see the way her eyelashes flick and twitch as her gaze climbs and dips. She’s not particularly trying to hide it.
This is totally an eye-fucking.
She carefully peels the paper away, skimming her fingers around the Devil’s mark. She says, “All good,” and her voice is this breathy, trembling thing that makes me want to push her against something sturdy and vertical.
She steps back, but my hand impulsively curls around her neck, fingers threading in her hair, keeping her close. She freezes, watching me, but my eyes zero in on the delicate patch of skin beneath her ear. I think about marking her there too, this time for all the world to see.
Mine now.
It’s a seductive falsehood, but it doesn’t make me want it any less. I rest a thumb under her chin and lift it, searching her eyes to see what this is. Is she toying with me for the fun of it? I wouldn’t hold it against her. I’d play along, shrug it off. Or does she want to feel whatever this thing is between us spark and catch fire?
The answer is clear in her eyes.
The door swings open and skinny McTattoo-face strides in, focused on a tool in his hand. “Alright then, I think I’m all set up.” He looks up at Vandy. “You ready?”
“I am,” she replies, steadier now. She pulls up her skirt, flashing the pale flesh of her inner thigh and the temporary tattoo at him. “This is what I want, where I want it.”
McTattoo looks at her thigh and oh, fuck no. Hot, possessive fury boils under my skin at the sight of his eyes fixed there. I didn’t think this through.
My flash of rage is instantly soothed when Vandy slips her hand into mine. She doesn’t let go as she sits in the chair, the artist gently positioning her legs apart. I take a deep breath and try to loosen my grip on her hand. The last thing I need is to crush her bones with my irrational jealousy.
She jolts when he tests the gun, giving it a few rapid buzzes.
“It’s important you don’t move,” McTattoo says calmly. His fingers hover over her thigh and I consider breaking each and every one.
“How bad is it going to hurt?” Vandy asks, but she sounds more curious than scared.
He shrugs. “On the scale? Not that bad, but I’m not sure what your tolerance for pain is.”
“High,” she admits.
“Then you’ll be okay. But if you’re worried about it, don’t watch.” He looks at me. “And you—distract your girl.”
My girl.
“I’m about to start. Is everyone ready?”
Vandy nods, and I watch as her teeth press down on her bottom lip. The ink gun turns on, buzzing with life, and her eyes meet mine. All my life I’ve taken what I’ve wanted, and right now, all I want is to make her feel safe. I bend until I’m inches away from her face, eye to eye, breath mingling with breath, and I know when the needle makes impact, because she gasps. I watch as her eyes tighten with the pain of it and my chest clenches.
I mutter, “Fuck it,” and capture her lips in a kiss. She freezes at first, but then slowly relaxes. I lick her lips apart, and her tongue meets mine. She needs to be still for the ink, and she’s got some random guy messing around between her legs, so I keep the kiss gentle, slow, but it barely matters—at least, for me. The harsh buzzing is washed away by the warmth of her breath, and I hope she feels this too. This feeling that nothing else exists besides the point where our mouths meet.
More than once she sucks in air, a sign that the needle hurts, but I do my best to soothe it with sucking pecks at her lips, wet sweeps against her tongue.
It’s over so fast that I could almost be disappointed.
Almost, if not for her sigh of relief that it’s over. “That wasn’t so bad,” she says, glassy eyes darting down to the tattoo. If she’s feeling regretful about it, she doesn’t show it. She just nods along to his care instructions, glazed eyes watching him cover it up.
“You’re next, Romeo.” The artist rips off his gloves for a new pair, running an astringent-smelling wipe over the chair once Vandy slides off it.
She watches me take her place, eyes widening when I unbutton my jeans and fold them out of the way.
“You’re the one who wanted it there,” I remind her,