Bad Intentions (Bad Love)

by Charleigh Rose

“Hey, Sally. Thought you might chicken out.”

  “Pft. Do I look like a pussy?”

  “Mmm, you are what I eat,” he says, wiggling his brows.

  “I don’t think that’s how that saying goes.” I bite my lip, suddenly feeling a little apprehensive.

  “So, are we doing this?”

  “We’re doing this,” I confirm.

  “Do you want to see what I’ve been working on?” He flicks his chin toward the drawing pad on the floor.

  “Nuh-uh. I want it to be a surprise.”

  Dare pins me with a skeptical look. “You don’t want to see something that’s going to go on your body forever?”

  “Nope,” I say resolutely. “Surprise me. I trust you.”

  Trust. A foreign concept in my life. But, somehow, I do trust him, and not just with the tattoo.

  “Okay, then. You’re not allowed to be pissed if you hate it.”

  “Just do it.” I roll my eyes, hopping onto the black leather chair.

  “I designed it for the top of your thigh, up to about here,” he says, pressing a finger into my hip, “but I could tweak it to make it fit between your breasts if you’d rather that. It would look good there, too.”

  I almost make fun of him for saying breasts. He slipped into professional mode so quickly.

  “Thigh sounds good. How do you want me?” The question is unintentionally suggestive. Dare shakes his head, pinching the bridge of his nose.

  “Lie back on the table. Let’s do your right side.”

  I do as he says, taking off my vest first. I kick my boots off as Dare takes my vest from me and throws it over another chair. Might as well be comfortable as possible as a needle digs into my flesh.

  “I’m going to have to pull your pants down. Do you want to go to the private room?”

  “I’m good.”

  Dare nods, slipping his fingers into my waistband. He tugs them down to mid-thigh, then pushes my hoodie up to sit above my waist. The leather chair is cold against my bare skin.

  “This okay?”

  “Mhm.”

  Dare pulls the band of my plain white thong down to sit where my pants do before turning around to put on some gloves. When he turns back around, he has a wet paper towel in his hand.

  “This is just for the stencil,” he explains as he applies a generous amount of the soap and water mix. There’s something so sexy about seeing Dare in his element.

  “I’m going to put the stencil on now, so try to stay still.”

  “Okay.”

  I look at the ceiling, feeling him place the wax paper onto the side of my thigh where the band of my underwear sits, ending right above my hipbone. He peels it back slowly.

  “This is the part where I’d ask if you were happy with the placement, but…”

  “Just do it,” I say before I cave. I’m dying to know what it is. For all I know, he decided to put a giant penis on my hip.

  “I’m going to do a small line first, just so you know how it feels.”

  I hear the buzz of the tattoo gun, and when it touches my skin, I’m surprised that it doesn’t hurt. Not much worse than getting a scratch.

  “You good?”

  “Yep.”

  “Okay,” he says, giving my knee a squeeze. Such a simple, yet endearing gesture. “This will probably take about two hours if you want to do it all in one go.”

  “I can do it,” I insist.

  “Let me know when you need a break.”

  I nod, and he takes that as his cue to begin. It’s not bad at first, but like picking an open wound, over and over, it starts to hurt after a while. There’s also something exhilarating about it—cathartic, even. I wonder if that’s how it started for Dare—as a way to purge his pain.

  As I stare at the beams in the ceiling, I wonder what he wants to talk to me about. I’m dying to ask, but I’m also trying to let him be the one to bring it up. Now doesn’t feel like the time to push.

  I’m not sure how long passes before Matty’s face comes into my line of sight.

  “Look who’s sober,” he says, hovering over me, and I flip him off. Turning to Dare, he says, “That’s sick,” jerking his chin toward my thigh.

  “Thanks. Now stop distracting my client,” Dare replies, but there’s no bite in his tone. Matty holds up his hands in surrender as he walks away.

  “Can you turn onto your side?” Dare asks, pulling the machine away from my leg. I do as he says, rolling onto my right. When he doesn’t say anything or make a move to continue, I look behind me, careful not to look at my tattoo, only to find him staring at my very exposed, very bare ass.

