Page 60 of Cross To Bear

In the back of my mind, I always expected to walk in on Jesse screwing someone else one day. With the way our relationship worked, it was entirely plausible. So the feeling that rushed through me as I burst into the tattoo studio was something like what I expected to feel. Like the world saw the warm, fuzzy haze I was floating along in and decided to toss a bucket of ice cold water all over it.

All over me.

I gasped like I had been, felt every nerve ending prickle as I choked back a sound. What the fuck was that, a growl? Instead of doing that, I backed away as I tried to focus on the scene before me.

The girl was gorgeous, not that that was to be held against her. She was like some elfin little tattoo fairy, with sharp features and art all over her skin. That wasn’t what had my hackles raising. It was the parted lips, the persistent stare, the way she watched Bjorn like he was an ice cream she just had to lick, and today was a hot day. The air in the small room felt thick, dense, with feelings that had nothing to do with me and that was what had me stumbling out of the room after mumbling something inane.

And Bjorn followed me.

I said something, Razor said something, but Bjorn’s words cut through everything.

“You didn’t interrupt anything.” The rapid fluttering inside my chest went still as I heard the deep rumble of his voice. “And you’re welcome to walk into my studio, my bar, my house, wherever the fuck you like, because…” I looked up at him, still reeling from the surprise, what he was saying only shoving me further off balance. “Because they belong to you, just like I do.”

I wanted to protest, that I had no say over what he did and who he did it with, but before I could even let out a squeak, I was tugged closer and kissed.

Kissing seemed an inadequate sound for what this was. Branding was perhaps more accurate, claiming better still. If I harboured any doubts, and I admitted, I was still processing what was happening, they were driven out of my head right now.

“She’s just a client,” he rasped as he pressed his forehead to mine. “You’re my girl.”

I shouldn’t want to hear him say that. My mind wasn’t made up. We were still pretending that nothing serious was going on. I was fairly sure this fell outside the rules of a situationship, but I went up on tiptoes and pressed my mouth to his.

“You don’t owe me an explanation.”

“Yes, the fuck, I do.” His hands buried themselves in my hair, the latex barrier adding something to the gesture, creating a thin veneer of distance. “If you see something that feels bad, or seems suss, you talk to me about it, promise?” I nodded. I could hardly argue with the man. “So I’ll let the client know we need to reschedule—”

“No.” That came out way too sharply. “I mean, there’s no need.” I plucked at the skirts of my dress. “I’ve got nowhere to go today so—”

“You can play chaperone?” Cress came forward and squeezed my shoulder. “Oh my god, girl, you saved me from a fate worse than death. Watching groupies pant over this dickhead makes my gag reflex activate. Plus…” She shot me a feline smile. “My baby is waiting at home for me, and she’s just baked a loaf of sourdough, got that swanky butter from virgin cows that only graze on single origin grass or something. She promised to feed me full of carbs and then feed me her…” She blinked and then grinned sheepishly. “New relationships. We’re still in the ‘can’t keep our hands off or out of each other’ stage.” She bumped my hip with hers. “You know what it’s like.”

I didn’t. I knew Cress had met someone. The guys had corrected my assumptions about her and Bjorn, making clear that Cress didn’t drive stick ever, though it wasn’t the fact she was in a same sex relationship that confounded me. Cress was out and proud in more ways than one. She was obviously head over heels for her girlfriend, whereas I… I looked around the small group, catching Razor’s knowing smirk.

“Cress is going home to eat bread and then her girlfriend,” he said. “I’ve got some paperwork to sort out in the office, but I’ll be back for Maddie in the afternoon and you will protect Bjorn from Mongrel’s latest chickie babe, then go out for brunch. Sounds like a plan?”

He didn’t wait for an answer and neither did Cress, the two of them turning on their heels and marching out of the shop. I jumped when I heard the jingle of the bells hanging from the door handle, realising it was just me and Bjorn left…

And the client in his studio.

“I can wait out here,” I told him. “You don’t need me—”

“Yeah, I do.” He moved slowly, putting his arms around me then letting out a little sigh when I didn’t pull away. “I always need you, but especially now.” Bjorn winced. “Some girls… they get the wrong idea about this studio.”

“Oh?” It felt like every muscle tensed in that moment.

“It’s why Cress was here, not naked wrestling in bed with Jack. She comes in and makes sure nothing happens. You don’t have to do anything other than sit there, and… I’d really appreciate it if you did. Girls keep their hands to themselves if they think someone else is watching.”

“Ah… sure.” What else could I say? But it went deeper than that. Suddenly I felt outrage on his behalf. Feminist diatribes about sexual assault happening to men as well rose to my lips, though went unspoken. Instead I just nodded and followed him back to the studio.

Where his client remained elegantly sprawled across the padded tattoo bench. She looked like a Suicide Girls pin up and I felt like Bjorn’s frumpy little sister as I sat down on the chair Cress had vacated.

“Hey…” She shot Bjorn a seductive look. “Ready to finish me off?”

“This is Maddie, my fated mate,” he said, sitting down on his stool and wheeling closer. “I’m taking her out for brunch after we’re finished here. Maddie, this is…” He paused then, looking at his tattoo gun and then the client. “What was your name again?”

“You know,” she said, going to playfully push at his shoulder but he wheeled out of reach. “It’s Tiffany. Mongrel’s old lady.” The girl shot me a triumphant look then, as if I was supposed to make sense of that.

“His wife might have something to say about that,” Bjorn said. “Now sit back if you want this done. I’ve only got another half an hour before we need to leave to make our reservation.”

Tiffany’s expression turned sulky, but she did as she was asked, sitting very, very still as Bjorn went to work, watching him all the while—and I knew why. That focus, the way his biceps flexed as he worked the tattoo gun, his shoulders seeming even broader as he hunched over the girl. It made sense then why she was acting like this, because it wasn’t hard to imagine. Being in her place, at his mercy as he applied all those painful needles to my skin, his hand pinning my leg down, forcing me to take it as he created something beautiful. And he did just that, finally pulling away to reveal an almost watercolour like depiction of a wolf on her thigh.

---