“Cyn.” He wrapped his hands in her hair and held on for dear life. “Gonna.”
She nodded, and that was it. Permission given, he gave his mate what she wanted. Pure bliss exploded from the tip of his cock, blinding him.
He blinked, and stared at the dark ceiling above him. Something wet and cool was dripping off his stomach.
“Shit. Fucking mate dreams.” Julian peeled the wet sheets from his body with a sigh. The mate dreams were getting more and more intense. If he didn’t find a way to get Cyn into his bed soon he’d go insane. He was tired of coming alone, tired of sleeping alone.
And he was damn tired of washing the sheets every night. He stripped the bed, tossing his dirty shorts in the pile. He used the edge of the sheet to clean himself off, grimacing at the sticky mess. His water bill was going to be through the roof at this rate. He put the dirty laundry in the washer and started it. He leaned against it for a moment and wished with all his heart that his mate were waiting for him in the other room.
Soon, Julian. Soon.
“You want a what now?” Cyn hid her grin. Damn, the girl had found some balls.
“I want a tattoo.” Heather Allen handed her a folded slip of paper. “This is what I want.”
Cyn unfolded the paper and stared at the gorgeous, yet sad, drawing. “Are you sure about this?”
Heather scowled, an expression Cyn was delighted to see. “I’m eighteen. I can do this if I want.”
Cyn shook her head. “That’s not what I meant.” She shook the paper. “Are you sure about this? A tattoo is forever.”
Heather looked scared and relieved at the same time. She gulped, her green gaze bright and resolute. “I’m positive.”
Cyn sighed. “Black and white or color?”
“Yes!” Heather danced a little jig and Cyn laughed. If Eric could only see her now. She stopped and shot Cyn a happy little smile that lit her whole face. “Color, I think.”
“Just so you know, color costs more and will hurt more.” Heather tilted her head, the happy smile dimming. “You’ll be under the needle for longer.” Cyn shrugged. “It’s still your choice, but you need to understand what’s going to happen in the other room.”
Heather bit her lip. Cyn could practically see the wheels turning. “How much will it cost?”
Cyn named a price that was half what she would have charged anyone else. “But that’s the family discount, so don’t go bragging how cheap this was.”
Heather hugged her tight, surprising her. The girl was strong for such a little slip of a thing. She might weigh a hundred and ten pounds soaking wet, but only if she was in one of those heavily padded parkas. “Definitely color.” She kissed Cyn’s cheek. “Thank you.”
Cyn hugged her back. “You’re welcome.” She led Heather toward the back room, where she would discuss what colors the girl wanted. Heather had handed her a black and white drawing, but it would look stunning in blues and greens on the girl’s pale skin. She took another look at the drawing. “You’re going to school for art, right?”
Heather shook her head, her shoulders hunching in that awful protective pose Cyn had noted in Frank’s. “I want to, but…”
“But?” Who was stomping on this poor kid’s dreams? Cyn would have to have a chat with them. Preferably with a baseball bat.
“The others think I should go to the community college and study bookkeeping.”
“Ew.” Cyn wrinkled her nose, glad when Heather giggled. “Seriously. Bookkeeping?”
“I know, right?” Heather settled in the chair and bared her shoulder.
“You should be the one to decide what you want to do, not anyone else. You think I’d have this shop if I’d listened to the nay-sayers?” Cyn wiped Heather’s shoulder down with alcohol, cleansing the area for the tattoo. “If I’d listened to the people who thought I shouldn’t be a tattoo artist I’d probably be stuck in a hideous brown uniform asking people if they want fries with that.”