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I didn’t care what he’d decided to mark me with.
I didn’t care where he wanted it to go on my body.
Every inch of me belonged to him.
And it did hot, delicious things to me to know just how much he meant it when he said I was his.
Dad would probably kill me for getting inked.
He’d had a fit when I’d demanded to get my ears pierced when I was ten. Then again, I was no longer living under his roof. I was, for all intents and purposes, a married woman living with her husband.
A rush of giddy eagerness filled me. My heart raced. “Ben seninim, Aslan.”
His nostrils flared; he swayed on the spot. A black, ferocious look filled his stare as he towered over me. Bending his head, he hissed in my ear, “Telling me you’re mine in my language makes me so fucking hard, askim.”
I bit my lip and looked down his toned and powerful body. The tightness of his jeans strained, and he balled his hands in front of himself, hiding evidence of his arousal.
“Behave,” he growled. “Otherwise, we won’t make it to dinner.”
“Eh, sorry to interrupt,” the receptionist said. “But...if you’re booked in with Tate, he’s ready now.”
With a swallowed groan, Aslan stepped away and looked at the pink-haired girl. “Great, thanks.”
“Go right through. His station is the last on the left.”
Taking my hand, Aslan practically dragged me around the brown leather couches, past a wall of tattoo sketches, and through the large room where multiple workstations waited to create body art. Two were taken: one with a young girl getting something tiny on her ankle and another with a guy with a beard down to his naval, his beer belly slowly transforming into the roaring head of a tiger.
A slim guy with a purple, blue, and green mohawk smiled as we slowed at the end of the buzzing, music-pumping space.
“You Aslan and Nerida?” He came forward, his hand outstretched.
“We are.” Aslan shook it. “You’re Tate Rolland?”
“I am indeed.”
“I sent the image ahead,” Aslan said.
“Yep. Got it. I’ve printed it off in different sizes. We can have a play around on placement and go from there.” Stepping back, he grinned at me then glanced back at Aslan. “So...who’s getting inked?”
“She is—”
“We both are,” I said at the same time as Aslan.
His eyes whipped to me. “What?”
I grinned and smoothed down my dress. “Every reason you want to mark me, Aslan, is the very reason I want to mark you.”
“But...” His forehead scrunched. “What would you want on me?”
“I’m thinking whatever you’re putting on me will do.”
Tate chuckled. “She’s got you there, mate. Can’t expect her to wear something for the rest of her life and not share the same commitment.” Grinning, he said to me, “I’ll show you what he has planned for you and then you can decide. Wait...” His nose wrinkled as if jerking on memories that wouldn’t quite come. “Aslan...isn’t that the name of the lion in those children’s books?”
“The Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe, yes.” I smiled. “It’s Turkish for lion.”
“Well, shit, that makes a lot more sense. It also makes the image super cool. I thought it was wicked before, but now I get it.” He nodded at Aslan. “Respect, man. I get what you’re doing and it’s fucking awesome.”
“Hang on. What is he doing?” I planted my hands on my hips. “Show me.”
Aslan shot me a look. I couldn’t tell if it was pride or fear.
“You know this will look awesome on you too, mate,” Tate said, reaching for a folder and pulling out a tracing-paper thin stencil. “If you’re the lion, then she’s the—”
“Siren,” Aslan muttered, stepping closer to Tate to peer at the paper in his hands. He studied it critically as if assessing with new eyes now he knew it was going on him as well as me.
“Unfortunately, I won’t have time to ink it on both of you tonight.” Tate winced. “You only made a booking for two hours, but you can come back next week and—”
“We both have to be done tonight.” I drifted closer, needing to see what Aslan had picked. A little nudge inside me chose that moment to pinch rather insistently. If we were doing this, we were both doing it. Right now. Together. I didn’t know why, but it was important.
“Ah, shit. Um...” Tate passed the folder and stencil to Aslan as he glanced toward reception. “Give me a sec. I think Josephine is due back from her break. I’ll check if she has space and see if she could do one of you while I do the other. That work?”
“As long as her fine lines are as good as yours, then that’s alright.” Aslan nodded. “I like your work on Instagram. I’d appreciate the same quality for both of us. But I’d still like you to do Neri, if that’s okay.”
