Page 21 of The Inkslinger

“You know I love you, right?”

“Laine,” I start but he cuts me off.

“No, Hailey. Just listen,” he says. “I fell in love with you somewhere between meeting you and you blackening my brother’s eye. I didn’t mean for it to happen, but I can’t do shit about it now. You’re my woman whether you want to be or not, and I will take care of you. No matter what.”

He wipes away the single tear that has tracked its way across my cheek.

“I was actually going to say I love you too.”

He chuckles before shaking his head. “Thank God for that.”

He places a kiss on my head before stepping away. I frown at his back as he shifts around some of his stuff before wheeling a tray in beside me.

“What are you doing?” I ask, confusion lacing my tone.

“I’m setting up to do your tattoo,” he answers casually.

“You know,” I say, waiting until he focuses on me to continue. “Declarations of love are usually followed by some form of sex.”

“I know,” he smirks. “First, I’ll ink you. Then I am going to fuck you right in this chair.”

I feel my body heat at his words, and I want to suggest that he change the order he wants to do things. But I can see he is determined, and I am not going to argue the matter with him. This is his way of distracting us both from the fact that my clearly crazy ex is still hanging around.

“Strip, doll,” he says lowly.

“Um...”

“Since when are you shy?” Laine chuckles.

“I wore something to entice you.” I can’t remember that I have ever blushed in my entire damn life. But I promise you I am the same shade as my hair right now.

“Strip, doll,” he repeats.

He uses his bedroom voice, and I can’t deny him even if it is something I want to do. Slowly I take off my shirt even though it isn’t necessary, before slipping my jean shorts down my thighs to pool at my feet. Lifting myself onto the chair, I spread my thighs to present him with the expanse of flesh he will forever leave his art on.

Laine licks his lips before running a hand down his face.

“Are you trying to kill me, Hailey? Crotchless underwear?”

“I thought you would enjoy the view.”

“You know I do. But it’s also going to be distracting as fuck.”

I don’t reply. I don’t know what he wants me to say. I was hoping it would distract him. I don’t intend to leave Franklinton anytime soon—maybe never—so I’m not worried about not getting my ink today. I’ll get it eventually. And now that we know where we stand with each other, I am even less worried.

Laine eyes my skin before grabbing the transfer sheet. After turning it a couple of times, he finally gets the right angle and presses it against my skin.

“I’ll do the outline. Then we can go home.”

“Okay.”

I don’t know why I sound nervous. I have hundreds of tattoos and he has already seen my most intimate parts, but this feels different. More.

Taking a seat on his wheeled chair, he squeezes between my thighs before starting up his tattoo iron. The buzzing sound fills the entire space and soon I can feel the vibrations and the slight burn against my skin. This is exactly why that skin was still virgin. Getting inked is a very personal thing, and for each person, it is a different experience. For some people, it is painful. For me, it has always been a turn on.

Lying back on the chair, I try to remain still even though it is slowly killing me not to lift my hips toward him.

After the longest time, the buzzing stops.

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