“Do you want a drink?” Bobby asks. He’s rebuttoning his shirt and looks far more nervous than I feel.
“Alcohol isn’t a good idea before a tat,” Doc says. “It thins the blood. Makes it hurt more.”
His calm, matter-of-fact tone sparks an ancient irritation. In the last year, I’ve learned many things about Doc. That he speaks fluent Russian, that he wins every video game, card game, or game of chance he plays, that he makes perfect gnocchi Genovese though he hates cooking with every fiber in his body. He’s a genius, a borderline sociopath who’s capable of genuine sweetness… Yet one thing I can never confirm is whether the well of medical knowledge he pulls out whenever something physical happens is self-taught or the product of an actual degree.
“Nico,” I say, turning toward him. “For the last time, are you a real doctor?”
My handsome, blond lover smiles wide as the sun, and I expect him to deny it like he always does. Then he winks at me. “Yes. And no.”
Adriano takes my right arm, and a burst of nerves shoots through me. I focus even harder on Doc’s face to steady myself. “So, you are a doctor?”
“I have a medical degree from an Italian university,” he says grinning. “I did rounds there too. Qualified and everything.”
“Ready, Pryntsesa?” Adriano asks.
“Sure,” I say, my eyes still trained on Doc. “So, you are arealdoctor?”
He shrugs. “I studied under a fake name, Tits. So, I am and I’m not.”
The needle kisses my skin. I barely feel it. “Why would you do all that work just to throw it all away?”
“I had nothing better to do. And it’s not like the coursework was hard. I showed up hungover half the time.
“Oh my gosh,” I whisper. “That’s totally insane.”
“True,” Doc says lazily. “But if that turns you on, I have a Ph.D. in biochem from Johns Hopkins, too.”
“Congratu…lations…” Adriano’s needle tracks up my arm and I shut my eyes.
“Are you okay?” four voices ask at once.
I nod. It stings, but not too badly. Far less than when I get a Brazilian. I close my eyes and take deep breaths thinking about how incredible it will be to have this matching bond with my men. How cool it’ll be to show the girls at Dreams. And how annoyed Corinne will be to see it at the Bianchi wedding. It’ll almost make it worth it that she’s there. The minutes pass quickly, the twitchy burn moving up my skin.
“She’s sitting well,” Eli says sternly.
“Women always do,” Adriano replies.
I open my eyes. “Really?”
“Ninety-nine times out of a hundred, women sit better than men. Men are babies.”
I smile. “Who was the worst out of Doc, Bobby, and Eli?”
“Eli,” Adriano says without hesitation.
Eli scowls.
“He was the fucking worst,” Doc says with a laugh. “Twitching all over the place. Bobby and I almost had to hold him down, Tits.”
“That wasn’t necessary,” Eli grumbles. “And you were only fine because you love pain.”
“I do,” Doc says easily. “But so does, Tits. I bet her little pussy’s dripping.”
All eyes turn toward me, and I shift in my seat. Doc’s right, but I don’t want to admit it. This is a loaded enough situation without adding sex. But I can feel the tension building within me. I kept my promise, and I haven’t touched myself since I went down on Eli all those hours ago and the slow licks of pain feel like a continuation of that sweet torture. I’ve already found myself wondering whether I could stroke Adriano’s heavy cock while he works. I wouldn’t want to ruin his technique but the thought of him all distracted and frustrated is…delicious.
“She is turned on,” Doc says, his voice taking on a familiar rasp. But before I can tell him to control himself, Adriano clears his throat. “Quiet, Valente. Tattoo comes first.”
Doc folds his arms across himself, sticking out his pouty lower lip, but he goes quiet, and I return to my meditative silence, imagining how I’ll feel once I’m a girl with a tattoo.
