Page 28 of Campfires & Canines
I hesitate, gathering my courage. "Uh, could we do it here?" I trace my fingertips between my breasts. I wore a soft, stretchy bralette and a loose shirt today, trying to plan ahead.
Slate looks up, going very still as he sees my hand. Fascinated, I watch his throat work as he swallows. After a tense moment, he answers, "That's a sensitive spot. Somewhere like your shoulder would be less painful." His voice is suddenly hoarse.
Too painful? I am a woman. We are made of tougher stuff. Suggesting it’s too painful solidifies my decision. I’m done being cautious.
"I think I can handle it."
Now he's mentioned little vines twisting around the phases of the moon, I can't imagine it anywhere else.
He nods. "Look, we can start with one small piece of it, so if we need to stop, you'll still have something pretty. Then we could come back later to finish or change spots, whatever you want."
Warmth blossoms in my chest. He respected my choice but also offered alternatives so I have plenty of options. Jeremy would never.
He leans forward with a marker in hand. "Here, lift your shirt. Let's draw it out and you can see if you like it."
"Oh yeah, about that. How are we going to do this?" My cheeks flame.
"I've never done a sternum tattoo before. What would be comfortable for you?" He asks, eyes on my bust.
Why did I decide on this again? No way am I making it through this unscathed.
"Um..." I tug on my neckline, glad I picked the clothes I did. I can pull it down to expose almost the entire area while keeping my boobs mostly covered. "Here, and I'll pull my shirt up the other way if you need to go down further."
He scoots closer, reaching out to wipe down my skin. One hand goes to my ribs and the other lowers the marker. He bites his full bottom lip as he skates the felt over the delicate skin between my breasts, sketching out his idea. I'm so entranced, my eyes go unfocused. After a moment, he finishes and straightens.
"Go check it out and tell me what you think," he says, capping his marker with a click and jolting me back to reality.
I stand, legs shaky. The bathroom is all white penny tiles with a black mirror and black faucets. Very modern.
I study my chest in the mirror. A slim line of moons, starting from an upturned crescent, down to a round full moon, and back again, ends level with the bottom of my breasts. A fine line twists between them with a few tiny leaves. Opposite the vine, little stars dot the skin. It's one of the prettiest things I've ever seen.
I plop back on the sofa and meet Slate's expectant gaze, grinning. "It's perfect."
"Okay. Feeling ready to get it done today?" He asks, pulling on gloves.
"Yup."
"You can lay down." Grabbing a pillow, I slide sideways, still gripping my shirt out of the way.
With practiced motions, he finishes prepping all the equipment and wrapping plastic around everything. The machine whirs as he tests it.
Turning back to me, he glances at my face. "Deep breath. Let me know if it's too much." I nod.
The needle hits my skin and I close my eyes for a moment, refusing to flinch. It's like a deep scratch, worse than a nail but less painful than a cat scratch. Definitely manageable.
He starts with the crescent moon at the top, pausing when he completes those first two lines.
"Doing good?" he checks.
"I'm fine. Let's do it," I say, working to keep my voice even, though my heart is racing with how close he is leaning over me.
His left hand presses at my collarbone, stretching the skin. Lowering the needle again, he pulls the line for the waxing moon.
I relax my muscles, watching his expression of deep concentration. It’s easy to lose track of where he is tattooing. The whole area hurts like hell, but I'm distracted by the curve of his lips and the way they part in concentration.
His dark brown hair curls over his cheekbones and around his ears so artfully, it's a shame to not take a picture. His eyelashes are unfairly long. On any other man, I would think they’re wasted, but nothing is wasted on him.
I relish this chance to stare at him without being caught. His jaw is sharp, dusted with stubble like he hasn't shaved since I met him that first day. I’m aching to reach out and feel the roughness.
