The Sinister Silhouette

He looks at me out the corner of his eyes. “I’m not doing anything. You are.”

My brows wrinkle in confusion. He pulls a pair of gloves out of a box and tosses them on my lap.

“There are a couple spots on my arm that I need touched up. You’re going to do it for me.”

My eyes widen. “What?” I practically screech. “I-I-I can’t do that!”

His chuckle is deep and the light in his already bright eyes is striking. I ignore the flutters the look sends to my stomach.

“It’s only a couple of lines, and I never tattoo myself.”

I warily watch as he slips on a pair of gloves then dips the tip of the tattoo machine in the black ink and presses the pedal to turn the machine on.

“Then get Ella to do it,” I tell him. “I can’t tattoo you, Luca. I’ll totally screw it up.”

“No, you won’t. I’ll help you. Now put the gloves on.”

Hesitantly, I pick the gloves up, looking at the latex guardedly, as if they’ll bite me, then pull them on. Once they’re in place, Luca scoots his chair closer to me until his chest meets my knees. He lifts his eyes, and without him asking, I know what he wants. My heart rate accelerates as I open my legs and he moves forward until my inner thighs meet his sides. His gaze stays on mine, and I know he’s making sure I’m okay with the intimate position.

Once he sees I’m fine, he stretches out his left arm and lays it across my thigh until most of his arm is behind me. The crook of his elbow is on my upper thigh. His other hand is holding the tattoo machine and is resting on my other leg, just above my knee. With him between my legs and his arm resting on my thigh, I feel surrounded by him. It almost makes me dizzy.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” I whisper. When he takes the meaning behind my words the wrong way and starts to remove his arm, I grab his bicep. “I’m worried I’ll do it wrong or completely mess something up.”

His smile is gentle and warm, but there’s an underlying tenseness in his features. I can feel it where my thighs are pressed against his sides as well.

“Look down,” he says, his voice rougher than normal.

Luca’s eyes darken as he follows the movement when I lick my lips, then rub them together before looking down at his arm. His shirt sleeve is pulled up past his shoulder.

“See the black line that follows along the outside edge of the eagle’s beak?” When I nod, he continues. “All I want you to do is run over that line. It’s faded some and just needs a touch-up. Same thing with the line running along the bottom of the angel wing on the left side.”

It doesn’t look too hard, they’re just straight lines, but I’m still nervous. Although the thought of marking him in a permanent way sends a thrill through me. It’ll kind of be like I’ll be part of him.

I take a deep, encouraging breath and nod. “Okay.”

“That’s my girl,” he murmurs, and that sends a thrill through me too.

He hands me the tattoo machine and shows me the proper way to hold it. He keeps his voice low as he explains, “I’ll press the pedal. You just hold it against my skin, and I’ll help guide you.”

He places a couple of napkins down on the chair beside me, puts the tiny cup of ink on top, then tears off a couple more napkins and folds them twice. He looks to the floor and moves the pedal so it’s easier for him to reach.

“You ready?”

“No,” I tell him honestly and he grins again. I take another deep breath. “Yes. But”—I warn—“if it looks like crap afterward, it’s your fault.”

“I’m not worried.”

“I’m glad one of us isn’t,” I grumble.

All of a sudden, the machine in my hand starts to vibrate and there’s a light buzzing sound. I jump at the unexpected sound, then glower at his chuckle. The vibration stops.

“Dip the tip in the ink,” he rumbles. I do so and the vibration and buzzing start again, then stops seconds later. I lift the machine and his warm hand grabs mine and guides it so the tip is just above the area he wants worked on. When he feels the tremble in my hand, he murmurs, “Relax.”

My chest expands as I blow out air through my nose and try to calm my nerves. I feel his eyes on me, so I give him a nod. The machine vibrates and buzzes again, then he’s gently pressing down. The minute the needle touches his skin, a bead of black ink appears over the already colored portion. A weird sense of excitement fills me as both Luca and I move the machine down his skin, leaving behind a darker black line.

He pulls the machine away and lets my hand go to grab one of the napkins to wipe away the excess ink. The line he reveals looks pretty damn good, if I do say so myself. I can’t help but send him a smile.

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