Audre & Bash Are Just Friends(77)

Audre’s jaw dropped, and then she started giggling, too. “No, you haven’t.”

“I have,” he said, and his bashful tone was adorable. “Look, I’m not trying to be creepy. This is my art. I love creating designs for people that they’ll wear forever. It’s a rush. And I’ve been wanting to share it with you.”

“And show off.”

“A little, yeah. But it’s not just that. It’s more than that.” Bash was quiet for so long, Audre wondered if he was ever going to finish his thought. “Do I enjoy seeing you lying there on my chair? Yes. Do I enjoy that you trust me enough to permanently mark you?” His eyes met hers. “Also yes.”

“Oh.”

Her mouth went dry. Tingles ran through her body. She swallowed, then licked her lips. He blinked, his gaze traveling from her eyes to her mouth. He stopped there. Something flickered in his gaze. This electric, magnetic thing crackling between them was almost too intense to bear.

Her heart was slamming against her ribs, her brain spinning. Outside, the rain pounded against the window. Something in the air changed then.

“You’re shaking,” he said.

“No, I’m not, B.”

“Yeah, you are, A.”

“I’m not!”

“Audre.” Bash reached out and held her hand, giving her a gentle squeeze. She gasped a little, feeling his hand on hers. “It’s okay. I’ve got you. Trust me.”

She nodded. “I’m ready.”

Bash nodded back and reached over to the little tray-stand of his supplies. He slid on rubber gloves, with a loud slap. Which somehow made her more nervous than ever. This was really going to happen.

Gently, he reached out and held her wrist down against the armrest. He touched her as if she were something fragile. (And right now, she was.) She gazed down at his gloved hand on her skin, and it hit her. He was about to imprint something special on her inner wrist, an idea she’d whispered to him just minutes before in this intimate, quiet place—and she felt safe under his care. She felt precious under his touch.

“We can stop if you’re really scared.”

She looked at him, searching his face for a sign that she should stop. There wasn’t one. Audre trusted Bash.

“I’m not scared anymore.”

“Good. Don’t look at the gun. Look at me.”

Almost solemnly, Bash turned on the tattoo gun. A slight, humming buzz filled up the silence, in concert with the steady thrum of the rain outside. Following his directions, she focused on his face as he bent over her wrist—concentration furrowing his brow and pulling his mouth to one side. He looked both intense and angelic. How could one person hold so much beauty in their face?

When the needle touched her skin, she gasped a little in surprise, but it didn’t hurt hurt. It was just a slight, stinging burn as he dragged the needle in soft, short strokes along her wrist. Staring at him helped. A lot. It was damn near euphoric, actually. The soft huffs of his breath on the skin of her inner arm lulled her into a floaty haze.

And then Bash stopped. He was so close, bowed over her arm.

“Is this okay?”

She nodded, breathless. Somehow, she felt both powerful and weak.

“I’m just getting more ink. Don’t move.”

He stopped then, gently wiping away excess ink on her wrist with a little pad. And then more. She sucked in her breath when the needle sharply touched her skin again. There was a sting, but truly? There was something satisfying in the feeling. The idea that even though it hurt, she was badass enough to push through it. She felt powerful. It was all so meditative, the buzzing of the needle, the scent of the candle, their almost worshipful silence. Turns out? Getting a tattoo was a rush.

It was a rush because Bash was doing it for her.

Every sensation felt heightened. This was exactly what Audre needed. To forget everything. To float away on feeling. To live only for the next breath. Nothing could get to her here. Nothing could get to her when she was with Bash. She didn’t notice that he’d stopped until he turned the gun off. Her eyes fluttered open from half-mast.

She peered at her wrist. It was exactly what she’d asked for.

333.

It was so personal, this mark he’d made on her. So intimate. No matter what happened to them, or between them—Audre would remember it forever.

He layered on ointment and then he bandaged up her wrist. With a trembly sigh, she looked up at Bash. His eyes were glassy, and it looked like he’d been holding his breath.

“You good?” His voice was low and deeper than usual.

Her answer, yes, came out as a whisper-croak that took them both by surprise. Bash stared at her, just openly gawked, and Audre stared back, matching his boldness. And then the tub of ointment slipped out of his hand, landing with a thud on the floor.

Audre caught her bottom lip under her teeth and released it. He stared at her mouth, unblinking. The rain pounded at the window. Then, as if in a trance, Bash ran the back of his fingers along her cheek, stopping at her chin. Then he slowly swept the pad of his thumb across her bottom lip. Tingles surged through her. Her lips parted just a bit, and she touched his thumb with the tip of her tongue.

Audre never knew that hearing a guy groan could be so… hot. She made him make that sound. It felt powerful.

Next thing she knew, he’d closed the space between them—propping his elbows on either side of her and angling his face over hers until their lips were almost touching. After a few trembling breaths, she spoke.