I rubbed at my mouth with the back of my hand. It came away glittering. “Fuck.”
“Not anytime soon,” Tenley mumbled.
“It’s only a week, but we can postpone the tattoo if that’s a problem for you.” I almost hoped she took me up on the offer.
“I’ll survive.”
I rubbed the rest of the lip gloss off on my shirt and flipped open her folder. “So I tweaked the design a little more.”
“Oh?”
Mission: Change the Damn Subject accomplished. “I altered the shape of the wing here”—I pointed to the bottom corners—“and here,” and traced the edge where it would rest on her shoulders. I was stalling, still worried about how she would react emotionally after the session. While the tattoo should be well on its way to healing after a week, it would be difficult to resist if she pressed for sex sooner. And she would. Because that was the way she worked.
“Like I said before, we’re looking at about twenty hours to complete the design, but that depends on a lot of factors. We won’t know how the ink is going to take for at least a couple of weeks. I’ve planned a four-hour session tonight for the outline. If you’re uncomfortable, or it becomes too painful, you have to tell me to stop.”
“Okay. Should I get undressed now?”
“Did you even hear what I just said?”
“You’ve scheduled four hours tonight for the outline. If I’m uncomfortable, I should tell you,” she paraphrased.
“You’re absolutely certain you want to go through with this?” I asked.
Tenley started slipping buttons through holes. I noted she took my advice and wore something easy to put back on later. And she wasn’t wearing skintight jeans, either. With any other client I would have left the room to give them some privacy. Not with Tenley, though.
She’d changed her bra since this morning. It was dark blue with silvery lace trim and little crystals all over it. I didn’t bother to hide the fact I was staring. She shrugged out of her top, folded it neatly, and set it on the counter where all the supplies were. Her hands went behind her back, a gesture that pushed her chest out as she unhooked the clasp of her bra. The straps slid down her arms and her perky breasts came into view. Her nipples tightened when the air hit them.
I didn’t look away as I reached into the cupboard beside me to retrieve a towel. “Here.”
She took it from me. “What’s this for?”
“To cover yourself.”
“Why? It’s not like you haven’t seen me topless before.”
“Yeah, but now you’re just torturing me. How would you like it if I whipped my dick out and made you look at it for the next four hours?”
Tenley glanced at my crotch. “Point taken.” She covered herself up.
“Besides, I’m going to need Lisa’s help to place the transfer.”
“She’s seen them before, too.”
“Thanks for reminding me.” I had the irrational desire to put Band-Aids over her nipples to make sure they stayed covered.
There was a brief tap on the door before Lisa identified herself. When I gave her the all clear, she slipped into the room.
“Perfect timing. Can I get a hand with this?” I motioned to the design.
“Sure.” Lisa locked the door and passed out coffees first.
Mine was black and still too hot to drink, so I set it on the counter.
Tenley watched with curiosity as I took a seat in my chair and wheeled myself around the room, gathering up supplies as I went. I tossed Lisa a pair of latex gloves and grabbed a pair for myself. “Why don’t you have a seat, kitten.” I patted the stool in front of me.
Lisa shot me an incredulous look. I ignored her and focused on Tenley. She sat as directed, her back ramrod straight.
“You can relax for now. I have to use an antiseptic spray before we transfer the design to your skin,” I said and moved her ponytail out of the way, exposing her scars. Tenley shivered and slumped a little.
Lisa coughed and mouthed a shocked expletive at me. No amount of verbal preparation could adequately describe the full extent of Tenley’s scars.
“You’ll take lots of breaks?” Lisa asked.
“Yeah, whenever I think she needs one,” I said, reassuring her.
Lisa was justifiably concerned. It would be painful to ink over those areas, especially around Tenley’s left hip. Tenley was thin, so anywhere close to bone would be sensitive. When we were ready to place the transfer, I had Tenley stand in front of the mirror.
