Temporary indelibly mark.., p.4
Temporary (Indelibly Marked #2), page 4
“Let’s calm down.” She stalked around the desk. While she picked up the papers, she kept her focus on the two of them, ready to jump in if they made any sudden move. “Please, fighting won’t accomplish anything. You’re not thugs, you’re artists.”
“Remember your own words.” Ivan growled at her.
“I don’t even know what’s going on.” Billy bent down and helped her.
“Stop looking at her.” Normally Ivan served as the voice of reason, the open book who spouted advice in a few lines as he passed by. He’d turned into Papa Bear awakened from hibernation and afraid his honey tree was being threatened. In this case, the shop…and her.
Billy shook his head. “You’re insane.”
She returned to Ivan’s side.
He pulled her in closer and took a breath. “This morning the shop was served papers for a lawsuit on behalf of one of your customers. They are suing Permanent Tattoo.”
“What?” Billy wrinkled his nose and without the normal strut, returned to the desk. “Who?”
Ivan picked up the papers. “Someone named Gary Lipson.” He turned the page around to Billy.
“For what?” He shook his head.
“After the tattoo, he ended up in the emergency room and was diagnosed with a staph infection. It got so bad he ended up in the hospital and now his arm is all mangled or something.”
“He must not have followed the proper aftercare.” The color in Billy’s face left, along with his attitude.
Since Billy’s arrival at the shop a few months earlier, those were the most words she ever heard him speak in one sitting. Behind his cover-model features and rebellious tattoos, he exuded misery. Though she wanted to strangle him for the lawsuit, seeing his reaction made her almost want to hug him.
“I can’t find his paperwork either,” she explained, choosing to tell him everything.
“I had him sign the consents.” Billy stared at her. “He was a last minute.”
Ivan sneered and took the papers back. “You’ve put this shop at risk. Not only are you on probation, but I don’t want you to ink another customer until those consents are found. That paperwork may just save us. I already saw how shoddy you are with paperwork the other day.”
“And … no one can tell Shane.” She gripped Ivan’s arm. “Or anyone else.”
Once more Ivan leaned over the desk toward Billy. “Say a word and you will regret it, more than the accuser regrets having you ink him in the first place.”
“He signed the consents. I remember.” Billy ran his hand through his hair and walked away. “He signed off on the art and the consents. I’ll find them.”
Silent, they watched him leave.
“You never told me what you wanted before,” Ivan whispered in her ear.
Not caring about appearances or relationships, she took his hand. “I want it to go away. What if Shane finds out, and then Lindsay finds out,” she said and squeezed his fingers. “Then…the baby. I don’t want anything to happen to the baby if they get upset.”
He took her by the shoulders. “Look, he will find the consents, prove that the man signed off on the aftercare, and all will be fine.”
“Do you think so?” She wanted to believe him.
“Yes. I just wanted to beat him up a little.” He gave her a wink. “Now do you want to tell me you wanted?”
“I wanted you to tell me what you wanted.”
“I wanted to show you what I got.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a hundred dollar bill. “I got a tip and wanted to take you to dinner.”
His charm always won her over. Soon they would be right back in bed. “Well what I wanted was my tattoo.” She snatched the bill out of his fingertips.
He took it back. “Wouldn’t you rather have dinner, maybe a club, or a drive?”
“Nope.” A giggle escaped. “I think we should get back to work and you need to think about what you are going to indelibly mark me with.”
He pursed his lips out. “Fine. I still have customers though.”
“Go draw something then.” She shooed him away and glanced back at Billy who was in the process of tearing his station apart. The color had still not returned to his face.
She turned back to the desk and straightened out the papers. The knots multiplied in her stomach, warning her that fixing the mess wasn’t going to be as easy as Ivan said. It was a good thing they didn’t spend that hundred dollars. They might need the money.
~~*~~
“I’m ready.” Emily took off her shirt, tossed it aside and lay down on her stomach.
Ivan pulled his hair back in a ponytail willing his mind to ignore the fact that she was only in black miniskirt and bra, and that her ass was rounded like a written invitation for his hands. Ivan took a deep breath. He was about to permanently mark his best friend’s baby sister.
Maybe he could somehow postpone the tattoo and go home to take a cold shower? An idea sparked when he spied a notebook on the counter. He picked it up and put the book of flash selections in front of her. “You never told me what you wanted.”
“Are you serious?” Without even a glance at the book she swiped it aside. The notebook fell to the floor and she turned over on her back. “You are going to tattoo Shane Elliott’s sister with something maybe a million other people have?”
Her boobs seemed to overflow out of her pink satin bra and he rubbed his chin. If he wanted her help he needed to keep himself in check. That meant he also couldn’t see other women, an interesting predicament that only led down the path to blue balls and frustration. “I don’t know what to tell you, you didn’t give me any custom art so I didn’t make a stencil.”
“You are known for your freehand work, do you think I want some stencil stuck on me?” She rose up on her elbows. “You have been using my body for over a year. Don’t tell me that, at least once, the idea of what art you’d like to ink me with never popped into your mind.”
