“Nothing. I did one line and she’s having a fucking panic attack. I thought you said she was good.”
No one says anything for several beats, and my skin warms even more knowing they’re watching me.
Waiting.
Forcing a swallow, I peel my eyelids back and blink up at the fluorescent lights, sucking in three lungfuls of air as I push into an upright position.
“I’m fine,” I insist, even as my arms tremble. Crossing them over my chest, I glance down at the tattoo; black streaks across my skin, a single line mixed with a droplet of blood, and I look away before the urge to vomit resurfaces. “Seriously, I am. Let’s… can we try it again?”
I don’t know why I ask, since it’s painfully obvious that I’m not okay, but I don’t want to seem like a baby in front of a freaking celebrity. Especially one covered in tattoos.
Embarrassment scalds my cheeks, and I stare down at the ground, wishing it’d crack open and swallow me whole.
“Clearly you’re not, and I’m not tattooing you if you’re going to fucking pass out. I could have my license revoked for that shit.”
“You can’t leave her with an incomplete design,” Aiden says.
“I can if it means not risking her safety. She’s in no shape to continue.”
“G, come on—”
Tears sting my eyes, and a solution rushes past my lips before I have a chance to consider the consequences. “What if Aiden finishes it?”
Lifting my head, both men are watching me with wide eyes, like they’re surprised I suggested such a thing. I’m not even sure if that’s something he’s allowed to do, although I remember reading a few years ago about how he’d occasionally step into some tattoo shops around the country while on tour and fill in as a guest.
Though not an artist, he can at least trace over a simple stencil, and fans used to line up down the street for the chance to have Aiden James scar them with ink.
They’re staring, clearly waiting for me to elaborate. “I think… I think I can do it, but not with a strange man looming over me, you know?”
Sliding his gaze from me, Aiden looks at Gio and lifts a shoulder. Gio frowns so hard a dimple forms in his right cheek, and then he throws his hands in the air, shaking his head.
“That doesn’t make any fucking sense, but whatever.” Removing his gloves, Gio tosses them in the trash bin next to the table and stalks out of the cubicle. “Make sure you sign that liability release. And I want VIP tickets to your next show in Philly.”
“Done.”
“She gets even a little paler, or starts gagging, you quit. Got it?”
We nod, and Gio disappears through the back with the receptionist while Aiden takes his spot on the stool. He doesn’t look at me while he preps, methodically sliding his rings off and pulling on a new pair of gloves.
My ears ring in the silence that follows, and I feel extremely stupid. This is such a bad idea.
“Wanna talk about it?” he asks, turning toward me.
I shake my head, pressing my legs together as the reality that I’m half naked sets in. My fingers pull on the hem of the hoodie, reflexively ensuring the scar is still covered.
“Ready to tell me your name yet?” He rolls forward so his chest is level with my knees.
Again, I shake my head, and he just sighs.
“Lean back for me.” My throat constricts until I can’t breathe again, but his soft tone stirs something else in me.
Determination takes hold, and I force my body to move through the sludge of panic, pushing my weight back onto the heels of my palms.
He scoots closer, keeping his eyes on mine. With one hand, he pushes the sweatpants down a little more, then draws a damp cloth roughly over the start of the tattoo, cleaning my skin of debris. The pain is sharp, sudden, and over before I can even finish inhaling.
“You have to relax,” he murmurs, reaching for the gun. I watch, rapt, as he dips the needle in ink and brings it over to the table. “In the name of adventure, remember?”
Blowing out a breath, I give a quick jerk of my chin, and he plants his elbow between my thighs as he angles the gun appropriately.
My breathing stalls out completely, and my pulse plucks along just centimeters from his arm.
Head tilting, he purses his lips, and for a moment I worry that he’s rusty and doesn’t know what he’s doing. That he’s just using this as an excuse to get close to me and get what he paid for.
He switches the gun on, and that buzz races up my spine. I squeeze my legs against him, and the motion drags me closer, the point of his elbow digging into my lace-covered pussy.
Curling my fingers into the leather cushioning, I try to move back, but my ass is sticking to the table. Keeping me trapped against him.
That second pulse between my thighs picks up speed, racing wantonly as it craves more friction. He’s barely touching me, and I’m seconds from unraveling.
“You’ve done this before, right?” I choke out, hoping like hell that he can’t feel my blood rushing south.
A curt nod and a flare of his nostrils is all the acknowledgment I get before he presses the needle into my skin.
“Breathe, angel,” he croons, shifting.
His elbow grinds into me even more as he moves, watching the gun work with narrowed eyes. They don’t move from the site, even when I start to squirm, and he pauses. His eyebrows raise, but that’s it.
“You’re doing so well, pretty girl.”
Tingles shoot up and down my arms like wildfires, and I get more tangled up in my confusion.
I swallow, my body warring with pain and pleasure and the fact that he’s causing them both.
Still, the memories from before aren’t flashing across my vision, so I consider that a win of some sort. Grabbing on to that shred of relief, I rest my head on the partition encircling us, closing my eyes and imagining that I’m a different person.
Someone strong and brave, who doesn’t get panic attacks they can only partially ascertain the cause of.
“I do this after every show, you know.” His breath is warm and damp as it glides over my skin, contrasting sharply with the way my flesh breaks for him. “Get a new tattoo. It’s like a little good luck ritual, prepping me for the next one.”
“What’d you get tonight?”
“A halo.”
I’m too focused on not freaking out to fully process his admission, but I feel my brain file it away for later.
When I don’t reply, he continues, the gun still scraping. “So, when you said this wasn’t what I had in mind for tonight, you were wrong. I can’t imagine doing anything else.”
The buzzing suddenly stops, and my eyes pop open as silence falls around us. Aiden leans back, returning the gun to its place on the side table, and squirts purple liquid onto a towel. I sit up straighter, and he drags the cloth over the tattoo, wringing a tiny moan from my mouth at the instant relief it provides.
His elbow is still between my legs, his head dangerously close to my hip as he cleans me up. Emotion, tight and sticky, lodges in my throat, and I bite down on the inside of my cheek until it bleeds.
“Well?” he asks, tipping his chin up to look at me. “What do you think?”
But I’m not looking at the tattoo. Not even a little bit interested in it.