“These need to be lower.” I traced the waistband of her leggings. I preferred them to her jeans. There was no zipper, no button, no back pockets; just stretchy material that conformed to every curve of her lean body.
“You can pull them down,” she said.
It was a damn good thing we had third-party company, because I would have been all over that comment otherwise. Instead I kept my mouth shut and hooked my thumbs under the fabric, lowering it until it sat beneath her hip bones. Lisa took the left side and I took the right, setting the transfer on Tenley’s skin, making sure it was perfectly in line with her spine and her shoulders. Nothing looked shoddier than a full back piece that wasn’t centered properly. Lisa held the corner and I smoothed it out, peeling it back once it was set.
“It’s going to be gorgeous,” Lisa said, her tone almost reverent.
Tenley turned to get a better view of the design. “Oh, wow,” she whispered.
Lisa adjusted Tenley’s ponytail and kissed her on the cheek. “Brave girl. See you in a few hours.” She slipped out the door, closing it behind her with a quiet snick.
“How are you feeling?” I asked.
“I’m fine.”
“It’s okay to be scared.” I pulled off a glove and dropped it on the counter so I could touch her without obstruction. I skimmed beneath the hollow of her eye, wiping away a solitary tear.
“I’m not afraid of pain.”
“I know,” I said, because I did. Tenley knew pain; she wore the proof on her body. But it came in different forms, and the physical kind was easier to deal with.
Her spine straightened. “I’m ready.”
18
TENLEY
I took my place in the tattooing chair, straddling it as he suggested. It reminded me of one of those reclining chairs in a dental office, except without arms. He put on mellow music and snapped on a new pair of gloves. I watched, anxiety warring with excitement, as he assembled his tattoo machine.
When everything was ready, he turned to me. “Last chance to back out.”
He’d said that to me before, the first time we’d had sex. Everything had changed since then. What started as an overwhelming physical attraction had transformed into something I hesitated to identify. I sought solace in Hayden; in his warmth, in the comfort of his body. Our unyielding chemistry made everything but us cease to exist when we were together. Sex with Hayden—anything involving Hayden—was perfectly consuming. I was terrified of losing that.
With the exception of Tuesday night, Hayden’s presence in my bed fended off the worst of the nightmares. Although my nights were never truly peaceful, they were better with him. It wasn’t just sleep that improved; everything had, unless I was alone. In the hours without him, when I wasn’t otherwise occupied, the pain resurfaced. My remorse over things that couldn’t be changed was like acid, burning through skin and bone, seeping into the heart of me. So I stayed as busy as possible, avoiding the solitary moments I’d coveted previously.
“I’m too invested to do something crazy like that.”
He studied me, a rueful grin pulling at his mouth. “It goes both ways.” He pressed a soft kiss to my temple, the deeper meaning not lost on either of us.
My fears had little to do with putting the tattoo on my body and everything to do with how I felt about Hayden. This tattoo not only guaranteed his continued presence in my life but it held the possibility of real healing, too. It was my attempt at finding closure, at putting everything behind me by ac
cepting it, owning it, wearing it on my skin. But I couldn’t stop thinking about whether or not I would lose Hayden in the process when he realized I could never be fixed. Hayden reclined the backrest so I wasn’t completely upright. The tattoo machine buzzed to life, and Hayden’s gloved palm came to rest at the nape of my neck. Even the most innocent contact with him brought on a wave of calming energy. I’d come to rely on it, particularly at night when I was on the cusp of sleep. It felt like a physical manifestation of our emotional connection.
The sharp bite of the needle pierced my skin. The discomfort was much like it had been with the cupcake tattoo. Hayden worked in silence at first, presumably to give me time to adjust to the sensation. After a few passes with ink, he wiped the area with a cool cloth, soothing the sting. When he reached my shoulder, the prickle grew more pronounced, so I assumed he was tattooing over the scars. The pain was manageable, but then it didn’t compare to what I’d experienced after the crash.