  “This was a bad idea,” he says, seemingly to himself, blue eyes full of heat.

  “Get back to work.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He smirks, shaking his head before rolling his chair toward me. The tattoo machine whirs back to life. He leans over me, one gloved hand on my hip, wiping away the excess ink every once in a while with a napkin, while the other one controls the needle that digs into my skin incessantly.

  After a while, my right side starts to go numb from lying in the same position, and Dare must notice my squirming, because he stops.

  “Let’s take a break. We’re halfway done.” Dare puts his tattoo machine down and snaps his gloves off, tossing them into the trash, before pulling me to a sitting position. The tattoo stings a little, but it’s nothing I can’t handle. I stand to stretch my legs, pants still below my ass, and pull my hoodie off over my head. I’m only wearing a thin camisole, but I feel hot and sweaty. Maybe it has something to do with the adrenaline coursing through me.

  “Should’ve taken you to the private room,” Dare grumbles. I look behind me to find three sets of eyes on me—Matty, Cordell, and Cordell’s client. All three snap their heads down as if they weren’t looking.

  Dare takes my discarded hoodie and ties it around my waist, effectively covering my butt, but not touching the tattooed area. I wonder what I’m supposed to wear when we’re done, but I decide to cross that bridge when we come to it.

  Dare grabs a water bottle, taking a swig before handing it to me. I guzzle it down.

  “How you feeling?” he asks, rotating back and forth on his rolling chair.

  “Fine.” I shrug. “Just wondering how I’m going to wear pants after this.”

  “Ah, yeah. That. You’ll just have to skip those for a few days.”

  “Oh, is that all?” I laugh.

  A smile pulls at the corners of Dare’s lips. “You ready to go back in?”

  “Let’s do this.” I untie the sweatshirt around my waist and lie back on my side. Dare slaps a palm against my ass cheek before leaning down to bite it.

  I squeal, pushing his head away.

  “Sorry. Had to get that out of my system.”

  Out of his system. We both know how well that worked last time. The needle hits my skin, and I close my eyes, trying to think about anything other than the pain. It’s hurting more than before now. Almost like scratching a raw sunburn.

  “Tell me what you wanted to talk to me about earlier?” I ask, abandoning my plan to let him bring it up.

  “What, now?”

  “Yes, now. I need a distraction.”

  Dare clears his throat. “Did you find a place to stay yet?”

  A wave of sadness crashes down on me. I didn’t want to have this conversation right now. “No. The place I wanted fell through.”

  “You and Jess should move in with me.”

  Well. Ask for a distraction and you shall receive.

  “What?” I say, turning my head to face him.

  “Easy,” he says. “Try not to move.”

  I lie back down, waiting for him to continue as my pulse kicks into high gear.

  “It doesn’t have to be like what you’re thinking. You can even have your own room, if you wanted to,” Dare explains.

  “As tempting as your offer is, I can’t do that.” My voice is quiet as I focus on the glowing pink light of the Bad Intent
ions sign in the window.

  “Why the fuck not? You need a place to stay. I have the space.”

  “Because if things between us ever get…messy, what does that mean for Jess and me?”

  “I would never—” Dare starts.

  “I know,” I cut him off. “I know. But Jess needs to be able to depend on me. To have stability and consistency and to always know that he has a place to stay.”

  “And I can give you guys that. Or you can just stay with me until you find a place.”

  “Why are you pushing this?” He’s done enough. The job. The clothes. It feels like all I ever do is take take take from him.

  “Aside from the obvious?”

  “What’s obvious?” I ask, clueless. The tattoo machine ceases in its buzzing, but I don’t turn to face him.

  “The obvious being that you’re my fucking girlfriend and you need a place to live. I don’t want you to run, Lo. Do you think I can’t see it in your eyes? That you’re three seconds from bolting? Because it’s written all over your face.”

  The word girlfriend echoes in my head. Is that what I am? His girlfriend? He said he wanted a relationship before, but everyone knows declarations made during sex should be taken with a grain of salt. What he’s saying makes sense, but I still feel like I’m doing something wrong by taking him up on his offer.

