“This okay?”
“Mhm.”
Dare pulls the band of my plain white thong down to sit where my pants do before turning around to put on some gloves. When he turns back around, he has a wet paper towel in his hand.
“This is just for the stencil,” he explains as he applies a generous amount of the soap and water mix. There’s something so sexy about seeing Dare in his element.
“I’m going to put the stencil on now, so try to stay still.”
“Okay.”
I look at the ceiling, feeling him place the wax paper onto the side of my thigh where the band of my underwear sits, ending right above my hipbone. He peels it back slowly.
“This is the part where I’d ask if you were happy with the placement, but…”
“Just do it,” I say before I cave. I’m dying to know what it is. For all I know, he decided to put a giant penis on my hip.
“I’m going to do a small line first, just so you know how it feels.”
I hear the buzz of the tattoo gun, and when it touches my skin, I’m surprised that it doesn’t hurt. Not much worse than getting a scratch.
“You good?”
“Yep.”
“Okay,” he says, giving my knee a squeeze. Such a simple, yet endearing gesture. “This will probably take about two hours if you want to do it all in one go.”
“I can do it,” I insist.
“Let me know when you need a break.”
I nod, and he takes that as his cue to begin. It’s not bad at first, but like picking an open wound, over and over, it starts to hurt after a while. There’s also something exhilarating about it—cathartic, even. I wonder if that’s how it started for Dare—as a way to purge his pain.
As I stare at the beams in the ceiling, I wonder what he wants to talk to me about. I’m dying to ask, but I’m also trying to let him be the one to bring it up. Now doesn’t feel like the time to push.
I’m not sure how long passes before Matty’s face comes into my line of sight.
“Look who’s sober,” he says, hovering over me, and I flip him off. Turning to Dare, he says, “That’s sick,” jerking his chin toward my thigh.
“Thanks. Now stop distracting my client,” Dare replies, but there’s no bite in his tone. Matty holds up his hands in surrender as he walks away.
“Can you turn onto your side?” Dare asks, pulling the machine away from my leg. I do as he says, rolling onto my right. When he doesn’t say anything or make a move to continue, I look behind me, careful not to look at my tattoo, only to find him staring at my very exposed, very bare ass.
“This was a bad idea,” he says, seemingly to himself, blue eyes full of heat.
“Get back to work.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He smirks, shaking his head before rolling his chair toward me. The tattoo machine whirs back to life. He leans over me, one gloved hand on my hip, wiping away the excess ink every once in a while with a napkin, while the other one controls the needle that digs into my skin incessantly.
After a while, my right side starts to go numb from lying in the same position, and Dare must notice my squirming, because he stops.
“Let’s take a break. We’re halfway done.” Dare puts his tattoo machine down and snaps his gloves off, tossing them into the trash, before pulling me to a sitting position. The tattoo stings a little, but it’s nothing I can’t handle. I stand to stretch my legs, pants still below my ass, and pull my hoodie off over my head. I’m only wearing a thin camisole, but I feel hot and sweaty. Maybe it has something to do with the adrenaline coursing through me.
“Should’ve taken you to the private room,” Dare grumbles. I look behind me to find three sets of eyes on me—Matty, Cordell, and Cordell’s client. All three snap their heads down as if they weren’t looking.
Dare takes my discarded hoodie and ties it around my waist, effectively covering my butt, but not touching the tattooed area. I wonder what I’m supposed to wear when we’re done, but I decide to cross that bridge when we come to it.
Dare grabs a water bottle, taking a swig before handing it to me. I guzzle it down.