Tonight I planned to divulge something about the accident; I knew I owed Hayden at least some small insights into my past despite my fear of opening up. I just didn’t know how much yet. Enough to appease him without risking the tenuous relationship we were building. For all of his armor, Hayden became increasingly transparent the more time I spent with him. He didn’t do things halfway. He was either all in or not at all. And that trait wasn’t isolated to the bedroom. With the outline completed, he would feel compelled to finish the design. It was a horrible abuse of power on my part. But now I needed him in ways that extended beyond his role as my artist.
“Tenley?” he asked, breaking my reverie.
“Mm.” I had been staring at his profile, lost in my thoughts.
“Are you hurting? You made a . . . noise.” He rolled back in his chair. “Maybe we need to take a break.”
“I don’t need a break. How long has it been?” I lifted my head, my cheek damp from resting against the vinyl.
“About forty-five minutes. You’re doing great, but you’ve been quiet, and then you made a sound like maybe you were uncomfortable.” He looked wary.
“I’m okay.” I sat up and stretched my arms over my head. The cold air hit my chest, reminding me I was shirtless. “Sorry!”
I cupped myself in an attempt at modesty. His tongue ring popped out to slide between his lips, his eyes on my barely covered chest.
“I definitely need a break,” he said decisively.
The buzz of the tattoo machine stopped and the background music became more prominent.
He stood up and turned around, rolling his shoulders. “I’ll be right back.”
Hayden sauntered across the room, adjusting himself, and slipped out the door. I’d known the attraction between us wouldn’t wane during the session, but I hadn’t expected to find it debilitating, especially since this was as close as we could get physically for the next week. When he returned, he brought bottled water.
I took a long drink. “Thanks.”
“No problem. You need to stay hydrated.” He dropped back into his chair. “How are you feeling so far?”
“I’m good,” I reassured him again, even though the vague burning sensation on the right side of my back continued to grow. I didn’t want to think too much about how the second half of the tattoo would feel.
Hayden tilted his head back and drained half the bottle. I watched his Adam’s apple bob. Strange how something so automatic could seem sexy.
“You sure? You’re awful quiet.”
“I’m sorry.” My focus so far had been singularly on the physical sensation, keeping my mind clear of the memories associated with the reasons behind the tattoo.
“You don’t need to apologize. I’m just checking to see where you’re at.”
“I’d tell you if it was too much.”
“I don’t know if I believe that, but I’ll take your word for it. At least for now. Ready to get back to it?” he asked.
I handed him my half-full bottle and he capped it, setting it on the floor beside my chair. He pulled on a fresh pair of gloves and turned on the machine.
“How far are you?” I asked.
“We’re making good progress. I’m almost halfway through the right side, but the left will be more challenging. Since the scarring is more severe, I expect it’s going to take longer and we’ll need more breaks.”
“Okay. That makes sense.”
He rolled in close, and the needle touched my skin again. The discomfort increased when he passed over my ribs and decreased again as he went lower. This time, I couldn’t stop the memories from playing out like a photo album.
Hayden’s left foot tapped as he worked. I could see his Technicolor arm in my periphery, and if I strained hard enough, I could still make out his profile.
“Hayden?”
He pulled back immediately. “Does it hurt?”
“I’m fine.” I needed a distraction. If I could get him to talk about his past, it might help keep my mind off my own. I ran my fingers over the vines leading to the bleeding heart tattoo. “Will you tell me about this?”
When he stayed silent, I turned my head enough so I could see him. “Please?”
“Are you going to fill me in on why I’m marking you with this?” he asked, bartering for information.
I had a feeling once the outline was done, the next few nights—in addition to being physically uncomfortable—would be emotionally tumultuous. I conceded. “I’ll tell you about the accident.”
“Tonight?” he demanded.
“Yes.”
“Okay.”
I settled back in the chair. “But only if you go first.”
