I hand it over, safely severing the moment. Still, the crackling energy doesn’t die; it just changes form, morphing into heady anticipation as she flicks through the pages. I’m proud of those photos. I’ve built a solid reputation in the industry, and I find myself smiling inwardly at the thought that all the hard work was worth it if it brought this gorgeous woman to my chair.
Reluctantly, I snap that thought in two. She’s not for me, and, more importantly,I’mnot forher.
This buzz I’m feeling, though… I can’t help but like it.
She assesses each photo carefully and thoroughly, and I can see the Professor in her, marking papers and forming judgments. I wonder what grade she’ll give me, and feel warmed through when I read approval in the tiny shifts of expression on her face. She whistles quietly at one of my personal favorites, a page ofTwelfth Nightin Shakespeare’s handwriting I inked on someone’s thigh. “Well, that settles it. Looks like you’re precisely who I need.”
A faint echo of some long-ago feeling slams through me at her words.
You can shakethatoff, too,I think to myself darkly.
She fishes her cell phone out from her bag and scrolls through her photos. “What I’m after…” She’s distracted briefly as she searches for the right one, nodding decisively when she finds it. “Yep, here it is. Basically, I’d like the most lifelike depiction you can manage of a fragment of the Rosetta Stone, and I’d like it all over my back. Literally my entire back, covered. I’m imagining it’s going to be in varying shades of black and gray?” She hands over her cell so I can see what she’s talking about, and I have to say, the Rosetta Stone looks like an interesting project for me to try to reproduce. I’d heard of it, but never seen it, and I’m already considering the best techniques to replicate the rough, angular appearance of the stone’s surface, how to give the glyphs depth, matching how the letters look slightly tarnished but still completely readable. I make a mental note to do more research online overnight. This will be a useful way to occupy my mind when fighting the urge to sleep.
She turns in the chair. “Let me show you what I mean,” she murmurs, catching me entirely off-guard as she unzips the back of her dress. Once it’s fully undone, she pulls the sides apart and tosses her hair out of the way, showing me her bare back as she straddles my chair in a way that makes my mouth go a little dry. A thin, delicate white bra catch bisects the pale perfection of her skin. Not a single birthmark, scar, or blemish of any kind. It’s going to be the perfect canvas, if she really does go ahead with it. “From here,” she says, indicating where the base of her neck joins her back and shoulders, “to here.” Her fingers now rub against the small of her back, around the two dips.What would it be like to kiss my way down her spine, her warm skin under my lips…
I grit my jaw against the image.So professional, dickwad.
“I recognise this is ambitious for a first tattoo, but go big or go home, as they say.” She looks over her shoulder. “If you need to unhook my bra, that’s fine.”
I swallow hard.
Taking a deep, steadying breath as quietly as I can - and believe me, that’srealquiet - I finger spellN-O N-E-E-D. My dick is twitching towards full mast, and ain’t taking its time about it, neither. Don’t get me wrong, I’m a heterosexual man, and of course I get horny now and again.Clearly. I just don’t act on it, ever. At least, not with other people. Internet surfing and my right hand has been all I’ve needed and all I’ve allowed myself for years now, and it’s been enough, ithas. But it turns out I’m not immune to a beautiful lady giving me easy permission to undo her bra, if I want to, like it’s no big deal. This…thrillI’m feeling hasn’t happened in a while. I’m not given to crushes, haven’t felt more than the most fleeting, momentary attractions since I was eighteen, so although this is unsettling, it feels good.
Real good.
And I don’t feel tired anymore.
Her head turns slightly, and the artist in me lights up because in profile she truly is stunning. Her nose is slightly upturned, pixie-ish, and that glorious hair of hers falls like a kawaii Venus di Milo. “What do you think? Overambitious for a tattoo novice, or can it be done?”
I reach for my tablet and open the notepad app, typing quickly with one hand.I can do it. Go for broke. She turns and sits facing me again, and I try my hardest to ignore the way her unzipped dress gathers loosely around her. I smile reassuringly (Smile Number Two) as I pass the tablet over, hoping she’s gonna really do this and isn’t the type to back out at the last minute. But then, she’s not wrong; itisa total beast of a first tattoo. No-one would blame her if she lost her nerve, least of allme. I guess it depends if she’s confident she can take the pain, and if she’s at all scared of needles.
“So, needles don’t particularly bother me,” she says, as though she’s read my mind - or as if I’ve done the impossible and spoken out loud, “but I am a total newcomer, and that has to be a factor. So, bearing that in mind, in your professional opinion…do you think I can handle it?” She gives me direct eye contact and a smile that’s almost challenging, daring me to tell her she can’t.
I’m a professional. I have to be pragmatic here. What she’s asking for is huge, and will take a while to do. Most people I know would flinch at the scale of her request, including the hardcore tattoo addicts. But at the end of the day, if she finds the kiss of the needle a little too much, I can create her a smaller piece that’s still in-keeping with the core concept.
And, of all people, she’s safe in my hands, in every possible way. The only harm I will do is the stinging of the machine. I’m not a sleaze.
So, without breaking eye contact, I hold my hand out for my tablet.
Get a good night’s sleep beforehand, I type.Don’t take ibuprofen or aspirin before your appointment. Bring a sports drink to each session for the glucose and hydration. We have numbing cream, if that will make you more comfortable? I think for a moment, and then, with a tiny smile, I add,You can definitely handle what I’m gonna do, Liaden.
I hand it back with a nod.
Her eyes dart lightning quick across the text. Jesus, she’s a fast reader. I wouldn’t believe it was possible if I wasn’t watching her do it. Her eyes lift to mine, and I’m enjoying the kittenish gleam in them. “OK, clearly you’re more than up to the task, so you’ve got yourself a deal. But I do have one finalrequest.” She leans forward, playful, almost like she might kiss me if I was a little closer. “An important one.”
My heart skips a beat or two at the intimacy of it all, but I quickly lift my eyebrows in an easy ‘go ahead’ expression.
A wicked grin. “Show meyourtattoos. That’ll really convince me I’m in good hands.”
I frown a little.I didn’t tattoo myself, I type, and show it to her.
“I’m sure you didn’t. But no truly good tattoo artist would tolerate bad ink on their own skin. Plus, if you have some large pieces, I’ll know you’ll be able to empathize with me when I’m in your seat, under your hands…” She trails off, still grinning. “Plus, maybe I just want to see what you’ve got.”
She’s doing this deliberately.She must be.
A corner of my mouth pulls up, and I type,Fair point.
After a couple of seconds of hesitation, I decide there’s probably no harm in showing her the tattoos on my left forearm: a tardigrade inked by Sadie, and the beginnings of my skulls and clocks sleeve by Leo. I roll up the sleeve of my gray henley and show her.
