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Carrie met his warm and concerned expression. “Yeah.” She nodded and smiled. “I have the utmost confidence in your skill.”

“You should.” He smirked. “I’m the best.”

36

Kid

Not since Kid was an apprentice tattooing his first human had he felt this nervous. He wanted to give Carrie a beautiful piece in place of all the ugly she’d experienced. This part of the body was not only painful to get inked, but the skin was rather thin so it was prone to blowouts. Which the person who’d done the scorpion tattoo hadn’t seemed to worry about—such shitty work.

Using a shallower needle and lowering his voltage, he scratched the design into her skin painstakingly slowly. Thankfully, she had recently waxed the area, so he didn’t have to take a Bic to it. He couldn’t imagine how uncomfortable razor burn and ingrown hairs would be during this healing process.

However, while Carrie remained impossibly still and quiet, Kid couldn’t help but notice how warm and puffy her lower lips became the longer he tattooed. He wasn’t trying to stimulate her, but between the position and the vibration of his machine, arousal was inevitable.

He shouldn’t do anything about it. No matter how tempted he was by the slight glistening he’d spotted while swiping away the excess ink, sampling her wasn’t an option. Once he was done, she’d have an open wound just above her delicious cunt. Ravaging her would lead to friction and bodily fluids. That combination would significantly increase the risk of Carrie developing an infection, irritation, and ink damage. Not exactly ideal considering the whole point was to fix a mess that had already been on her.

Dammit. Kid had to control himself. Which he despised doing. He was much more accustomed and comfortable indulging in his whims. Showing restraint wasn’t in his repertoire. Not when the intoxicating scent of her musk filled his nostrils. This was living hell.

Sitting back, attempting to get fresh air, he gave the final swipe to admire the work.

Holy hell. It looked phenomenal—if he did say so himself. The bold, simple design did its job. He couldn’t see the scorpion beneath it. Even up close and personal, no one would be able to tell what lay beneath the beautiful flowers.

“I think we’re done,” he said as he rinsed off the excess ink and blood with warm water and antibacterial soap.

Carrie sat up. “Already?”

Kid chuckled. “We’ve been at this two hours.” Getting to his feet, he reached for her. “Want to see?”

Nodding vigorously, she took his hand and slid off the table. She wobbled slightly, and he stepped closer to steady her.

“Sorry,” she said with pink cheeks.

“Getting tattooed takes a lot out of you,” he offered.

“Sure,” she snorted. “That’s it.”

Furrowing his brows, he peered at her. What did that mean?

Before he could ask, she shuffled her feet, and he guided her toward the full-length mirror. A renewed sense of anxiety filled his chest. She’d looked down her body several times and watched him work but never said a word. The angle wasn’t the greatest. This would be her first opportunity to get a good glimpse at what he’d done.

He’d never wanted a client’s approval of his art more than he did hers. She wasn’t just a random person off the street who wanted something stupid on their body. This was a step in her healing process that he’d been invited to join her on. This was an honor. He hoped he met her expectations.

They stopped at the reflective glass. Her hand came up and covered her gasp.

His heart stopped.

Good? Bad?

He waited. This was her moment. Not his. This tattoo was about her. He had to give her the space to react authentically.

Watching her intently, he held his breath.

The tears had returned. They dripped down her cheeks as she silently turned this way and that, examining the flowers over her pussy at every angle possible.

He waited on pins and needles. Was she satisfied? Did she like? Had he done his job?

Carrie

The scorpion was gone. Like it had never existed. Leaves with pink and purple bell-like flowers covered it. The beautiful artistry took her breath away.