A deep furrow creased Hayden’s brow as he resumed his work. “I got the tattoo after my parents were killed.”
“Both of them?” I asked, shocked. Cassie said his mother died, but she didn’t mention that he lost his father as well.
“Yeah.”
“How old were you?”
“Almost eighteen.”
“Was it an accident?” I asked, wondering how close we were in our losses.
Hayden turned off the tattoo machine and I shifted so I could see him better. “They were murdered.”
“Oh, my God.” When Cassie said he lost his mother, I assumed it had been some kind of accident or illness, not this. I sat up, bringing the towel with me to cover my chest. “What happened?”
His eyes were on his forearm, the vine-wrapped heart on display. “They were shot. I found them.”
I sucked in a sharp breath. “Oh Hayden. That must have been terrifying.” It was bad enough to find out they’d been murdered, but that Hayden had been the one to discover them was horrific. No matter how hard I tried, I could never erase the violent image of Connor’s mangled body from my memory. I doubted I ever would. Hayden’s haunted expression told me it was the same for him.
“It’s been almost seven years. It was a long time ago.” Hayden picked the tattoo machine up again, but I didn’t take the cue and lie back down.
“It doesn’t make it any less traumatic.” I wanted to reach out and ease the ache that was so obvious in him, but his posture was rigid, his eyes dark, and I wasn’t sure the contact would be welcome.
“I got the bleeding heart as a reminder of what my choices cost me.”
“You say it like you were responsible.”
“I made it easier for it to happen. I was grounded, which was normal, because even then I couldn’t follow rules. They’d gone to some event and told me not to go anywhere. As soon as they left, I Ferris Buellered the shit out of my room and took off to get fucked up with some friends. My mom had this planter at the front door, and I kept a key hidden under it. It was gone when I came home.” He shook his head in disgust, his eyes on the floor. His chest rose and fell as his palms moved over his thighs, his anxiety transparent.
“I assumed I’d moved it or taken it with me by accident, which was dumb, because I would never do that. I was so messed up at the time; high and drunk. I tried the door any
way, even though I was sure it’d be locked. I’d done that before, locked myself out. I had to break a window to get in. My dad was pissed. He even threatened to put in an alarm system. It was why I stowed the key in the first place.”
I could see where this was going. I already understood so much better his hard exterior. He carried the weight of their deaths with him, just as I did. I reached out tentatively and touched his forearm. I sensed he needed the reassurance before he could go on. His gloved fist unfurled, and I put my hand in his. He closed his fingers around mine and squeezed.
“I thought I was so damn lucky when the door opened. It confused me, at first. My dad’s shoes were at the front door, which meant they’d come home early. Usually they waited up so they could ground me some more. But the house was totally silent. I thought maybe my ruse worked. Nothing was out of place on the main floor, not a goddamn thing. But there was this smell . . .” Hayden took a deep, unsteady breath. “Anyway, when I went upstairs, I found them in bed. My dad had a hole in his head and my mom had been shot in the chest.”
“Oh God. I’m so sorry you had to see that,” I whispered.
Corroding his armor, the emotions he tried to contain leaked through. It gave me a glimpse of the boy he’d once been.
“It’s my fault. I’m the one who left the key there, and I’m the reason they came home early. They shouldn’t have been there that night. Whoever killed them must have cased the house. My parents had a safe in their room, and the fucker tried to get into it after he killed them.”
I studied the hard lines of his face. His emotions were painfully familiar, because he, too, wore his loss in a shroud of self-blame. He stared back at me, looking lost. He let go of my hand, and a glove-covered finger swept under my eye to wipe away a tear. “I don’t deserve these.”
“You couldn’t have known that would happen,” I said softly.
“If I hadn’t been a shit teenager, my parents might still be alive.”
If only Hayden knew how well I related. Although truly, it wasn’t his fault—whoever killed his parents could have found a way into the house, key or no key.
Clipped Wings Page 20