Something definitely popped anytime he was with her, damn her if she didn’t know him. “Get on your side.” If nothing else, the vision on his table would make for some great alone time material later that night. “Take off your bra.”
“That’s better.” With her eyes on him, she reached behind and unhooked the bra. The straps fell down her shoulders, but before she revealed all, she turned to her side and dropped the bra on the floor.
He sat on his stool and slid up behind her before putting on a fresh pair of gloves, and turning on the mp3 player. Their music filled the room, one of the many alternative rock bands Emily loved—a band they listened to when they made love, or had sex, or whatever they called it these days.
One night she’d fallen asleep, cuddled up at his side, and he lay staring out the window of his apartment. He drifted into that perfect place between sleep and awake and as Emily suspected, the idea of a perfect tattoo for her entered his mind. As he shaved the area, cleaned and prepped her skin, the image returned, crystal clear in front of his eyes.
Emily’s skin was always perfect and pristine, an ideal canvas for any art. He picked up his skin scribe pen and drew, and she did him proud by remaining perfectly still and silent while he worked.
He finished his sketch and sat back. “Are you ready?”
“Yes.” Her tone was soft, reverent.
“Do you want to see?”
“No. I trust you.” She inhaled. “You should always trust your artist.”
“That’s true.” He took a moment to take in the side of her breast and wanted to sink right in. “Do you want the ball?”
“I’m not holding on to the pussy ball.”
“Fair enough.” With a laugh he picked up his tattoo machine. She was a definite product of Permanent Tattoo. Still, he decided to test her. After all, she was a tattoo virgin. “You didn’t ask if it was going to hurt.”
“That’s because I already know it will.”
He fought the impulse to bend down and nuzzle her neck, right in the spot that drove her wild, the little indent by her shoulder. Everything had been going great, why did she have to change it all?
“Tell me if you need a break.”
“I will, Ivan.”
He hit the pedal on the machine. The soothing, familiar buzz of the motor joined the pound of the music and he dipped the needles into the ink and made the first permanent mark on her skin.
Her strength and knowledge kept her still, but the way her jaw clenched and she’d stopped breathing let him know that although prepared, the pain had shocked her. “Em?”
“I’m fine.” Her voice hitched at the forced words.
“Do you want me to continue?” He gripped the machine tighter, not wanting to cause her any pain.
“Of course I do.” She swallowed. “You have to finish.”
“Take a breath.” He ran his fingers around his art. “Keep breathing, okay?”
She grabbed the edge of the table. “Do it.”
Once more he fired up the machine. With a few seconds of experience behind her, at the next piercing of the needles, she continued breathing and allowed him to get into the zone.
The connection between tattooist and client was not unlike any significant relationship, and once they got over their initial awkward first contact, they relaxed and became one unit, working together.
They entered the magic time where the ebb and flow of the art took over. Many tattoo receivers described entering a euphoric state while being worked on. He’d experienced it himself, but few people spoke about the tattoo artist. Branding someone with a unique creation produced its own high, the way the needles hit the skin, the vibration in his hand. That day, everything was amplified because it was Emily.
He completed his shading, added the nuance of color, and once the image on her skin matched the one in his mind he turned off the machine and sat back.
The music continued, but she remained silent. He gave her a moment to come down. “Don’t you want to see?” He expected she’d jump off the table to take a look at what she wanted and begged for since the day Shane received his first tattoo.
“Hold on.” She didn’t move.
“Are you okay?” He pulled off the gloves and helped her get up into a sitting position. It wasn’t unusual for people to become nauseated or light-headed. “Do you want me to get you a mirror?”
“No.” She held up her hand and closed her eyes. “I already know what it looks like.”
“What?” He smoothed her hair away from her face. Two tears slithered down her cheeks. “Emily, are you okay?”
The tears continued.
“You’re crying.” His heart seizing, he leaned over. “I used colors that will come off easier with some laser treatments if you don’t want it.”
At last she looked at him. “How could you think I don’t want it? I needed a change.” She pushed him away, slid off the table and walked to the back.
Somehow he kept finding himself one step behind her.
~~*~~
A violet.
Emily rushed to the storage room with the full-length mirror behind the door. Before she looked, she closed her eyes again. Once she became accustomed to the heated pain, she fell into a trance-like state, and she concentrated to picture the design Ivan created for her.
“It has to be a violet.” The violet was February’s flower, her birth flower, and his mother’s name.
As she approached the mirror, the door opened and Ivan stepped inside with the antiseptic and bandages to dress the tattoo. “What do you think?”
“Am I right?” She covered her breasts with her arm.
“Are you ever going to take a peek?”
“It seemed like the first time I see it should be more than me jumping around a tattoo studio.”
“Should we look together?” He put his tray of supplies down on a shelf.
“Okay.” He came up behind her and she glanced up at him. “It’s a violet.”
“Why don’t you see if you’re right?” He hit the door closed.
