Page 5 of The Confidant

“When you sit down on that table, we aren’t on your schedule so much anymore. You want to be stubborn and get yourself hurt; there’s the door.” I tilt my head to show him the way. “You want something personal from me? I’m in control.”

The color gets darker as he nods, watching me with a slight frown.

“That means there isn’t going to be any keep going when you’re at your limit. This will take as long as it takes. If I say more sessions, then there’s more sessions. If I say damn, my hand is hurting like hell, we’re stopping.”

His brows drop in a frown. “Then you don’t push it either.”

As if I needed him to tell me that. I give him a shrewd look that he returns with intensity and no apologies. He’ll learn better, one way or another.

“Allons,cher,” I laugh lightly. “You got some paperwork to fill out while I sketch.”

I have him sit on the table and hand him a tablet to fill out his personal information and sign a waiver about lawsuits—the standard stuff that people gloss over. He reads every line with the same intensity he gave me and all the photos. He has to relax at some point.

“You want to follow the line all the way down?” I glance at his open pants, and for a second, I feel less professional than I should. I look away and sip my water, wishing it were something a little stronger.

“Yes.”

Nothing like being tortured on a fine Saturday afternoon.

Who am I kidding? I’m going to love having my hands on him.

I don’t notice when he finishes the paperwork. Once I’m done laying lines down for ideas, I see him lying back, staring at the ceiling as if all the answers to the universe are up there.

“You don’t want to see?” I raise a brow as his eyes meet mine.

“No.”

“Alright then. You do whatever you need to entertain yourself. It looks like a few hours, just to start with. You need a break, you tell me. You feel faint, you tell me. Scars hurt, and this is gonna piss it off. No way around it.”

His eyes move over my face as if he’s searching for something. He gives me a nod when he doesn’t find whatever he’s looking for.

I grab him a few bottles of water. I usually get so into my freehand that talking is a no-go. I want things set up so I won’t have too many distractions. Now that I have everything laid out, I can’t wait to get started.

For the first time in a while, I’m excited to see how it turns out. I’ve done too much flash lately. This is refreshing and a little weird. I love it.

“How much?”

Damn. I got so into it that I didn’t think about that. I look back at his skin and waffle back and forth before settling on a number.

“Fifteen hundred.” If he needs me to go over why the price is so high, I will. He might walk away without asking, but that’s fine with me. He wants a lot, so he pays for it.

Instead of asking questions, he pulls out a wallet and a wad of cash that raises my eyebrows. He patiently counts it out and hands it to me.

This is a first. Not so much with the smaller tattoos, but with this expense, I was thinking he would want to break it into sessions he could pay off. He came prepared.

I take it and slide it into a drawer with a frown.

“Put that away before someone sees it,” I scold him, which makes him smirk.

I don’t think it’s so funny. Paying this amount in cash and having a wad leftover like this is nothing? Drugs or something else illegal is my first guess, especially in this town. Sometimes, you start a terrible life with the best of intentions. Food isn’t cheap.

I feel disappointed in him, but I don’t know why. It’s not my business. I had the same reaction when Ash was stealing and hawking goods for food money. Luckily, he stopped before it got to be drug runs.

My disappointment must show on my face because his brows furrow as he watches me.

“I’m a photographer. It pays well.”

Should I believe him? Does it matter? I nod, keeping my thoughts to myself.

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