Page 28 of Shattered Hate

He’s bullshitting; I’m sure of it.

“Did you pierce your lip?” I question as he pulls it between his teeth again. Daxton sighs, dipping the tattoo gun into the ink before locking eyes with me once more.

“Yes.”

This infuriates me. Why am I asking him questions? Why am I bothering to talk to him? I don’t want to ask him any more questions, but I can’t control how the route from my brain to my mouth malfunctions.

I can’t hold back my curiosity any longer and let loose the question, “Do you only have your lip pierced?” I immediatelyregret asking. It doesn’t matter what piercings he has. Why do I even care? My brain betrays me again.

“No, I have a few more,” he replies with no further explanation. But that’s not enough for me; I want to know about every piercing he has. I don’t want the information spoon-fed to me; I want the whole fucking meal at once.

“Where?” I push, unable to control my need to know.

“Stop clenching,” he says, still focused on my arm.

Confused, I furrow my brows and ask, “What?”

“Your fist, stop clenching it.”

Suddenly, his fingers dig into my palm, and chills run down my body. Daxton has taken hold of my hand, prying open my fingers.

My eyes lock with his, and he looks away quickly, as if he wasn’t just staring at me. “Your veins are bulging; it will hurt more,” he explains in a hushed tone before picking up the tattoo gun again.

I take a few deep breaths, trying to ignore the tingling sensation in my hand.

I should have accepted that blowjob last night. I’m starved for attention, and now Daxton Rivers has set my body ablaze like a brightly lit ice hockey rink. This is just fucking great.

After that intense moment, my brain reminds me not to speak. I’m grateful for this reminder because who knows what I would have let slip in my state of shock?

Daxton continues wiping the same spot on my arm, which keeps bleeding for some reason. It’s painful, but I don’t want to give him another chance to touch me by clenching my fists again.

“Done,” he announces, cracking his neck. “Don’t move.” He holds onto my arm as if to make sure I follow his instructions. I can’t help but glance at his hand wrapped around my upper arm. Why is my stomach flipping? Why do I have goose bumps all over my arms? It’s just a hand. I hate it here.

He returns with plastic wrap and takes out his phone.

“Can I?” he asks, waving his hand at me, and I assume he wants to take pictures. I nod, sitting up to get a better look at it.

It’s perfect. It’s mainly just the outline at the moment. There are some bits shaded, but even the outline is everything.

I stare at it, mesmerized by the intricate lines and subtle shading. It’s like Daxton has somehow captured a piece of my soul and etched it onto my skin.

“It’s…” I start, but words fail me.

“Yeah,” Daxton says softly, a hint of pride in his voice. “It came out well.”

He snaps a few photos, the flash momentarily blinding me. I blink rapidly, trying to clear the spots from my vision. When I can see again, I find Daxton studying me with an intensity that makes my breath catch.

“What?” I ask, suddenly self-conscious.

He shakes his head slightly as if coming out of a trance. “Nothing. Just thinking about the next session.”

Right. The next session. Because this isn’t over. I’ll be back here, in this chair, with Daxton’s hands on my skin again. The thought sends a shiver down my spine that I desperately try to suppress.

“So, three weeks?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.

Daxton starts wrapping my arm in plastic wrap, his fingers brushing against my skin with each pass. “Yeah, that should beenough time. It needs to heal a little first. Then we can do more outlining and shading on the next session.”

I nod, not trusting myself to speak. The air feels thick, charged with something I can’t quite name. Or maybe I just don’t want to name it.

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