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I flick the gun on, and the loud buzz makes me jump at first, but I settle into it. My heart races as I touch the needle to Malice’s skin, but he doesn’t flinch, and nothing terrible happens.
There’s just a clean line of ink, and that gives me more confidence.
“Wipe the spot every few passes,” he instructs. “So you can see what you’re doing without ink everywhere.”
I nod and do as he suggests, cleaning away the ink that smears over his skin.
“Good. Don’t be afraid to go back over a line if you think it’s going to be patchy. Just keep a light hand.”
His tips help a lot, and I adjust as necessary, trying to keep my main focus on the needle and his skin.
“You’re doing great,” he praises after a few moments. “I knew you would.”
“You have a lot of faith in me,” I murmur back.
He shrugs lightly, barely moving his shoulder so as not to disturb the skin I’m tattooing. “I’ve seen what you’re capable of. Working a tattoo gun is easy compared to some of the shit you’ve done.”
That makes me smile, and I keep working, going over a line a second time just to make sure it’s dark enough. I remember how much the shading hurt when Malice was giving me my last tattoo, but he barely seems to be feeling the needle at all.
“Does this even feel like anything to you?” I ask. “You’re not even flinching.”
He shoots me a savage grin. “Oh, I can feel it, but maybe I just like it.”
I grin back, knowing he’s telling the truth. Malice is just like that, and honestly, I guess I am too.
It’s easier than I thought it would be, but it does take a good amount of focus. The tattoo gun is an unfamiliar weight and thickness in my hand, and it takes me some time to get used to it. I go slow, taking my time and visualizing what I want each line to look like before I draw it.
“It gets easier every time you get one too,” Malice continues. “Well, maybe not easier, but you get more used to it. You sat better for your second one, remember?”
I nod, because I do remember that. The first tattoo was a surprising amount of pain. The needle felt like it was branding me, burning into my skin. The second time, I had more of an idea what to expect.
I blush, remembering how his brothers helped me with the pain of the first tattoo. With Ransom’s hand between my legs, working my clit, pleasure and pain mingled into something so different than anything I’d ever felt before.
The flush on my cheeks draws Malice’s attention, or maybe he just likes looking at me. But his eyes are on me, and even though I’m trying to keep my focus on the tattoo I’m giving him, I can feel him looking.
“What?” I huff. “You’re staring.”
“You just look hot as fuck doing this. Especially naked.”
“I have no idea what I’m doing,” I protest.
He shrugs. “You still look hot.”
Even though we literally just had sex, the tension between us is growing again. Malice’s skin is warm where my free hand is braced against his chest, and I can feel the beat of his heart.
“What are you thinking about?” he murmurs, his gaze locked on my face.
“The first tattoo you gave me. And how I needed help handling the pain.”
He chuckles, and I can feel the vibrations of that sound too. “You moved around more than I would’ve liked, but it worked like a charm in the end.”
“Too bad I can’t tattoo you and help you through the pain you’renotfeeling at the same time,” I reply, grinning.
He laughs, and it’s a nice sound. This feels good, comfortable and easy, and even the nerves about possibly fucking up Malice’s tattoo have mostly faded.
“I remember when you were pissed at us.” Malice’s voice drops a little. “And you said you were going to get the tattoo removed.”
I make a face at that memory. Like a lot of stuff near the beginning of all of this, it feels like it happened a very long time ago. We’ve been through so much since then, both good and bad—but all of it has clarified how we feel about each other.
