Page 13 of Inked Desires
“Trust me.”
“I trust no one,” I spit instinctively.
“I’m not going to tattoo my name on your neck,” he replies.
The moment I feel a blade glide along my skin to shave the tiny hairs, I understand the discussion is over for him. His movements are meticulous, precise. He applies a compress on my skin, places the stencil, then carefully removes it.
Jace hadn’t taken any precautions. He simply freehanded before mercilessly hammering me with the needle.
The buzzing of the tattoo machine fills the room. My fingers clutch the chair’s leather as all feeling of safety abandons me.
“Relax,” he whispers close by.
His voice manages to soothe my muscles a bit, but my hands refuse to let go. I dread the pain, remembering how unbearable it was last time. I grit my teeth, waiting for the needle to pierce my flesh.
But when the first line is drawn, it’s not pain that overwhelms me. It’s something else. An emptiness. An image I’d buried brutally resurfaces.
A white cloth. Forced darkness. The smell of worn leather.
I couldn’t see. Jace wouldn’t let me see. He said I didn’t need my eyes, that my only purpose was to be useful, to do what he expected without questions. The cloth wrapped around my head, erasing me from the world. An object—that’s what I had become. A puppet shaped according to his desires.
My breathing quickens. I’m here, in this tattoo parlor. Not back there. Jace isn’t here. I see that.
“Andrew?”
Arès stops his movement. He watches me, concerned.
I struggle to regain control. I’m no longer that blinded kid.
“Keep going,” I say in a hoarse voice.
“Are you okay?” he asks, his voice piercing through my emotional bubble.
“Yes,” I whisper.“From now on, everything will be fine.”
I let myself be carried away by the sensation of the needle, a salvation transforming my past. The fear I felt slowly fades, replaced by a strange inner peace.
Arès stays silent, focused on his work. I try not to move, so I don’t disturb him. My eyes open and catch his reflection in the mirror. His hair, slicked back neatly, reveals a face more relaxed than usual. He looks younger, almost vulnerable.
Arès is an attractive man. If I hadn’t been broken by men, maybe I would have tried to flirt with him. The scar on his cheek gives him a threatening air, and his dark aura draws me like a moth to a flame.
Yet, I know it’s an illusion to believe anyone can be changed. No one — especially a bad boy — deserves sacrificing our own well-being. I’ve learned that the hard way, because of my inexplicable attraction to these complex individuals.
Despite myself, one question nags me: what has he been through to become so distant and cold?
I close my eyes again. I shouldn’t dwell on such thoughts. My time here is limited. Better not to get attached. And if I don’t want him digging into my past, then I must leave his alone.
“You need a break,” he exclaims, setting down the tattoo machine.
“No, keep going,” I say quickly, stopping him.
“You need to eat something. We’ve been here for four hours.”
Surprised, I turn my head. It’s true, time slipped away from me completely.
“Your burger’s in the fridge,” he informs me.“You didn’t eat anything yesterday either.”
Arès relaxes his shoulders, and I notice his chest move under his T-shirt. Suddenly, my lips dry out. When I moisten them with my tongue, his gaze shifts to the mirror, following the movement. He exhales loudly, shakes his head, and stands up. As he turns his back, I notice his hand sliding between his legs. A wave of heat rushes over me. I sigh nervously. What’s happening to me? Arès is undeniably sexy, but usually men leave me indifferent. I was raised not to feel anything for others. So why this stir inside me?
