Page 123 of All In
I nodded. “For always.”
Before he could say another word, I climbed into his lap and kissed him hard and deep. He responded with a small intake of breath, and I felt the tension coiled in his body fall away. He kissed me with all his fire and the passion. I felt it come roaring back to life, warming the parts of me that had gone cold after what we’d lost.
“Kacey,” he breathed. “I love you. God, I love you so much.”
“I love you,” I said against his mouth, my hands reaching to undo the buttons on my blouse. I stripped off my shirt, then unclasped my bra. I kissed Theo a final time, then let my clothes fall to the floor and lay face down on his tattoo chair.
“I’m ready.”
He frowned. “I have to sketch it out. Show you…”
I shook my head. “I don’t want to see it.”
Theo’s eyes widened. I saw the pulse dance in the hollow of his throat. “You want me to tattoo it on you, sight unseen?”
“Yeah, I do.”
“Why?
“I want that butterfly exactly as you imagined it. Nothing from me to alter or change what it was. No sketch. No stencil. I want your art, Teddy. I’m your canvas.”
He stared at me a moment more. “No stencil. Freehand?”
I smiled. “Are you this difficult with all your clients?”
“Only the crazy ones,” he said, and in his laugh, I heard that he was going to be okay.
I waited while he put on his plastic gloves and stack of soft cloths to wipe away excess ink and blood, readied his needles and inks. I turned my head so I wouldn’t see the colors he chose. A few minutes later, I heard his chair groan as he stood, and I felt him over me. Soft lips pressed a kiss to my shoulder blade.
“Ready?” he said, his breath hot on my skin.
I turned my head. I wanted to watch him work. “I’m ready.”
Theo leaned over me from his chair, the gun buzzed, and I felt his hand rest on my skin a split second before the sharp bite of the needle. It had been years since I’d had a tattoo, but the pain was familiar. A deep, stinging ache. A good tattoo artist new exactly when to relent, to wipe the blood and excess ink and then go again.
Theo was more than good.
I watched him, watched his eyes—intent on my skin—his movements sure and steady, his own tattooed arms holding the gun, muscles tight against the short sleeve of his shirt.
“Is it wrong to say having you tattoo me is turning me on?”
“Yes,” he said, not looking up. “As a professional, I find it highly inappropriate.”
I smiled and bit my lip. I hadn’t been teasing. I felt the deep bite of Theo’s needle on the shallow skin over my shoulder blade all the way down my spine. The vibration settled between my legs. The need grew with the pain, receded when Theo pulled the needle away, to wipe the blood and ink, and again when he changed the needle.
The texture of the pain changed then. The needle’s bite was more of a scrape, stinging brush strokes, as if he were coloring my skin with a marker that’s tip was made of glass dust.
“You’re shading now,” I said, feeling the scrape of the tattoo well across my shoulder blade. “That’s a big butterfly.”
“A butterfly?” Theo said, intent on his work. “I thought you said you wanted a giant happy face with Shit Happens along the bottom.”
“Ha ha,” I said, only pretending to be annoyed, while inside my heart soared to see my Theo come back.
After three hours he was done. Three hours watching that beautiful man bent over me, creating a work of art on my body, giving me a piece of himself. My shoulder throbbed but the pain was second to the need I had for him.
“You ready to see it?” he asked. His voice was low, gruff, and if he was nervous, he didn’t show it. He looked at me with hunger burning in his eyes.
I nodded. “I’m ready.”
