Page 6 of Saint
“Noah, you get the seventy. But while you’re using my inks and my clients, then I will take thirty percent. When you have your own client list and your own supplies, we can discuss how we do this.”
His smile widens, making the skin around his eyes crinkle, and his high cheeks pink up again. “I can’t believe this. It’s incredible.” He shakes his head. “Will you be able to teach me stuff too? I want to learn.”
“Of course. But I’m not labelling you as an apprentice, you’re too good for that. I’m going to make some calls and bring in some of the people on the waiting list in. I won’t cram your day. I don’t know your speed, but you’ll have work tomorrow.”
With that, he stands up, wobbles a little, and pales. Has he eaten? Where is he staying? All my protective instincts take over. I learnt it all from my dads as they fostered and cared for me and my three brothers, plus the slew of short fostering jobs. We knew to look out for anyone vulnerable. And Noah has suddenly fit that bill.
“Have you found somewhere to stay?” I watch him closely. I know the tell-tale fidget and looking away. He’s twenty-one, I shouldn’t worry, but the protective side of the Dom in me is never far away. And this man brings him out in spades.
“I’m going to find a B&B.” He shrugs.
I stand up, straightening my back and reaching my full six-three. He stares at me and gulps. “If you need a place, I know one. I’ll take you there.” I can take him to my dads’ place; they’ll never turn anyone away. Especially one who grew up in the care system.
“You don’t need to do that. I’ll be fine.” He’s bullshitting me.
“Lesson number one, Noah. Do as I tell you.” My voice is low, commanding.
“Yes, sir.” When I see his eyelashes flutter, and he looks up at me through them, I see the submissive I’ve been looking for. Fuck!
“You can call me Saint, Noah. Now, I’m closing up, so take a seat, and I’ll be back with you in five minutes.”
With my station tidy and my stocks topped up, I cash up for the night. I count out the money from Kris, deducting the fee for the tattoo, and put the remainder in an envelope.
“That was a huge tip. Does that happen often?” Noah voice breaks the silence. I’d forgotten he was here; he was so quiet.
“No, not this much. I’m not keeping it; it will go to my dad’s youth club fund.”
“Is that what happens to all the tips?” I know he’s politely asking if he has to do the same.
“No, your tips are your own to keep. Kris, the client, has paid me enough; I don’t need any more.” I carry on clearing the till, collecting the card receipts. After another glance around the studio, I give Noah a look; he’s sitting so patiently, serenely even. He’s got to be a submissive. “Let’s go, Noah.”
I let him pass me at the door, then step behind him, switch on the alarm, and then close and lock the door. “My car is this way.” We walk side by side down the alleyway to the side of my building. I live above the studio. Lewis left me more than the business, he left me everything, including the building. He had lived in the flat above, only using one of the two floors above the shop. I refurbished and refitted the whole two floors and now had a New York loft-style home. I loved it, especially the playroom I have on the top floor.
My truck is parked at the back of the building, it’s all logo’d up with the studio name across it in silver and black. My brothers laugh at me, calling it my cowboy truck, but I love it, and I’m over six feet tall, and it has the headroom for me.
“Wow! This is awesome. Did you paint it?” Noah’s fingertips trace the wording. His fingers are long and slim and look so soft; I want to feel them on me. Crap, Saint, get thatthought out of your head. He’s not some twink at the club; he’s here to work for you. To learn.
“I did the design, then a friend of mine sprayed it. It’s cool, isn’t it?”
“So cool.”
I move past him to open the passenger door for him, he clambers up and settles in the seat. I shut the door and jog to my side.
Noah stops staring out of the side window and turns to me. “I’m not sure this is a good idea, Saint. Where are you taking me?”
“It’s fine, and we’re going to my dads’. They’d be angry with me if I let a new colleague stay in a bed and breakfast.”
“Oh… Okay.”
He looks back out of the window, and when I glance across, he’s biting his thumb nail. I reach over and catch his wrist and gently pull his hand away. “Don’t bite your nails.”
“Sorry. I know it’s a bad habit. I only do it when I’m nervous. And you’re a really big thing.”
I chuckle. “Flattery will get you into trouble, boy.”
I turn the corner onto the street I grew up in. I don’t think of my life with my waste of space, sperm donor as part of me anymore. How and who I am is down to the two men that love me the way fathers should. “We’re here.”
Colour drains from his face as he reaches for the handle. I hear him muttering, “I can’t believe I’m doing this. It’s not a good idea.”
