We finish our tacos and walk back to the studio. The evening is getting darker, and the temperature is dropping. Sharon pulls her sweater tighter around herself, and I find myself moving closer to her, sharing my body heat. Our shoulders brush with each step.
Inside the studio, I get everything ready for the tattoo. I lay out my needles, my inks, my equipment. I sterilize everything and make sure the space is perfect. The antiseptic smell fills the air. This is going to be her first tattoo, and I want it to be absolutely flawless.
Sharon strips off her sweater again and reclines on the chair. I adjust the position until she's comfortable, and then I'm preparing her skin. I clean the area with antiseptic and mark out the design with a stencil so she can see exactly where the knot is going to be placed. The purple lines stand out against her pale skin.
"You're sure about this?" I ask, even though I already know the answer.
"I'm sure," Sharon says, and her voice is steady. Her hands rest calmly at her sides. "Do it."
The needle buzzes to life, and I get to work. The knot is intricate, but not so intricate that it's going to take hours. My hands are steady as I guide the needle across her skin, creating the pattern line by line. I'm aware of every movement Sharon makes. I'm aware of the way her breath catches when I hit sensitive areas. I'm aware of the way her scent shifts as she works through the minor pain of the tattoo. Her fingers grip the edge of the chair occasionally, then relax again.
I work in silence except for the sound of the needle and the quiet ambiance of the studio. After about forty minutes, I finish the outline. I take a step back and admire my work, then show it to Sharon in the hand mirror.
"How does it feel?" I ask.
"It feels permanent," she says, running her finger carefully around the outline of the knot. Her touch is gentle, reverent. "It feels like it's supposed to be there. Like it's been part of me the whole time."
"That's how you know it's the right decision," I say, moving back to continue with the shading.
As I'm working on the shading, I give her an update on Ben. I know that my brothers and I said we wanted nothing to do with him, but at the end of the day, he's still our brother.
"He's completely gone off the grid," I say, focusing on getting the shading just right. The needle moves in careful strokes across her skin. "No social media. No contact with any of us. It's like he's trying to disappear completely."
"This is my fault," Sharon says quietly, and I feel a flash of anger run through me at the suggestion. Her body tenses under my hands.
"No," I say firmly, setting down the needle for a moment. I meet her eyes directly. "This is Ben's fault. He made bad choices."
"But if I hadn't investigated Penelope, you wouldn't have known about the will."
"We would have figured it out eventually," I say. "And even if we hadn't, that's not your responsibility."
I pick the needle back up and continue with the shading. Sharon is quiet after that, and I can feel her processing what I've said. Her breathing evens out as she relaxes again.
By the time I'm done with the tattoo, it's late evening. The studio is closed. The street outside is quiet.
I show her the finished product in the mirror, and I watch as her expression shifts from analytical to emotional. Her eyes fill with tears, but they're good tears. They're the kind of tears that come when something matters so much that you can barely contain the feeling. One escapes and rolls down her cheek.
"It's beautiful," she whispers.
"You're beautiful," I say, and I set down my equipment and move closer to her. "You're so fucking beautiful, Sharon. Inside and out."
She's still sitting on the tattoo chair, and I'm standing in front of her. The moment stretches between us, charged with something that feels inevitable.
I kiss her, and it's different from our previous kisses. This one feels like it's happening in a space that belongs to us. This one feels like it's happening in a place that I've marked as mine through years of work and dedication. Sharon's hands come up and grab my shirt, pulling me closer. Her lips are soft and urgent against mine, and I can taste the remnants of taco seasoning mixed with something that's just her. I pull back just enough to breathe and look at her.
"I want you to knot me," she says, and her eyes are half-closed with desire. Her pupils are dilated.
"Here?" I ask, even though I'm already moving toward the back room where I have a comfortable space set up for private consultations. There's a soft couch back there that's perfect for this.
"Here," Sharon confirms, following me. Her bare feet pad softly on the floor. "In your space. In your studio. Where you've spent so much time creating beautiful things."
I close the door to the back room and lock it. The click echoes in the small space. The space is dim and intimate, lit only by the soft glow of the lights from the front studio filtering through the glass partition.
Sharon pulls off her sweater completely, and I follow suit, stripping my shirt over my head. Her eyes track every movement I make, and I can smell her arousal building with each passing second. The knot I just created on her ribs is already starting to look like it's been part of her forever.
"Come here," I say, settling onto the couch and patting the space next to me. The cushions dip under my weight.
She straddles my lap, and I can feel the heat radiating off her. Her hands find their way into my hair, and she's kissing me like she's trying to memorize the feeling of my mouth against hers. I grip her waist, my fingers splaying across her bare skin, feeling the warmth of her. Careful to avoid the fresh tattoo.
