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“Everything okay?”
“Buster wanted a treat,” I say.
He smirks, but there’s something in his eyes like he suspects. “He knows who’s kind enough to give him one.”
“Are you ready to get started?” I ask, walking from the kitchen, trying not to think about the handwriting, the urgency, her name.
Maybe that’s why he finds dating so difficult.
He found his one true love, but something happened…something which causes him to act out sexually with women he doesn’t know, women like me, a procession, none of whom are good enough because they’re not calledVanessa.
“Sure,” he says, looking closely at me as though he can see the frantic flow of my thoughts.
“Let me get my gear ready,” I say. “And then we’ll get you on the table.”
I can’t afford to think about her name, not with what’s ahead of me.
Silas, shirtless, lying beneath me.
* * *
I stand over him, my deep need yelling at me to claw onto his bulging muscles, press myself against him, and whisper in his ear that I want to give him babies.
A family, a future.
He wants a family, Dad said, but did Silas only want kids with Vanessa?
“I’m going to start now,” I say. “I’ll need to focus.”
Just the work, I tell myself—nothing else.
His ripped back is nothing but a canvas.
It’s definitely not something I’ll drag my hands down as he thrusts up inside of me, as he does it slow at first, then harder, and then we’re rocking together as I start to move with him.
Pushing back against his hungry thrusts, giving him as much pleasure as he’ll give me.
No, not that. Never that.
“I’m ready,” he says.
It’s clear we’re not going to talk about what happened last time.
Maybe it’s like that with all his women.
Sudden sexual encounters, then gaslighting.
I hate to think of him like that, but what if it’s true?
It can’t be.
I lean down and start on the tattoo, gritting my teeth as the needle connects with his skin. It’s like my hand is trying to throw the gun away, squeeze onto him instead, and give in to this constant temptation.
But I have to focus unless I want to mess up the biggest gig of my life.
I’m not sure how long passes, but I’m able to get into my work, concentrating on the outline of the connecting piece between the tribal and what will be the gravestone.
“You’re doing great,” Silas says.