  “What if I paid rent? Like, with a real written agreement and everything.”

  Dare blows out a harsh breath, and I feel it on my exposed skin. “If that’s what you need.”

  “I’ll talk to Jess.”

  Dare nods his head, wiping down my thigh. Before he starts back up, I roll onto my back and tug him toward me by his sleeve.

  “Thank you,” I say, looking into those sad ocean eyes. I reach up and pull him into me, pressing my lips to his. His right hand comes down beside my head to brace himself as he kisses me—slow and deep—uncaring that we most likely have an audience. I feel the kiss right between my legs, and I clamp them together.

  Dare pulls back, adjusting the crotch of his pants before sitting back in his chair. He goes back to work on my thigh, and there aren’t any more words. It takes another twenty minutes or so before he announces that he’s finished.

  Nerves twist in my stomach as he cleans me up. He helps me sit up before handing me a handheld mirror. I stand, ass facing him instead of flashing the rest of the shop, as I take in the reflection.

  “It’s beautiful,” I breathe. It’s a flower with strings of delicate beading hanging below like a chandelier. It’s feminine but somehow badass at the same time. The shading and detail are incredible.

  “You said to choose something that represented you,” he says, his voice unsure. Maybe even vulnerable.

  “You think I’m a delicate flower?” I laugh.

  “It’s a lotus. They grow from mud.”

  Sounds about right, I think. But he continues.

  “They’re born from darkness. But they bloom anyway—rising above the mud, still remaining beautiful and pure. That is you.”

  Tears instantly prick the backs of my eyes, my nose stings, and I feel a lump in my throat. I can’t speak, can’t do anything to stop the tears. Instead, I throw my arms around him, burying my face in the crook of his neck. He lets me cry, his hands rubbing my back, and his gentle touch only makes me cry harder.

  “Let’s get you wrapped up back here,” Dare says, leading me to the drawing room. I know it’s his way of giving us some privacy.

  “I’m sorry,” I say, smoothing my palms across my wet cheeks. “I don’t know why I’m crying.” I lean against his drawing desk, and Dare kneels, applying some ointment to the fresh ink before covering it in plastic wrap, securing it with tape on each end. Once he’s done, he kisses the inside of my knee, then stands, walking behind his desk to grab something. He rounds the desk, kneeling in front of me again, as he peels my leggings down, taking my underwear with them.

  How stupid must I look? Crying over a tattoo with my pants down. I laugh then sniffle at the ridiculousness of it all. He holds up a pair of black basketball shorts for me to step into.

  “You thought ahead.”

  “Wishful thinking.”

  When I lift my left leg, he surprises me by leaning in, face flush against my center as he gives me a long, flat lick. My eyes roll back, and my ass hits the edge of his desk. My leg is still half-bent, suspended awkwardly, and Dare grabs my knee, lifting it higher to have better access. I bury my hands in his messy black hair as he eats me, alternating between sucking and nibbling and fucking me with his tongue.

  I have the sudden urge to please him. He’s always making me feel so good. I want to do the same for him. Clenching the collar of Dare’s hoodie, I pull him up before dropping to my knees in front of him.

  “Careful,” he says huskily, probably referring to the tattoo, but I can’t feel anything other than him. I have his belt buckle undone and his pants unzipped in seconds, then I’m jerking his jeans down below his ass. I grip his hips over his white boxer briefs, seeing his thickness straining against the fabric. My tongue darts out to lick the outline of it.

  “Fuck,” he mutters, dropping his head back. “Pull my cock out.” I love this side of Dare. Dirty and bossy with a side of needy. I do as he says, sliding his boxers down until his hard length bobs free. I lick the underside of his shaft from bottom to sensitive tip, and Dare groans, hand landing on my ponytail, gripping it tightly. He tugs, pulling me away, while his other hand circles his cock.

  “Open.”

  I feel myself clench at his command. I open my mouth, and he slaps the head against my tongue twice before he slides inside my mouth. I close my lips around him, and Dare jerks forward with a harsh breath. He controls my movements with the hand wrapped around my hair, pulling me back, then forward. He moves slowly at first, but he picks up the pace, and I steady myself by holding on to the front of his thighs.

