Page 125 of The Lies We Steal

I roll my eyes, “You haven’t even seen the best part.”

Standing up and meeting her halfway as she flips the shoes over, looking at the soles that have my name on her left and her name on the right. I felt it was too much of a narcissistic asshole move to put my first and last on both shoes.

“Tired of seeing you walk around in busted up shoes.”

It was just another thing that made Briar so different. How a pair of shoes that would mean nothing to kids around here, meant so much to her. She gushed and ogled the custom Converse, slipping them on her feet and dancing in front of the mirror.

I’d never seen a pair of shoes make someone so happy.

“One more gift,” I tell her, walking behind at the mirror, “I’m gonna tattoo you,” My hands reach for her, rubbing my initials on her finger, “Whatever you want.”

Leaning into me, she hums, “You mean I get to be conscious for this one?”

A deep laugh reverberates my chest, it echoes as I dip my head to the bend in her neck, “If you want to be…”

I let her decide what she wanted, where she wanted it. Figuring I should make up for the first tattoo she was given considering she was passed out. I don’t regret marking her though. Showing the entire world she was mine. I’d spend the rest of my life doing that.

She lays on the table, her shirt rolled up just below her bra, revealing her ribs to the cold air of the shop. I start the process of sanitizing everything, prepping my needles, getting all the ink. It’s not a large tattoo, four little words on her upper ribcage would take maybe twenty minutes.

When I’m ready, I look down at her on the table, “You ready?”

“I think I can handle a little pain.”

I smirk as I press my foot into the pedal, the hum of the machine filling the shop. I pulled her skin tight starting to work over the stencil I’d already placed on her. I fell into this sorta trance when I was drawing or tattooing.

But it was different with her.

Like I was placing a piece of me onto her skin. By showing her this place, by letting her into my world, into my head. It was more than just my initials with a stick and poke.

This was a tattoo that meant something to her, and I was helping her memorialize it forever. Every time she looked at either of them, she’d think of me. And that’s what I wanted, for her to never stop thinking of me.

To never stop being mine.

Because I would never stop being hers.

Her body vibrates beneath me, a short little whimper escaping that makes my cock twitch, listening to her mouth release shaky breathes.

When I was done, I quickly cleaned her up telling her she could hop up and check it out in the mirror if she wanted.

There is always this uncontrollable urge I get when I’m around her. I had it the first time I ever saw her. Wanting to touch her, break her will, test just how far she’d be willing to go to find pleasure.

I admire her, shirt still tucked beneath her bra exposing her taut stomach. Jeans sitting low on her hips, the lettering riding her rib cage like it was made to be there.

We are all thieves.

Art on Art.

“Like it?” I ask, even though I watch her eyes light up like diamonds when she sees the script in the mirror.

“Love it.” She whispers.

I stand in front of her, pulling the plastic wrap open, and looping it around her back. My body inches away from hers, the smell of her igniting the hunger in my stomach.

I yank her closer as I begin to wind the clear plastic around her body, taking my time, watching the way her eyes drop to my lips, ready to steal a kiss from me.

My fingers running along her skin makes her shiver, my eyes fixated on her movements as she starts to lift her shirt higher, exposing her white bra to me.

Like two supple fruits ready for feasting her tits lay exposed to me, the tops nearly spilling over the edge.

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