A perfect purple flower came into focus right on her side. “Oh my God.” She inched closer to the mirror. Each petal was its own work of art, unique yet unified. The purple faded and he’d even added a bit of her signature pink. “It looks real.”
“Are you ever going to tell me what you think?” He pulled on a fresh pair of gloves and picked up the antiseptic.
“It’s exactly what I pictured.”
“Is that good?” He kneeled down and carefully dabbed the saturated pad on the tattoo.
She sucked in her breath at the sting. “It was almost as if I could see it as you were doing it.”
He took his time putting the rest of the dressing on and stood. “I pictured it a long time ago.”
“When?” She tilted her face up to him.
“Just, one night.” He shrugged.
“After we were together?” She’d never again utter the words making love.
He nodded.
“So it’s only for me?” Her stomach twisted and twirled, her heart sped up.
He moved her hair off her shoulder. “What do you think?”
She stood on her tiptoes and gave him a kiss on the cheek.
He winked at her.
“Are you going to tell me if it was only for me?” She knew the answer but she wanted him to say the words.
He lowered his head and stared right into her eyes. “You know it’s only for you.”
She swallowed, reminded herself to breathe. He spoke the words she wanted. “Thank you.” Impulse took over and she brushed her lips against his.
“You are more than welcome.” He took his chance to return the kiss, wrapping one arm around her and opening his mouth.
At first he held back, simply toyed with her lips, denied what she suddenly had to have. She searched out his tongue with her own. He gave her a small taste of what she wanted, but made her work for any relief. Desperation took over. She grabbed him and crushed her mouth to his.
At last he kissed her in the way that only he knew how, as if he had the patent on how to make her go wild. The first time she kissed him, she knew he was different. His taste was indefinable, but one no other man possessed. Somehow he kissed her with enough passion and power to take over, yet still made sure she played an active role.
With Ivan the world disappeared. Problems, worries, anxiety all vanished leaving her safe and sexy. She let out a moan and pushed up against him. The bulge in his jeans provided evidence of his desire and she reached down.
He caught her hand and broke the kiss, leaned back and tilted his head, his eyes asking for permission.
The tattoo, his restraint, and the way his eyes took her in only stoked her arousal, extinguishing the vow she made to herself. She bit her lip in response.
Like earlier, he raised his eyebrows, signaling what he wanted.
She continued their silent conversation by lowering the arm she held over her breasts.
Their dialogue ended with Ivan staring at her, putting two fingers in his mouth then teasing her already over sensitized nipples.
Electric bliss shot through her. Once more he pulled her in for a kiss, hard and hungry, as if their week apart had left him starving. Careful to stay away from her bandaged art, he lifted her and backed her up against the far wall, then set her down on a stack of boxes. He pulled his shirt over his head, tossed it aside and instantly returned his attention to her neck. He nibbled and kissed down her shoulders and over her chest, making sure to pay equal attention to each of her breasts.
No matter where they were—a canyon trail, the back of a car, one of their apartments, or the storage room of Permanent Tattoo—the man never skimped on foreplay, but after being apart for so long, she couldn’t wait. She squirmed on the boxes and he helped hike her skirt up and ripped her panties away. “Ivan.” She tangled her hand in his hair, pulling him up.
“Em.” He took her face in his hands and took over her mouth with his again, his hand traveling between her thighs, two fingers exploring her. “I love how wet you are.”
She dug her nails into his shoulder as he touched her in all the right places. “Make love to me, Ivan. I can’t wait.”
“I wanted you all week.” He handed her his wallet and rid himself of his jeans.
“You did?” She flipped the wallet open and retrieved a condom, tearing it open with her teeth.
“I always want you.” He plucked the condom from the wrapper and sheathed himself. “I missed you.”
She hooked her legs around his hips. “I’m yours.”
“Yeah?” His lips met hers as he entered her.
“Oh.” No matter how many times they had been together, he always filled her to her limit, and it took a moment for her body to stretch to accommodate him.
As if he instinctually knew she was ready, he began his slow yet powerful movements. “So good.” He lowered his face to the crook of her neck.
“More.” In their bizarre position, she managed to twist and contort her body imbedding him deeper.
“Yes.” He slid her legs up around his back, plunging into her.
They found their rhythm, the boxes hitting the wall in time to his thrusts.
He drove into her, kissed her, caressed every inch of her, hell, the man had even marked her for life. Everything was more intense, focused and meaningful, and those thoughts combined with his attention pushed her toward her edge. The pressure built. “Oh God, Ivan.”
“You there?” He panted.
She held him tighter and bucked her hips to him. “A little more.”
“Let me feel you.” He kissed her, his tongue matching his movements. “I love it when you come.”
Her whole body tensed, focused on Ivan and the joyous friction he created within her. She inched closer, closer. Her climax taunted her, stayed right out of reach. “Please!”
“You’re there.” He spoke into her open mouth and gave her a final thrust. “Now.”
She let go, propelled into those glorious, one-of-a-kind pulses. “Ah!”
“Yes,” he hissed out the word, ground his body against her and braced against the wall behind her, pressing his face to hers. “Oh, Em.”
