There’s a sound of something falling outside, followed by a muffled curse.
I move my long, flamingo-pink hair over a shoulder. “You really wanna do this here, with your girlfriend just outside at the reception desk?” I say, then arch against Gavin’s chest when he cups my pussy in a rough grip.
“I’m sure she’s too busy schmoozing with the customers to care about what I’m doing with my cock right now,” he whispers in my ear.
I grab his wrist so that I can pull his hand away from between my legs, then turn around and raise a brow at him. “It’s 9 in the morning, Gav,” I tell him. “It’s safe to assume that Nicole is most likely busy waiting for you to leave this room than she is chatting up yourcustomers.” I click my tongue. “I don’t think people wake up and decide to just walk into a tattoo shop on a regular basis. Doesn’t seem very logical to me.”
Gavin scowls. “Well,you’rehere, though, aren’t you?”
I run my eyes over his shoulder-length blond hair, piercing jade eyes, clean-shaven jaw, tattooed forearms, and broad shoulders that are concealed behind his fitted black t-shirt. “Hmm,” I start, then glance at the bulge straining his dark jeans. “But I’m here for thelovelyview, and nothing else.”
Gavin continues to scowl. “You’re a fucking menace, Cigs.”
I chuckle and hop onto the worktable behind me. “And that’s exactly what makes me so special, doesn’t it?”
Him and I don’t fuck in his shop; the first time had been the only exception. It’s always in his jeep, in his apartment, or in the bathroom of a grocery store. We like it convenient, quick, and filthy, but we also don’t want Nicole walking in on us. I prefer Gavin’s balls exactly where they are, thank you very much.
I’d met him three months ago, when I’d first visited his shop,RadicalInk. I’d had a craving to get a tattoo, both to have something that would define me in a way nothing else ever would, and to spite my mom whilst also living up to my colorful reputation in Riverside. You know, the ‘fucking and drinking around’ kinda reputation. Pure classic.
They don’t call me theFlawedPrincessfor nothing, after all.
So, back to the tattoo. A quick Google search had shown me that the best place to get inked was Gavin’s shop, and so, one random afternoon, I’d lied to my bodyguard, Maverick, about having to meet a “friend” for brunch – unchaperoned, of course – before driving over to Main Street.
The moment I’d seen Gavin, I’d known that he’d be something to look forward to. We’d fucked on the recliner in his private workroom twenty minutes after having met each other – unbeknownst to Nicole, obviously – and let me tell ya: he didn’t disappointatall.
The tattoo he’d inked on my upper-back that day – a massive swan with her feathers disbanded around her – is a true piece of art, and the exact reflection of how I feel. I’d merely given him a vague idea of what I wanted, and he’d done nothing short of an outstanding job of defining the essence of me through ink on flesh.
Because it reallyisan essence of me – a cygnet. Aswan.
That’s what my name is taken from, modified by my uncle to make it sound more…posh.
But, as much asIlove my tattoo, my mother despises it twice as much. That afternoon, when I’d gotten home fromRadicalInk, she’d left more bruises on my body than she has in a while.
Her beating me is a usual feat, but sometimes, she crosses the line; makes me see exactly what I mean to her, which is absolutelynothing. Because really, I don’t mean shit to her. I’m the product of a drunken one-night-stand, for Christ’s sake. I’m as neglected as they come. All I’m good for is managing the social media accounts of her fashion brand,Lure, and on several occasions, being a toy for her to manhandle and mark.
Gavin doesn’t care about said marks, though. He sees them, but he doesn’t ask, doesn’t offer anything in regards to them. And I don’t exactly care that he doesn’t, to be honest. I love each and every one of my bruises, because they remind me that I’m real. They’re temporary stamps of victory that come and go – victory against the hate my own mother has for me.
“Cigs?”
I look up and meet Gavin’s eyes.
“Are we doing this, or what?” he asks a bit impatiently. For a man so talented at his job, he sure is a dense motherfucker.
I pull up a fallen strap of my white tank top. “I can’t,” I say simply. “I just…not right now.”
The anger on his face is almost comical. “Then why the fuck did you come here anyway?” he all but spits the words at me.
Wow,seriously?
I clench my jaw and get off the table. “Watch your tone, Gav,” I hiss. “I don’t live on your damn commands, you get it? I’m Cignette Adler, and I don’t take shit from rock-bottomassholeslike you.” I snatch my phone from the table, slide it into my back-pocket, and march out of the room.
“Oh, hey, Cig–” Nicole starts, but immediately stops when I walk right past the reception desk.
I briefly hear Gavin and her exchanging a few words as I push open the shop’s door and step out, but I don’t stop, even as I feel his presence behind me.
“Cigs,” he says helplessly. “Cigs, come on.” He tries to grab my hand, but I sidestep him and finally reach my pink Cadillac.
“Look, I’m sorry, okay? I’m fuckingsorry.”
