“I’m sure less than whatever made the scar.”

I clenched my teeth. “Yeah, but I didn’t make the decision to get that.”

Black latex gloves were snapped on, and I dug my fingernails into the armrests of the chair. Don’t run, or this will be worse. If I ran, every time I’d see the scar, I’d be remind of two failures. I closed my eyes tightly and drew in a deep breath.

“Regan.”

My eyelids fluttered open to stare up at him. He had a sponge in one hand and used the other to gently urge my bra strap out of the way. I wished the latex wasn’t between his fingers and my skin.

“Now is when I give my standard lecture about tattoos being expensive, difficult, and painful to remove.” The cold sponge swiped over my shoulder. “More painful than getting the tattoo in the first place, they say.”

He set down the sponge and picked up a razor, skimming the blade lightly over the surface of my skin, being as gentle as possible over the raised, uneven scar. The sponge wiped again, cleaning the surface, and my skin tingled as it dried.

Silas retrieved the design he’d redrawn in marker. The transfer paper was set against my scar, and the sponge swiped once more. He peeled the paper down, revealing his guide.

“Be sure you want this,” he said, his gaze on the art. “Be sure you’re going to wake up in five years and still want this.”

Five years. It was almost impossible to think that far ahead, given my job, but I felt more certain about this than anything else.

“I’m sure.”

His blue eyes flicked back to mine, and his expression was . . . pleased?

“But I might cry like a little bitch,” I whispered, nervous.

His laugh was warm. “I doubt it. Usually it’s the big guys who whine. Women? Their threshold’s higher, or they’re better at coping, because I don’t get complaints.”

“Of course you don’t. You’re fucking hot.”

Silas’s movements slowed as he opened the needle from the packaging.

“Sorry,” I said. “Nervous ‘me’ gets really honest.”

“Can’t say I mind.” When he finally seemed ready, he pulled a stool out from under the cabinet and sat, rolling up to me with the needle in hand, the cord trailing behind. A gloved hand braced itself on my shoulder, his forearm resting between my breasts. He was so comfortable getting close. Silas’s face was only a breath away from mine.

Could he feel the tremble in my body? Just the proximity of the needle made my skin want to crawl away.

“Ready?”

“No,” I said. “Just do it.”

Chapter

FIVE

Silas pushed the button and the buzzing began. Every muscle in my body tensed. Oh God, oh God . . .

“Relax,” he whispered. “Deep breaths.”

I took them through my clenched teeth. Sharp pain etched into me, like a fingernail scraping my skin off. Then, another. And another. I stared at him, watching every stroke of the needle and the concentration that creased his forehead.

I sipped air in a hiss as he got deeper into the scar. It hurt. I bit down on my lip, trying not to show it. Pain, like fear, was weakness. It was a lifetime of endless scratches, each burning just a tiny bit more than the last, until I was about to break. I couldn’t do it anymore—

Silas wiped a towel over the skin, giving me a temporary reprieve, just long enough to regroup. “I’d like to lodge a complaint,” I said.

He almost looked amused. “I thought you said I was too hot for complaints.”

“With that needle you’re just all right.”

Tags: Nikki Sloane Blindfold Club Erotic
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