  Without leaving my mouth, he spins us both around, so my back is facing the desk. Letting go of my ponytail, he brings his hands to rest on the edge of his desk as he pumps his hips into me, fucking my mouth. His lean, tattooed torso is stretched above me, his muscles flexing with each thrust. His lips are parted, head dipped down between his shoulders, eyes clenched shut.

  I slip a hand between my own thighs, unable to resist, causing me to moan around him. His eyes fly open and flare with lust. “I want to touch you.”

  I release him with a pop, holding the base of him, and shake my head. “This is for you.” I work my hand up and down his length, holding his gaze as I close my mouth around his head.

  “Fuck yes,” he groans. I dig my fingernails into his ass, pulling him deeper, wanting to take all of him, to make him lose control, to make him feel a fraction of the kind of crazy he makes me feel. The hard floor hurts my knees, but I ignore the pain, working him with my hand and my mouth.

  Dare tenses up, hips stilling. “I’m gonna come.”

  I suck him harder in response. He mutters another curse and pulls back to jerk himself while the tip is still between my lips.

  “You’re gonna swallow my cum, Lo?”

  I nod, holding my tongue out.

  “Touch your pussy while you do.”

  I clench at his words, bringing my fingers between my legs once more. It only takes a few seconds before my orgasm hits, right as Dare’s does, the salty liquid hitting my tongue. When he’s done, I swallow before wrapping my lips around him, giving one last light suck.

  Dare shudders, pulling me up. I’m surprised when he presses his lips to mine. Most guys are weird about that kind of thing, but Dare is unconcerned, his tongue sliding along mine.

  He reaches between my thighs, two fingers swirling around in my wetness.

  “Does that mean you like your tattoo? Because that was one hell of a thank you.”

  I laugh, sagging against him. “I love it,” I say honestly, ignoring that pang in my chest that tells me it might not be the only thing I feel that way for.

&nb
sp; “Are you coming over tonight?” Dare asks, nuzzling into me, his stubble scratching against the thin skin of my neck and shoulder. I want to feel it between my thighs.

  “I can’t,” I breathe, feeling raw and vulnerable from the crying, the tattoo, the closeness, the orgasm—all of it. “I need to be with Jess tonight.” We need to figure out our next move. I honestly don’t know which way he’ll lean, but I know he deserves to be included in the decision.

  Dare nods, kissing my forehead. He bends over, retrieving the forgotten basketball shorts and slides them up my jelly legs, careful not to touch the fresh ink. We walk back into the main room, and I pull my hoodie back over my head, hearing my keys jingle in the front pocket.

  Dare gives me instructions about caring for my tattoo. He tells me to take off the wrap in a couple of hours, then wash it with a mild soap and water. I thank him again, promising to call him later tonight. I have a lot to think about.

  * * *

  WHEN I GET BACK TO Henry’s, Jess is freshly showered, his hair a mop of damp curls. He’s sitting on the couch with his eyes glued to the phone.

  “What’s up?” I ask, kicking the door shut behind me.

  “Watching Mad Men on Netflix,” he says, dropping his phone to the couch.

  “We have Netflix?” I ask, doubtful.

  “Nope. I just keep creating different email accounts to get the free trial.”

  “Seems legit.”

  “What the fuck are you wearing?” Jess asks, looking me up and down.

  “Oh, I got this today,” I say, pulling the loose fabric up to expose the tattoo. “I’m part of the no pants club for the next few days.”

  “Hell yeah,” Jess says, examining the ink through the plastic wrap. “Think he’ll do me next?”

  “When you’re eighteen,” I say, raising an eyebrow.

  I head into the kitchen and make all his favorites—eggs, sunny-side up, pancakes, and bacon, mentally weighing the pros and cons of moving in with Dare.

  “Do you like it here?” I ask as we eat our breakfast-for-dinner on the couch, since there is no kitchen table to speak of.

  “Yeah.” Jess shrugs, crunching on a piece of bacon. “Coach wants me to play lacrosse in the spring. I think I might.”