. Shit .Hope she missed that.
“Nice,” she comments lightly, “any more?” She looks up at me in a way that makes my pants tighten. Man alive, this is hot.
I laugh through my nose because it’s a little more audible that way, and once again start typing on my tablet.
That’s for me to know and you to wonder, I guess .
There’s no way I’m going to show her the ink I have under my shirt, on my back and shoulders and chest. Or my other arm.
She’d have questions, and I don’t want to answer them, or even hear them.
And I don’t want her to see my scars, either .
But joining in with her flirting is irresistible fun, and I’d never normally let myself indulge, but…just this once…I just want to enjoy the anticipation sizzling along my veins.
She giggles as she reads my reply. “Can’t blame a girl for trying.” Some pretty lengthy eye contact stretches out, and I can’t seem to tear myself away from her dark blue gaze.
Just exactly like what used to happen between Em and Eli.
Holy shit.
“OK, it’s settled.” She turns in her chair again, glancing over her shoulder at me once more.
The position is undeniably suggestive, sending my brain spinning towards mental images that make me press my lips together, trying to avoid her noticing how my breath is coming a little faster.
“Could you do me a favor and zip me up, please?” Her head turns away and she waits patiently, leaving me staring at her bare back with that goddamn bra catch winking at me.
Be cool, I order myself. Be fucking cool. You do this all the time for all she knows.
Carefully avoiding touching her skin, and refusing to think about the warmth from her skin, I grasp her zipper tab and pull it up as quickly and smoothly as I can. Christ , this feels intimate. So new. So heady. I’m definitely going to think about this later when everyone else is asleep.
“Thanks,” she says as she straightens herself up, all casual, like nothing even happened.
I’m not a hundred percent sure I can get a handle on her, whether she’s flirting for real or whether this is just how she rolls, and that’s unsettling.
And interesting. “How long do you anticipate this will take from start to finish?”
I wave my flat hand side to side in the universal symbol for ‘ehh’, and consider the photo she showed me.
Kind of want to take my time and make this last, if I’m honest, so I hold up five fingers, and then shrug and hold up six before spelling S-E-S-S-I-O-N-S, and then hold up two fingers, H-O-U-R-S E-A-C-H .
Five or six appointments, set at two week intervals to allow for healing, should be plenty.
Assuming she can handle the needle OK. And I’ve decided to charge her a fixed fee no matter how long I take, rather than by the hour .
She nods. “I’m good with that. So, when are you free for session one? Now I’ve made the decision, I’d like to get cracking.” She’s beaming with enthusiasm, and it’s infectious. I can’t wait, either.
I grab my tablet again. Emily will be able to sort that. I may have had a cancellation, hopefully? Her smile grows as she reads.
I don’t know what makes me do it - I didn’t even think about it beforehand - but I offer her my hand to help her up, like a reflex action.
She’s perfectly capable. She doesn’t need my help.
And yet, there’s my hand, outstretched. I almost pull it back, feeling like such a tool, but she takes it like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
Her fingers are ink stained, like maybe a pen exploded while she was filling pages with interesting ideas.
They’re soft, warm, and dry, and I can’t help but enjoy holding her hand for a few brief seconds.
I try a very rarely used smile, one that belongs to a cousin of Leo Mills.
A confident player with the world at his fingertips.
She meets my gaze just as confidently, but hers is not an act. She’s not given to blushing, clearly. I can’t say the same for myself, if the heat flooding my face is any indication. So much for the ‘player’.
When we head through to reception, Emily is just hanging up the phone. She smiles as she greets us, and I am so thankful that she’s picked up so much ASL over the past few months.
Don’t talk aloud, please just sign. She frowns slightly, then nods once. Has anyone cancelled an appointment with me over the next few days?
She bites her lip. Sorry, you’re booked solid for the next… She pauses as she checks her laptop screen. Eight and a half weeks. She gives me an apologetic look, and Liaden a discreetly curious one.
Shit.
I make a snap decision. Book her in after hours. Six sessions, with two weeks in between each one. I can lock up on those nights.