A Deal With the Devil (Boys of Preston Prep 2)

The answer is clear in her eyes.

The door swings open and skinny McTattoo-face strides in, focused on a tool in his hand. “Alright then, I think I’m all set up.” He looks up at Vandy. “You ready?”

“I am,” she replies, steadier now. She pulls up her skirt, flashing the pale flesh of her inner thigh and the temporary tattoo at him. “This is what I want, where I want it.”

McTattoo looks at her thigh and oh, fuck no. Hot, possessive fury boils under my skin at the sight of his eyes fixed there. I didn’t think this through.

My flash of rage is instantly soothed when Vandy slips her hand into mine. She doesn’t let go as she sits in the chair, the artist gently positioning her legs apart. I take a deep breath and try to loosen my grip on her hand. The last thing I need is to crush her bones with my irrational jealousy.

She jolts when he tests the gun, giving it a few rapid buzzes.

“It’s important you don’t move,” McTattoo says calmly. His fingers hover over her thigh and I consider breaking each and every one.

“How bad is it going to hurt?” Vandy asks, but she sounds more curious than scared.

He shrugs. “On the scale? Not that bad, but I’m not sure what your tolerance for pain is.”

“High,” she admits.

“Then you’ll be okay. But if you’re worried about it, don’t watch.” He looks at me. “And you—distract your girl.”

My girl.

“I’m about to start. Is everyone ready?”

Vandy nods, and I watch as her teeth press down on her bottom lip. The ink gun turns on, buzzing with life, and her eyes meet mine. All my life I’ve taken what I’ve wanted, and right now, all I want is to make her feel safe. I bend until I’m inches away from her face, eye to eye, breath mingling with breath, and I know when the needle makes impact, because she gasps. I watch as her eyes tighten with the pain of it and my chest clenches.

I mutter, “Fuck it,” and capture her lips in a kiss. She freezes at first, but then slowly relaxes. I lick her lips apart, and her tongue meets mine. She needs to be still for the ink, and she’s got some random guy messing around between her legs, so I keep the kiss gentle, slow, but it barely matters—at least, for me. The harsh buzzing is washed away by the warmth of her breath, and I hope she feels this too. This feeling that nothing else exists besides the point where our mouths meet.

More than once she sucks in air, a sign that the needle hurts, but I do my best to soothe it with sucking pecks at her lips, wet sweeps against her tongue.

It’s over so fast that I could almost be disappointed.

Almost, if not for her sigh of relief that it’s over. “That wasn’t so bad,” she says, glassy eyes darting down to the tattoo. If she’s feeling regretful about it, she doesn’t show it. She just nods along to his care instructions, glazed eyes watching him cover it up.

“You’re next, Romeo.” The artist rips off his gloves for a new pair, running an astringent-smelling wipe over the chair once Vandy slides off it.

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nbsp; She watches me take her place, eyes widening when I unbutton my jeans and fold them out of the way.

“You’re the one who wanted it there,” I remind her, grinning at her pink cheeks.

Vandy is right, the pain isn’t so bad. At least I don’t have to worry about sporting wood as the artist inks my skin, because pain has never done it for me. Nevertheless, when she takes my hand in hers, holding it in her lap as she cringes along to the harsh sound of the gun, I don’t say anything.

Freshly inked and armed with written instructions on how to take care of our new tattoos, Vandy and I walk out of the parlor into the cool night. My Jeep is the only vehicle in the lot.

“Do you need a ride?”

“Actually, yeah,” she says, gripping the strap of her bag. “I’m supposed to call Emory, but that’s probably out of his way.”

This time, when I open the door for her, she accepts it. She also takes my hand, which sends another wave of electricity across my skin.

“So, listen,” I start, rocking back on my heels. I have no clue how to handle this moment. How do I tell the girl who’s off-limits, who’s a one-way-ticket back to military school, who will destroy my relationship with her brother, that my brain isn’t going to start working until I kiss the shit out of her again? Repeatedly. “I think—"

“I’m hungry,” she blurts, cutting me off. “Starving, actually. Do you want to get something to eat?”

I assess her quietly. “Like, at a restaurant?”