Knight gets out of the truck, and as I unbuckle and move to climb out, I find Knight standing in my open door, offeringme his hand like the perfect gentleman, but there’s nothing gentlemanly about him. He just doesn’t want to deal with the aftermath when I inevitably fall out the door and break my nose on the pavement. I mean, there’s only so many times a woman can end up in the hospital before people start asking too many questions.
Knight leads me across the road toward Harlow’s studio, and as we walk, I take on the role of the perfect tour guide, waving my hand toward the alley beside the studio. “Here to our left is where I parked my car that one fateful day, and where I was first accosted by men with tiny wieners. And if you turn your attention to the right, you’ll see the alley where those four tiny wieners jumped me and—oh shit. Gross. My blood is still stained on the brickwork.”
“Fuck’s sake.”
I blow out a breath, not having expected that to rock me so thoroughly. It doesn’t go unnoticed how Knight’s grip tightens on my waist, and he pulls me along faster to get me out of here.
“Shit. You would have thought that’d be cleaned up by now,” I say.
“Sorry, doll. I wasn’t thinking,” he mutters, clearly frustrated with himself. “We can leave if it’s too much.”
“No, it’s okay,” I say. “And honestly, I kinda wanna see you getting a tattoo. I know you’re this big, tough SWAT robot and nothing can get to you, but something tells me that you’re a little bitch when face-to-face with a needle.”
Knight scoffs, but the fact that he doesn’t respond is very suspicious.
We make our way into the studio, and as the little bell over the door chimes, I breathe it in as though I’m coming home. Apart from being right here in Knight’s arms, Harlow’s studio is one of my favorite places in the world.
Harlow and a few of her employees linger around, and I look at the place in shock. I’ve never seen it so quiet in here before. As a general rule, it’s always packed. People are desperate to get in with the best artists in town, and the fact that it’s not leaves me wondering if they’re able to squeeze me in to feed my addiction. Though Knight is right. Getting a tattoo after drinking is never the best idea, but that doesn’t mean I can’t book in while I’m here.
“Holy shit,” Harlow’s hypnotic voice calls through the studio as she gets to her feet and looks between me and Knight, her lips quirked in amusement. “Really, girl? This guy? You know he needs an attitude adjustment?”
I snort. I fucking snort.
“Tell me about it,” I say. “But the dick is too good. You should see the way he puts it down. He’s a fucking beast.”
Knight has the audacity to look bashful while Harlow just laughs. “Oh, I can only imagine.”
I hold my hands up to show the impressive size of his dick. This big, I mouth, my eyes widening to demonstrate just how shocking it is. “Actually, thinking about getting a ruler tattooed down the length of my arm. Could you squeeze me in?”
Harlow just laughs. “Ahhh, you’re drunk.”
“Very,” Knight says, physically lifting me up and sitting me on a chair so I don’t accidentally wander off. “We’re here for me.”
“What can I do for you?” Harlow asks.
Knight strides deeper into the studio while reaching over the back of his head and grabbing the top of his shirt, pulling it off in one swift movement, and somehow, I just got pregnant. Holy fucking shit. How is it possible to be this attracted to one man?
I watch him as he strides up to Harlow, and I’m so captivated by the tattoos across his back and arms, his perfectly sculpted muscles, and his sheer size that I can’t even pay attention to anything he’s saying.
I start to drool as a deep groan rumbles through my chest. “Daaaaamn,” I murmur, completely captivated by the sight. “Now that’s what I call a snack.”
Knight glances back at me, his brow arched as amusement flickers over his features, but it’s Harlow who cuts in. “Down, girl. Keep it in your pants. You’ll get him back soon enough.”
Knight settles onto the chair in Harlow’s station, one hand braced behind his head as his dark, captivating gaze lingers on me, and when Harlow starts setting up her things and sits down beside him, I realize that whatever he’s getting done, it’s going to be freehand. There’s no stencil, no carefully laid-out plan, and honestly, fuck that. I’m too cautious for that kind of recklessness. Though this is Harlow we’re talking about, and she’s absolutely incredible.
As Knight is worked on, I keep myself occupied, but when one of Harlow’s colleagues makes his way over to the counter, I get to my feet and wander over to him. “So, about that ruler,” I start.
Thirty minutes later, I have thoroughly given every artist in the room a full recap of my night, going into explicit detail about how fucking insane my mom is. When Knight is freed from the confines of Harlow’s chair, he grabs his shirt and strides back over to me. I turn against the counter, bracing myself on my elbows as I watch him, still so affected by everything that he is. “All done, doll.”
“Wow. You didn’t even flinch a little bit. I’m impressed.”
Knight scoffs. “I spend my days getting shot at, and then I come home to the likes of you. Getting a tattoo is nothing compared to what I go through simply trying to keep you alive.”
I laugh and step right into him, my gaze roaming over his chest as I try to figure out what’s new. And sure, on anybody else, picking out a tattoo shouldn’t be like playing Where’s Waldo, but on Knight, who’s covered almost head to toe, that’s exactlywhat it is. “What’d you get?” I ask, my fingers splaying across his warm chest.
He lifts his hand and brushes it over his fresh ink, and a grin pulls across my lips, seeing the perfect outline of the bite mark I’d left over his shoulder earlier in the day. “What the hell!” I say, peering up into his warm stare. “Why’d you do that?”
His arm slips around my waist, pulling me in tight against his chest. “To remind myself that your bite is always going to be much worse than your bark, and that I should check myself before ever trying to go toe-to-toe with you again.”
