Page 6 of Daddy Sees Snakes

"Not now, baby," I growl. "Daddy's seeing snakes again... You know you have to run."

CHAPTER ONE

Iris

I dip the needle into the pot of dark teal ink, focusing intently on the intricate lotus blossom taking shape on my client’s bare skin.

Just a few more petals and highlights to finish this section.

But I can’t seem to lose myself fully in my work like I usually do.

Not with Lyon’s brooding presence looming over my shoulder, his eyes tracking my every movement.

I grit my teeth and try to block him out, determined not to let him ruin my flow.

This full floral back piece has been both a challenge and a joy to design and execute over the last few sessions with my client.

I refuse to let Lyon’s petty bullshit sabotage that.

Ignoring the prickling sensation of his stare, I refine a few delicate brushstrokes of lime green in the lotus center.

My client sighs contentedly, her shoulders relaxing as she sinks deeper into the chair.

At least she seems at peace, even if I’m a bundle of agitation under the surface.

I risk a glance over my shoulder and sure enough, there’s Lyon—arms crossed over his tattooed chest, leaning against the doorframe like he owns the place.

Which, I suppose he does, being my boss and all.

But that doesn’t give him free rein to crowd my space and distract me while I’m with a client.

My fingers tighten on the tattoo machine as I pivot back to my work, jaw clenched.

I’ve put up with his lurking and loaded comments ever since our breakup a few weeks ago.

His weak attempts to win me back, or punish me for leaving him, I’m not entirely sure.

But I’m over it. Over him.

I manage to zone out and make decent progress over the next half hour, the familiar hum and buzz of the machine drowning out my thoughts.

Soothing me as the design gradually comes to life in vibrant hues against tan skin.

Almost done with this session. If I can just...

The floorboards creak as Lyon shifts his weight, sending a jolt of irritation up my spine.

That’s it. I’ve fucking had it.

Setting down the tattoo machine with exaggerated calm, I spin in my chair to face him head on. “Do you need something, Lyon? Because you’re being incredibly distracting and unprofessional right now.”

His brows lift at my sharp tone, but a smug smile tugs at his pierced lips. “Just admiring your technique, darlin’. No crime in that, is there?”

“There is when you’re hovering nonstop and I’m trying to concentrate,” I retort through my teeth, conscious of my client listening in. “I’m with a client. So either tell me what you want or kindly fuck off until I’m done here.”

Lyon pushes off the doorframe and adjusts his backwards snapback, that annoying smirk still plastered on his face. “Damn, you’re so hostile, Iris. I just wanted to talk to you about something. But I can see you’re...busy, and you don’t want me admirin’ your work.”

His gaze rakes down my tank top and ripped jeans in a way that makes my skin crawl before he meets my glare again. “Find me when you’re done here, yeah? We’ll have that talk.”

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