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This was perfect.
Chapter 34
She Put In The Work
Her shoulder blade was pristine, a creamy canvas just waiting for a blue and purple butterfly. He moved his thumb along her neck, registering her shudder. Hot blood flowed south, plumping his cock.
“I’m so happy you’re getting a tattoo.” He reined in his lust. “It’s sexy, and what you chose is very you. I get that you want it to be discreet, but at any rate, it will be hidden under your shirt or dress. So why do you need it to be small?”
She wanted it to be small and discreet, but she was wrong–this kind of picture on her back, if they made it small, it wouldn’t be real, it would be juvenile. Bigger was the right size, in terms of the art and her body.
Dafna opened her mouth, then closed it. “I don’t know, maybe because it's my first one?”
“It could be your last one as well,” he reasoned.
“True. So you think…”
He looked into the turbulent gray of her eyes, the brown hardly showing under the studio light. He was pushing her here, but she would thank him later.
“I think that in this case, what Hila suggested at first was the right size. Covering the area between your upper spine and climbing a little up your shoulder blade. It will be perfect.”
Her eyelashes fluttered as she pondered her decision. In the end, Dafna wasn’t a pushover. She was a strong woman who did what she wished.
“Okay, you people are the experts.” She smiled at Hila. “Go ahead. Make it bigger. In for a penny, in for a pound, right?”
“Go big or go home,” Hila laughed.
He zipped Dafna out of her dress, running his palms along her waist, down the slope of her sexy ass.
“Erez…” there was laughter in Dafna’s voice, “later.” He groaned and released her.
She remained in her bra and underwear. Her belly, soft and round, curved above her underwear. Her perfect boobs weighed down the black lace bra, a cleavage that screamed his name. He could shove her into the nearby room and fuck her brains out, Hila and her son be damned.
“Keep it clean Erez, you can’t jump on her just yet,” Hila said, and Dafna laughed with abandon, her boobs shaking. He closed his eyes and resorted to reciting proper protocols when reporting non-GAAP financial measures. When he opened them, Dafna was sitting cross-legged, the underwear riding higher up her ripe butt. Fuck.
“Erez…” Hila said warningly.
He went out, arranging his shorts. At least the teenager son was ensconced somewhere in his room. He found the water bar and poured himself a glass of cold water. When he came back, the two women were talking animatedly, Hila’s moves fast and assured. The artist started with the purple outline of the butterfly, stopping every now and again to clean the skin from excess ink, spreading the scent of her strawberry soap in the room.
“Are you okay?” he asked Dafna, who nodded.
“This is nothing.”
“It’s a good place to have a tattoo,” Hila said. “The skin is much less sensitive than in other places, like the tummy, inside of the thighs, or the face.”
When Hila changed a cartridge for light blue, Dafna draped a towel around her and excused herself to use the bathroom.
“This is turning out to be beautiful,” he told the tattoo artist.
“Thank you. Can I ask you a personal question?”
He nodded. Hila was around Dafna’s age and they’d known each other for several years and had been comfortable friends.
“How far along are you guys in the relationship?”
“It’s just the beginning. We’re still being careful.”
“Speak for yourself. This lady is committed, Erez.” Hila had always been direct.
