Page 30 of Campfires & Canines
Keeping my eyes on my work instead of her glorious face, I clench and relax my hands several times to keep them limber and steady.
It only takes about five more minutes to shade in each of the little moons. The entire tattoo only took twenty minutes, not counting set-up time. I was so focused, hours could have passed and I wouldn't have a clue.
Setting my machine aside, I drag a final wipe up her sternum, followed by a thin layer of gel.
Done! I sit back and I pull off my gloves. She starts to sit up and my hand shoots out to press on her stomach and keep her flat. She freezes. My bare skin against her thin t-shirt shocks me.
"Hold up. I need to wrap it,” I say. She takes deep breaths, her chest rising and falling more than when I was tattooing her.
I finally locate the clear bandage I want and smooth it over the skin. "There. Good to go."
She heads right to the mirror, and I hear her squeal. It makes my brain go blank. Not a thought.
"It's perfect. Thank you." Beaming, she perches on the edge of the sofa, as near to me as she can be.
"Should we have added more?" I ask, second-guessing my design. I edge closer, getting a better look at how the tattoo looks now she is sitting up.
"No, it's everything I wanted. I can't wait to show it off." She wrinkles her nose at my scowl. "Just to a few people, like Marigold."
She releases her shirt and it settles into place to cover her. The top of the tattoo peeks out - the curve of a crescent moon and a tiny star, right in the valley of her cleavage.
Her arm is on my bicep, burning me. I glance up. My stomach tightens. She's inches away. With the height differences of our seats, she's nose to nose with me for the first time. Her eyes are molten.
My hand is already on her ribs, though I'm not sure when it moved there. I drag my eyes down, over the tattoo again, and up to her parted lips. I'm a moth and she’s an inferno. I can't help but lean in, drawn by her warmth and scent.
Hazel blinks at me, her pupils huge. Her tongue darts out, wetting her lips. She's going to kiss me, I realize with a thrill. I know I shouldn't, but those reasons are distant, and unimportant when she has me ensnared. And I can't bring myself to care.
My eyes close on instinct. Her mouth connects with mine. She is so sweet. Her lips slide across mine, tentative. I press into her, intoxicated by the sensation. I need more.
Her hands thread into my hair and twist into the strands. The light tug sparks down my spine. I groan and she answers with a soft, sultry noise. My hands grasp her waist, pulling her into me.
She deepens our kiss, her tongue in my mouth. She is wild honey and jasmine. Her nails lightly scrape my skin and I go feral.
Surging out of my seat, I cover her with my body. She arches under me as I run my thumb across her jaw and down her throat.
Every inch of skin is lustrous. I can't get enough of her. I want to touch, taste, feel every part of her I can. I kiss the side of her mouth and then her jaw, working my way down. She melts in my hands.
"Slate." Her voice is shaky, begging.
I'm jolted back to reality, remembering who I am and who she is. I release her and jump up, trying to gain some distance. Avoiding her gaze, I deliberately look down at the ground.
She’s panting. The noise echoes in my ears and I want to feel it on my skin. I'm feverish, the loss of her warmth a physical ache.
What am I thinking? Everything in me screams to claim her, make her mine forever. Every touch surrenders more of me to her.
"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have done that," I grind out.
"What?" Her voice is breathy. "I kissed you."
There's a silence while I calm myself before I can safely look at her. When I do, it guts me. Her lips and cheeks are deliciously pink, but her eyes are humiliated. I can't stand that expression especially when I am the cause.
"No." I search for words to make it better. "You're perfect. Incredible."
"But." Her lips thin, her embarrassment flaring into anger.
"It's just, I don't date." It is the only way I can think to explain.
“Gotcha.”
