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Aurnia
I’d always thought that the thing about not being able to breathe when someone hugged you too tightly was bullshite. Like real, utter bullshite. It was some hyperbole someone somewhere once wrote that people kept reusing for some stupid reason. It was the stuff of television and movies. It was some line for bratty kids to say when they ran away from perfectly nice homes where their only problem was that their parents loved them too much and returned with two police officers shaking their heads and wagging their fingers on the front steps.
I didn’t believe you could be hugged that tightly. Bullshite. Bullshite. Bullshite.
That was before Mason and Rian came in the next morning to find me emptying the waste bins in the living room. I had to admit that maybe wasn’t complete bullshite.
Even hours later it still felt like I was trying to refill my crushed lungs with air. Every time I managed to smooth down the hair that Mason ruffled with his tattooed knuckles, he would be back by me, drawing me into his side, crushing me with an arm around my shoulders, and ruffling it all back up again.
“I’m just so happy to see you,” he’d say as I squirmed and tried to push him away (this was mostly for show, because the truth was, I rather liked it).
Throughout the day I’d find Rian smiling at me. I’d be putting down tea on the coffee table or running the vacuum over the rugs and I’d look up to find his chin in his hands, elbows propping him up on his drawing desk. I’d always assume that he was gone somewhere. But every time I shifted a little to the right or a little to the left, his dreamy eyes would follow. Like they say about the Mona Lisa. I’d laugh and when Rian still said nothing I’d just go back to my work and let him grin stupidly at me, happy that he was happy, the weirdo.
Neither of them asked where I had been, why I had gone. For that I was thankful. I was just welcomed back without interrogation, without requiring an explanation. I knew if I wanted to talk, they’d listen. It seemed that I was what mattered to them, not my circumstances.
Conor greeted me with a polite, quiet, “Good morning, Aurnia,” when he came in. I brought him tea and lingered a little by his workstation to see if he would ask me to stay.
All he said was, “Thank you, Aurnia.”
He sat with the three of us at lunch, though he was quiet. I kept glancing over at him, finding him already looking at me, but his eyes would flick away before our gazes could really lock. When he went to the sink, I thought this was the moment. He was going to talk to me now. We were going to talk about us now. When I tried to slip my hands next to his in the warm, soapy water he said, “I’d like you to take the time to work on some of your drawings, Aurnia.”
I bristled a little. Conor was being polite. I didn’t want polite. I wanted tear-my-panties-off rude, I wanted plunge-his-tongue-into-me crude, I wanted dirty talk and foul-mouthed kisses and vulgar threats of all the bad, bad things he was going to do to me.
I went into the main room of the parlour. Maybe he was just waiting till Mason and Rian were gone. I glanced over my shoulder. Conor was looking back at me with fire in his eyes.
It was later in the afternoon when I was sitting with Mason and Rian, who had each just finished up with clients. Conor had just returned from some errands and had disappeared into the back of the townhouse. Mason, Rian, and I were discussing over tea different ways that we could bring business to the shop.
“You know,” I said, drumming my fingers against the coffee table, “we could just lean into the bad-tempered owner vibe. Make it our ‘thing’. Some places get big reputations for having grumpy folks. Bartenders. Bouncers. Artists of all types really. So why not a tattoo artist?”
Mason and Rian gave each other doubtful looks.
“I don’t know, Aurnia,” Mason said with a shrug. “Conor kind of eats those guys for breakfast.”
“We could tame him a little,” I said, thinking of the night before.
Conor’s fingers on mine. His hand at the small of my back. His words like liquid heat in my ear.
Mason and Rian just laughed.
“I’m pretty sure that’s what the gladiators said about the lions,” Rian said.
“Yeah,” Mason added, “right before they were eaten.”
They were wrong, but I was in too much of a good mood to contradict them. Conor showed me last night he could be different. He’d show Mason and Rian, too. We’d turn Dublin Ink around. Nobody would get eaten unless they were so inclined.
“Aurnia.”
Conor had used my name many times that day and each had sounded the same: soft, gentle, reserved. This time, though, without even having turned around to look at him, this time I knew it was different. I hoped that Mason and Rian hadn’t seen colour rush to my cheeks as I quickly stood and turned around.
Conor was leaning against the wall that separated the kitchen from the living room. His arms were crossed over his broad chest. I could see the lines of his muscles through his t-shirt. A strand of hair had fallen across one eye and he tucked it behind one ear as he looked across the room at me.
“Can I have you…for a second?”
I think I nodded. I might have been too nervous to do even that. My footsteps felt wooden as I moved toward Conor. He was still there against the wall. Watching me get closer and closer. This was what I had been waiting for. For Conor to take me aside. For him to tell me that he regretted pushing me away. That he was sick of fighting against this. Against us. For him to draw me into his arms. To kiss me. And…more.
If I wasn’t blushing before, I definitely was then. As I moved closer and closer, I tried not to let myself think about it, but I couldn’t help it. Would he start off gentle? Tilt my chin back with his thumb. Brush his fingers down my neck. Sweep my hair from my shoulder. Make his way from my clavicle to my lips, finally my lips, with sweet, gentle pecks.
Would he nip at my lips? Maybe enough that I hissed in pleasurable pain? Then cover my hiss with a deep kiss. Would he tease me? Oh God, would he tease me? Kiss down my breasts first, pushing aside my bra, swirl his tongue around my nipples before sucking them into his mouth. To lick down my stomach until he reached my slick heat. A soft kiss on my clit. Brush one side of my lips and then the other before I couldn’t stand it any longer and ground into him.
