Chapter 24 Wren
WREN
The shop smelled like antiseptic and ink. I turned slowly, taking everything in. There were flash sheets that lined the walls, black leather chairs gleamed under the lights, and so many items neatly organized on his desk. It was all so him. God, I wanted to be a part of it.
I looked over at Reed, still leaning against his station, watching me like I was some kind of miracle unfolding in front of him.
And before I could think better of it, the words tumbled out—
“Tattoo me.” They echoed in the quiet, louder than I meant.
I froze, heart pounding. “I mean—” I laughed nervously, pinching the bridge of my nose. “That came out dramatic. I just… I’ve always wanted one, and I’m here, and you’re you, and I—”
I took a deep breath and looked him in the eyes. “Tattoo me,” I repeated, softer this time, like maybe I could take it back if I needed to. “Only if it’s not weird.”
Reed’s mouth twitched. He tilted his head slightly, like he was studying me through a lens only he could see. Like he could already read the words on my skin before they existed.
“Not weird,” he said, voice low. “Not at all.”
Then came that crooked, heart-ruining smile. “What do you have in mind?”
I exhaled, nerves buzzing. “I have no idea. Something small. Meaningful.”
Reed stepped closer, slow and steady, like I was something delicate. But his eyes were warm and curious.
“You trust me to put something permanent on your body?”
“I trust you.” No hesitation.
His expression shifted—just slightly—but I saw it. He felt that. And so did I. This wasn’t just about a tattoo. It was about choosing him. And maybe, deep down, I already had.
He took one more step, and everything in me short-circuited. My lungs forgot how to work. My feet stayed planted, but my heart? It practically launched itself from my chest.
His fingers rose—slow, deliberate—and tilted my chin up with just two fingers. My breath caught. His gaze was intense, his skin warm, and for a second, I swore he was going to kiss me. I leaned in, caught in his gravity, already tasting the anticipation—
But then his lips brushed past my cheek, stopping at my ear, and he whispered:
“Okay.”
That was it. Just okay.
He pulled back with a smirk, watching my stunned expression. My cheeks flushed so fast I felt heat crawl up my neck.
He knew exactly what he was doing.
“You asshat,” I muttered, laughing, trying to play it cool. “I thought you were going to kiss me.”
“Did you?” he asked, fake-innocent, already turning toward his sketchbook. “Weird. I was just thinking about your tattoo.”
I watched him move, still dazed, still tingling from the way he looked at me. He sat down, flipping to a fresh page and grabbing a pencil like it was just another day. Like he hadn’t just left me dangling on the edge of something breathless and electric. And the truth? I loved it.
I moved closer, peering over his shoulder, heart thumping out a steady rhythm. He sketched with quiet focus, his hands steady, lines and shapes blooming into something I knew was going to be perfect. I tried not to hover too obviously, but Reed hunched over the sketch like it was top secret.
“Come on,” I groaned. “Just a peek—”
“Wren,” he warned, not even looking up. “You’ll see it when it’s done.”
I pouted, then leaned into the back of his chair. “This feels like a power move.”
“It is a power move,” he said. “And it’s working.”
Fine. If he wants to play, then I will too. I dipped my head low, lips brushing the edge of his neck, right beneath his ear. He froze. I smiled.
“You know,” I whispered, slow and teasing, “I always wondered what you’d look like flustered.”
His pencil halted.
“You’re always so calm,” I continued, trailing my fingers along his shoulder. “But I bet I could change that…”
He swallowed hard. His muscles tensed beneath my hand.
Reed turned a little, still not looking at me, but I saw his mouth twitch. That look that said he was holding on by a thread.
“Wren…” His voice was lower now. Rougher. “You’re being very distracting,” he muttered.
“I know.” I leaned in again, lips grazing just under his jaw.
He let out a slow breath, then turned fast. Our eyes locked. His pupils were dark and his cheeks flushed. He unintentionally licked his lips as he glanced between my eyes and mouth.
“You done?” I asked sweetly, pretending I wasn’t melting inside from how good it felt to unravel him like this. He looked like he couldn’t decide whether to kiss me or put me in a corner.
Then, finally, he held the sketch up.
“Now I am.”
I stood up, looked down, and stopped breathing. It’s beautiful.
It was a crescent moon made out of flowers.
The flowers look soft but strong, like they’ve been through things and still decided to bloom anyway.
There’s this arc of tiny stars behind them, almost like a secret constellation only I’d recognize.
The whole thing feels quiet and brave and a little bit magical. It just… feels like me.
“It’s…” I swallowed. “It’s perfect.”
Reed watched me closely. “I wanted it to feel like you. The crescent moon can represent both the beginning and end of cycles, signifying new starts and transformations. I gave you the waxing moon to signify a new and brighter beginning.”
I looked up at him, speechless. I threw my arms around him. It was instinct—like my heart reached for him before my brain could catch up. I hugged him tight, cheek pressed to his shoulder, the image burned into my mind.
“Thank you,” I mumbled. “Seriously, it’s beautiful.”
His arms came around me, firm and sure, like he hadn’t expected it, but once he had me, he wasn’t letting go. I sighed into his warmth, his steady breath. And then—oh. Oh. My eyes widened slightly.
Yup. His cock was hard.
I bit my lip and pulled back, just enough to glance up at him with a grin I knew was full of trouble.
“Well,” I teased, “someone really likes flowers.”
Reed’s eyes went wide, then narrowed. “Wren—”
“Hey, I’m flattered,” I grinned. “You’re truly committing to the full custom art experience.”
He groaned, rubbing the back of his neck. His ears turned pink. “You’re the worst.”
“Not what your body’s saying,” I whispered with a wink.
He threw his head back and laughed. He grabbed his sketchbook again, muttering something not safe for work. But the tension? Still humming, crackling under the surface.
“So,” he said, voice steadier now, “where are we putting this thing?”
I thought for a second, then tugged my shirt down off my shoulder, revealing the smooth curve beneath my collarbone.
“Here?” I suggested, brushing my fingers along the spot. “Visible. But subtle. Something I’ll see every day.”
His eyes dropped to the spot, and he nodded slowly. “That would be perfect,” he murmured more to himself. “Soft lines, just hugging the bone.”
His fingers brushed the area, mapping it out. Clinical. Professional. But my breath still caught.
“Okay,” I whispered. “Let’s do it.”
“Strip and get on the table, ma’am,” he said sarcastically with a grin as he turned around.
I rolled my eyes with a laugh and climbed onto the table, slipping off my shirt. I knew he wasn’t serious, but I wanted to see his reaction. I wanted to see if I could keep flustering him the way he kept flustering me.