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“Do you know what you want to get?”
Your name.“A star.”
“There meaning behind that?” the artist asks.
Wheels spin on the floor when she sits on a stool and swivels herself over to a small table. She picks up a tablet and starts sketching something.
Tinsley stares up at me with a look I don’t deserve. It’s too soft, too warm. How can she look at me like that? As if she doesn’t see the shadows that fill my soul. Like they don’t scare her when they do everyone else.
She’s too good for me. But I’m bad enough to take her anyway.
“It’s something from our childhood,” she answers the artist on my behalf.
A star was the only image I could draw in reference to Golden Girl. It’s stuck since. Stars are drawn into my skin all over my body. Some are hidden, some aren’t.
“Sick. And what am I doing for you?”
“I want two. One on each temple. Devil horns on one side and a halo on the other.”
My chest fills with a disbelieving laugh. I lick my bottom lip and drop to my ass on an empty stool. When I pat my thighs, she comes to me without hesitation, perching on my right thigh. I grip her hips and move her to my lap, threading my arms around her stomach.
I slide the hair away from her neck and press my mouth to her pulse. A breath gets caught in her throat. “Is the halo for me?”
“It wouldn’t be very fitting,” she breathes.
I hum against her skin. My thumbs fan out on her belly, rubbing back and forth. She fidgets on my lap, pushing back against my dick. I cover a groan with a dark laugh and grip her knees, snapping her legs together.
“You should get a pointed tail instead of Devil horns.”
She turns her head, bringing my lips to the underside of her jaw before I pull back. “Why a pointed tail?”
“Because you’re a fucking succubus.”
Her laugh makes my toes curl into my boots. “I’ll stick with the horns. I don’t think my parents would appreciate the explanation for the tail.”
“They won’t appreciate you tattooing your face at all.”
“You’re not wrong.”
“If you guys want to come have a look at these images, I can start printing off the stencils,” the artist says.
Tapping Tinsley’s knees, I urge her from my lap and swat at her ass the moment it appears in front of me. I stifle a groan at the way it shakes in her too-tight jeans. What panties is she wearing beneath them?Fuck.
“You okay?” she asks over her shoulder when she catches me staring, her voice dripping with fake innocence. The curl of her smile tells me she knows why I’m sitting so stiff on this fucking stool.
“Let’s leave,” I mutter.
She winks and grabs my hands, yanking me up. “Nope. It’s time to pop my tattoo cherry, baby.”
This time, I don’t hide my groan.
* * *
Tinsley underestimated how mucha face tattoo would hurt. I went first and wasn’t good enough at explaining the feeling of the needle in my flesh to properly prepare her. I’ve gotten so many tattoos that I’ve become numb to the pain of them. But even as the artist begins to ink the final curve of her second tattoo, it becomes obvious Tinsley is not any more used to the bite of the gun as she was when we began.
With gritted teeth and wet eyes, she keeps her attention on me and not the gun buzzing in her face. I stroke the inside of her knee like I have been for the past half an hour. Goosebumps dance over her throat, drawing my attention to the small mark beneath her jaw.Mymark, uncovered for everyone to see.
It matches the hidden ones on her hips and thighs left from the hard, desperate press of my fingers. I can’t seem to help leaving them. And she likes seeing them. Tells me it often. They’re a reminder of the way we play in the dark. Desperate. Without boundaries.
