Tyler
“Nice guy,” I remarked asStella’s hulking coworker disappeared down the hall.
“He’s one of the best tattoo artists in the country,” she said in that low, sultry voice of hers. Fuck me, I hadn’t been ready for it when she’d first opened her mouth. Was still fighting my body’s reaction. Every time she spoke, it sounded like she was one breath away from telling me to get my dick out.
“And that somehow excuses his rudeness?” I asked, just to hear it again.
“He was looking out for me,” she said. “Surely evenyoucan appreciate that.”
I frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
She shook her head. “Nothing. Never mind.”
Oh.Ohhh.I was twice her size, and she was about to be alone with me. Yeah, I probably should have pieced that together, but for all my awful past, present, and let’s face it, future behavior, I would never,evertake advantage of someone sexually.
“You have nothing to worry about,” I said. “I’m not a predator.”
She cocked a pierced eyebrow at me. “That’s exactly what a predatorwouldsay.”
I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from grinning. Damn, she was prickly. And oh so easy to bait. I hadn’t been lying earlier when I said I’d take any attention I could get, and if she kept snapping at me, I was going to get all riled up in the pantal region. Which would be pretty fucking obvious since these sweats left nothing to the imagination.
I leaned closer and dropped my voice. “You’re safe with me, Stella.”
Her eyes flashed when I said her name, like she’d noticed the way my tone caressed it, tasting it on my tongue. It made me want to say it again, lower, rougher, to see how she’d react. No, I wouldn’t force her, but I didn’t think I’d have to. I hadn’t imagined what almost happened between us before her coworker so rudely interrupted. I’d been about to kiss her. And she’d been about tolet me.
She opened her mouth. Closed it. Looked like she was trying to rein herself in.
Come on,I wanted to say.Fight with me.
I’d come here with a plan to tell Stella that I held her brother’s fate in my hands, and then lay out my demands for how she could set Blake free. But then she’d opened those pouty lips and antagonized me, and I figured after all the hard work I’d put in, I deserved to have a little fun playing with my prey first.
She seemed to think better of whatever she was about to say (disappointing) and dropped her gaze to my arm. “I need you to sit back again and relax.”
I did as she asked but kept my face turned her way. Her head tipped down as she fitted the temporary tattoo against my skin, giving me a chance to finally study her in peace. Long lashes kissed her upper cheeks when she blinked. The metal of her piercings flashed in the light. Her midnight hair was pulled back in a loose braid, leaving her dramatic makeup on full display: cat eyeliner, red carpet–level contour, matte blue lips so dark they were almost black. Paired with her cropped band tee, barely-there ripped shorts, fishnets, combat boots, and innumerable tattoos, she looked like the poster child for depressed millennials.
I was an equal opportunity kind of guy. Meaning, I was attracted to just about everyone, but I’d never fucked an emo chick before. Hell, I was struggling to remember if I’d ever fuckedanyoneas hot as Stella. Up close, she didn’t look real. And yes, I knew some of that was down to how well she’d applied her makeup, but I could tell from her features and bone structure that she’d be just as stunning without it.
I’d known she was beautiful based off pictures, but they hadn’t prepared me for seeing her in person. Didn’t capture how impossibly long her legs were. How expressive her face was. The way her eyes flashed with annoyance. The way one eyebrow crept up in perfect disdain. We might have just met, but I’d spent enough time studying people at card tables that I was quickly learning her tells. She was enjoying our sparring, no matter how much she tried to pretend otherwise, and it made me want to keep poking at her, let my not-so-inner douchebag run rampant until she was so pissed off that she finally snapped and—
And what?I wondered. Punched me in the face like she’d threatened? Dragged her nails down my bare chest deep enough to draw blood? What was it about this woman that made me want to goad her into violence?
Brat,a voice that sounded a lot like Lauren’s ghosted through my mind.
Nah. No way. That wasn’t what this was. I wanted Stella at her worst because it would make it easier to remember who she was: my enemy. Nothing but a pawn on the chessboard, someone I planned to play with until I was ready to make my next move. And then I would discard her, broken and ruined, while I set my sights on winning the game.
I’d been prepared to manipulate her. Threaten her if I had to. What I wasn’t expecting was this instant spark ofsomethingbetween us. What I felt was too complicated to be defined, and what she felt... judging from the look on her face, she seemed torn between wanting to choke me and fuck me.
Both please!my subconscious chimed in.
I did my best to muzzle it as her gaze slid away from my arm and down over the rest of my body, like she couldn’t help herself. The urge to touch her was so strong that I balled my hand into a fist between her ankles because I didn’t trust my fingers not to wander. I couldfeelthe heat coming off her, longed to trace it to its source, wondered if I would find her wet and wanting.
Fuck. This was a complication I didn’t need. I hadn’t dated a woman in over six months, had stuck strictly to men, so I figured there was no reason to worry, because I wasn’t in a girl phase. Of course, Stella would be the woman to remind me that I liked pussy just as much as dick.
It made me resent her even more. She was everything I hated: the product of wealth, born with a silver spoon in her mouth. She’d never wanted for anything in her life. Had no idea what it felt like to go without, to constantly worry about where her next meal was coming from, or if there would even be one. Hell, this tattoo parlor was likely bought and paid for by her parents, all to support her little hobby. She probably wasn’t even any good, the place kept afloat by the other artists who worked alongside her.
She made a low, contemplative noise and pulled the transfer paper away to make a few small cuts.
My gaze dropped to the final design for the first time. I had to admit the tattoo was good—a stylized skeleton, hooded, holding five playing cards in its bony hand, bright with color and contrast. Seeing the rough sketch was one thing, but seeing it in full, glorious finality was something else entirely.
