Page 24 of The Tattoo Artist

“You need to be careful.”

“And I will.”

“I care for you; I don’t want you getting hurt.”

“He won’t hurt me. We’re just friends.”

She sits up, shaking her head. “We both know that isn’t true Alexandra.” She makes her way out of my room, and I sigh glancing down at my hands. What am I doing? Where am I going with this whole situation? I feel a strong breeze brush against my bare arms, I stand up to see that Catherine has left the doors open again. I walk over but stop midway through my walk when I see a figure-a shadow lingering on my balcony. I take a step closer, my heart racing in the pit of my stomach.

But when I reached the balcony, there was no one there.

No, it doesn’t make sense.

I saw someone there; I walk out and see a shadow heading down the steps. My eyes widen. Diávolos. It had to be him. I didn’t waste a minute before grabbing my shoes and sliding them on, I rush down the steps of my balcony, following after the shadow. I have to prove that this isn’t a mere figment of my imagination, that he is real! That he isn’t just a lie that journalist made up. He walks down the empty road, his hands in his pockets.

As he turns into an alleyway, I follow suit, my breath quickening with anticipation. But before I can comprehend what’s happening, the air is knocked out of my lungs, and my body is slammed against the cold brick wall. Gasping for breath, I feel a pair of strong hands wrap around my throat, the intensity of their grip suffocating. I read the question through his eyes. Why are you following me?

I whisper, “I know this isn’t a figment of my imagination. Prove to me that I am not going crazy...” his hand is suddenly placed over my eyes, and suddenly, I feel something warm hovering over my mouth.

And then, I feel his lips. As his lips gently met mine, a soft sigh escaped me, the rush of warmth flooding through my body like a gentle tide. Fingers threaded through my hair, and as my mouth opened wider, his tongue skill fully slid inside, evoking an involuntary moan from my lips.

He didn’t want me to look at him.

He trusted me not too.

I kept my eyes closed the entire time.

Elevating the intensity, I raise my leg, delicately grazing it against his, while his hand found a tempting position just beneath my thigh. My own hand pressed firmly on his chest, amplifying the rhythmic echoes of our passionate kiss. The sound resonated, creating a symphony of desire that stirred something deep within me. In that moment, with every heartbeat, I found myself yearning for this intoxicating connection to linger, not wanting our entwined passion to reach its inevitable end. As his lips left mine, a trail of warmth lingered in the air, and his breath danced against my skin. His hands, strong and reassuring, cupped the sides of my face, guiding me to tilt my head slightly. A shiver of anticipation coursed through me as his lips began a slow descent along the curve of my neck.

I felt the soft brush of his warm breath against my sensitive skin, sending tingles down my spine.

His lips, warm and tender, traced a path along my collarbone, moving upward with a deliberate slowness. The sensation was both soothing and electrifying, a delicate dance of intimacy that heightened my senses. His tongue grazed my skin, leaving a trail of heat in its wake, and I couldn’t suppress the soft gasp that escaped my lips.

Diávolos pulls away, leaving me breathless and wanting more.

“I knew it…” I whisper, my eyes closed shut. “I knew you were real…”

I use this moment, opening my eyes just a little only to see that he has disappeared.

CHAPTER EIGHT

ALEXANDRA JONES

HE KISSED ME, DIAVOLOS KISSED ME.

I wanted more.

I needed more.

I craved more.

And it continues to replay in my mind, distracting me from the events happening in the present. My fingers unable to slide away from my lip, only until I felt warm liquid trickling down my finger. I slowly bring it down to eye level and realise that I am bleeding, he bit me? I barely realised.

But I felt guilty that I kissed another man, what about Ares? Why did I have to follow him for? Where did that confidence even come from? “So, Alexandra, how is college?” Mrs. Johnson asks, breaking through my reverie. I quickly sat up straight, peeling my fingers away from my lips, which I had been grazing.

“Perfectly fine, given the amount of work I have to complete.” Mrs. Johnson chuckles, and I used the opportunity to stand up and assist my mother in clearing the dinner table. I wanted this gathering to end so that I could have some time alone to process everything that had happened with Diávolos. I barely had a moment to think before needing to run back home to my bedroom.

Once we returned to the living room, I tried my best to compose myself. I took a seat on the armchair, hoping to keep a safe distance from Clark, who seemed to be showing a little too much interest in me. almost as if he was forced to talk to me and try this hard, I could tell he wasn’t interested. I just know and I am not surprised. The man seems in love with himself, the way he looks at himself through the black reflection of his phone.

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