Hating You, Loving You (Inked Hearts 4)

I'm ready.

Technically.

Dean hands me the gun and a fresh pad of ink. I set the latter on the table. Flip it open. Stare at it like that will give me a bit of courage.

Doing ink is terrifying enough, but doing it on my skin?

God.

My stomach flutters.

My heart thuds against my chest.

My breath… I'm not sure I even feel my breath.

I bend my leg, set as much of it as I can on the desk. It's not the most comfortable position, but it gives me the perfect canvas.

My fingers curl around the gun.

"Take your time, sunshine." Dean's voice is sweet. Caring. Then it's silly. Teasing. "The shop is open until eight."

"Fuck you."

"We already hashed this out. After."

We did. But he was kidding. But then… I hope some of him meant it, because I'm already buzzing with adrenaline. By the end…

Fucking him is the perfect way to close this.

I suck a breath through my teeth. Exhale slowly. I've done this a thousand times on fruit. Skin is similar. It's just it's my skin and I'm going to feel the pain of the needle while I figure it out.

But this pain is nothing compared to what I've been through.

The buzz of the gun fills the room.

Needle to ink.

Then to skin.

Fuck. That stings. My breathing stops. My heart thuds. My hands get sweaty. Clammy.

But I manage to trace the stencil. Up and around, straight, then curved, again and again. The pain stays but it stops hurting. It becomes a part of my reality. A thing to face, not fear.

It's hard to explain, but the hurt feels good. It feels like I'm alive.

It takes two minutes to finish the design. I barely manage to breathe through it.

But I survive.

Fuck. My entire body buzzes enough to make up for the ceasing of the gun's hum. I go to push myself up, but Dean stops me.

He holds me against the chair, pinning me at my shoulders. "Aftercare first."

"Right."

"Let me." He pulls two gloves from the box and slides them on. Then he's kneeling between my legs, peeling off the stencil, rubbing lotion into my skin and wrapping my fresh ink in plastic.

His touch is soft, gentle, the touch of a lover, not a teacher. But right now, I don't care about the line blurring. Only about every single way I want him.