Page 94 of Possessive Ink

It takes us less than five minutes to get to the tattoo studio, and I’m surprised to see that the lights are on inside.

“Is the studio open on a Sunday?” I ask.

Shrugging, he kills the car’s engine and gets out, walking around the hood to come and open my door. “We set our own hours, so I guess if we want to work late or on Sundays, we can.”

Taking the hand he offers me, I let him help me out of his car, smoothing down the skirt of my dress and hoping it’s not obvious that I’m once again not wearing any panties.

Truthfully, the first time he took my underwear and coerced me into leaving the house without any, I was self-conscious. But now I’ve almost gotten used to it and the low-level arousal that accompanies it.

Releasing my hand, Atticus curls his arm over my shoulders, pulling me into his side until I’m as close as I can get and still walk. A bell jingles as he pushes open the door to the studio, holding it ajar for me to step inside first.

“We’re closed,” a female voice says.

“Door’s open,” Atticus replies.

As I glance toward the staging that looks to hold several large black leather tattoo couches, a huge man stands up, blocking our view of the woman who told us the studio was closed and whoever she’s tattooing.

“The studio is closed,” the huge man growls, taking a step closer to us as he glowers menacingly.

“Octavia, is that you?” Atticus asks.

A tiny female head pokes out from behind the huge man, jet-black pigtails swinging from side to side. “Atticus Hoffman, it’s about time you got here. Stand down, Knight. This is Tori’s brother.”

“You’re Knight?” Atticus asks the huge guy.

“You’re Atticus?” the huge guy asks right back.

“My sister likes you,” Atticus tells him, his tone stern.

“Good,” Knight says, nodding.

I watch and listen to the interaction between the two men with interest. But instead of waiting for more from Knight, Atticus simply pulls me along with him as he climbs the staging.

“Which one is mine?” he asks.

“You’re next to me,” the pigtailed woman says, her attention back on the person she’s tattooing.

“Octavia, this is my fiancée, Lemon. Lemon, this is Octavia Hodkins,” Atticus says, gesturing toward the woman.

“Taylor,” the huge guy says. “It’s Octavia Taylor.”

“Stop calling me Octavia, assholes. You know I hate it. Oh, and we got married,” she says, holding up a gloved hand.

“You’re wearing gloves,” Atticus points out, his tone dry.

“Well, you get the idea,” she says, distracted for a moment before she turns off her tattoo gun and the buzzing sound that I hadn’t really noticed stops. “There you go, Ian. You’re all done. Let me just wipe this off, and you can go and check it out in the mirror,” she says, spraying something on the guy’s back, then wiping it before she pushes her chair back.

No one speaks for a while as the guy unfurls from the couch and heads over to a long mirror mounted on the wall. Octavia follows him over and hands him a mirror so he can look at his back.

“Jesus, Octy, you’re a fucking artistic genius,” the guy says, spinning and moving like he’s going to hug her.

“No,” Knight, the big guy, says, moving faster than I’d have thought him capable of and putting himself between his wife and the guy.

The guy lifts his hands up and chuckles uncomfortably.

“Let’s get you wrapped up, then I’ll get you checked out,” Octavia says, walking back to her station and grabbing a roll of Saran Wrap. While we watch, she covers the guy’s tattoo in Saran Wrap, tapes it in place, then heads over to the front desk and waits while the guy puts his shirt on and grabs his cell and wallet.

Knight stands like a soldier at her back, watching with threatening eyes until the guy leaves and the bell over the door heralds his departure.