Page 9 of Love at First Ink

“High, but I don’t know what to expect either.” She never experienced pain from a tattoo, so she didn’t have anything to base it off. But, in general, she didn’t hurt easily, which was good since her emotional pain tolerance was at an all-time low.

“Do you need something to dull the pain? I have numbing cream,” he offered.

“No, I’m fine,” she said, hoping that wasn’t a dumb move.

“Well, if it gets too intense, we can take a break. Just communicate with me,” he said.

If only he knew her communication skills sucked. Still, she nodded. Cisco prepared himself and his tattoo gun. The sound of it buzzing was a little unnerving, and she gripped the sides of her chair tighter.

She had come this far and couldn’t turn back now. For a moment, a sickness bubbled low in her stomach as she thought about all the reasons why she shouldn’t do this. She wasn’t a spontaneous woman who just went out to get tattoos. Her mother would hate it. Her mother would makeherhate it.

“You ready?” Cisco asked, one hand on her thigh and the other holding the gun. He was so close, she could smell his spearmint aftershave and woodsy cologne. It gave her something to focus on instead of her wayward thoughts and the sound of the tattoo gun.

“Ready as I can be,” she mumbled, averting her gaze.

“I’ll be gentle with you for your first time,” he said.

Marisol’s body grew hot at the implication of his words. It also effectively distracted her so she didn’t feel the sting of the gun puncturing her skin.

CHAPTER 5

Cisco

The woman in his chair didn’t even flinch when he started tattooing her. He’d had thousands upon thousands of clients in that exact spot, all claiming to have a high pain tolerance. Some of them did and only found mild irritation while he worked on them. Others twitched and whimpered so much, he didn’t think he’d get through tattooing them. Sometimes he didn’t. There were people walking around with half done or barely done tattoos on their bodies from him.

He didn’t know what he expected from the woman in his chair, but it wasn’t this.

His first impression of Marisol was that she was beautiful. No, beautiful was too weak a word to describe her. Ethereal. Timeless. Breathtaking. She had shiny black hair that hung past her chest, styled in relaxed waves. Her face was clear of any blemishes, and the light dusting of navy eye shadow made her brown eyes pop. Plump red lips made him linger before averting his gaze.

Her skin had the rich, warm hue of autumn leaves justbefore they drifted from the trees, kissed by golden undertones that made her glow as if she had spent days in the sun. It was the kind of deep, radiant brown that people spent hours in tanning beds trying—and failing—to replicate. Cisco’s sharp eye for luxury didn’t miss the fact that Marisol was draped in designer labels, each piece a statement of wealth and exclusivity. Her outfit alone likely cost more than some people’s rent, a silent but undeniable display of status.

Definitely not the type of girl he saw often in his shop. She seemed almost reluctant to be here. Every few seconds, her eyes darted to the door, and he wondered if she would bolt.

“You okay?” he asked, trying not to seem like he was prying. Just a tattoo artist checking in on his client.

He felt her heated gaze on him and tilted his head up. The moment their eyes locked, Marisol looked away. A girl like her usually had the confidence to keep his gaze and flirt with him. He was an attractive guy, after all. Or so the women in his life said, and they couldn’t all be lying to him. Marisol was an anomaly, and that made her all the more interesting.

“What drew you to this piece?” Cisco wiped away the ink and plasma after outlining a flower. It always interested him to see what people were drawn to and why. Some had beautiful and sentimental reasons for choosing the tattoo they did, while others just liked the vibes. Both were valid reasons.

Marisol didn’t answer right away. Maybe she was one of those clients who didn’t want to talk at all during a session. He’d respect that, but it made for a tiresome and sometimes awkward session. Cisco was a talker. He liked getting to know people and finding connections. It wasn’t hard for him to make friends because he found commonalities in whomever he spoke to.

Just when Cisco had written Marisol off as a silent client, she spoke. “The woman—is she a goddess?”

“Of sorts,” Cisco said. “She just popped into my head one afternoon, and I had to get her down on paper. She does look and feel like a goddess, though.”

Marisol nodded. “She does. She’s confident. Beautiful. Powerful.”

“Those are all good qualities in a woman,” Cisco said.

“In anyone,” Marisol amended. “But I wanted her. Maybe she’ll…” she trailed off, sucking that bottom lip between her teeth. It awakened something deep inside of him.

“Maybe she’ll what?” he prompted.

“It’s stupid,” Marisol said.

“I guarantee you it’s not stupid. The feelings art evokes in us are never stupid.”

Marisol hesitated and looked around the room as if making sure no one else was in here. Once she was satisfied they were completely alone, she said, “Reminds me that I could be those things too.” Her voice was so soft, Cisco had to lean in closer to hear her. He could smell the floral scents from her perfume, a perfume he decided he loved.

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