Page 42 of Grown Folks Confessions: Black Lush

I swallowed back my nerves, backing up until I hit the tattoo chair and plopped down. He leaned down, my pussy quivering when his arm grazed mine as he raised a finger to my collarbone, tracing the curve of my neck.

His other hand slid up my thigh, pushing up my dress before he lifted the entire thing up and off my body, my arms raising to help him on instinct.

But he wasn’t done yet. I arched my back as he slid the straps of my bra down my arms, popping lose the front clasp with one hand as the other gripped my panties, the lace digging into my love handles as he did so.

It was a pleasurable pain that I hadn’t expected, and when the delicate material finally snapped, my body hummed with desire.

“So damn beautiful,” he huffed, cupping my breasts, eliciting a satisfying moan from somewhere so deep, I felt that whimper in the curl of my toes.

He stood, rubbing his jaw as he studied my naked body in a way that made me feel even more unhinged than I had been.

“What are you going to do to me?” I asked, torn between uneasiness and anticipation.

“So much,” he answered, the fire in his eyes making my mouth dry. “You’re the blank canvas in my dreams, La. The perfect foundation for something breathtaking.”

My lips parted, so many meanings of his words circulating in my mind.

He bent over again, his hot breath running over my body, yet he didn’t kiss me like I thought he would. “Right now, I’m going to mark that gorgeous body of yours with my artistry.”

A tattoo. He had to mean a tattoo. I currently didn’t have any, but I’d be lying to myself if I said I didn’t always imagine that Ares would be the first to give me one.

“Do I get to pick the design?” I asked.

He shook his head. “Nah, you just have to trust me.”

“What if I don’t like it?”

He chuckled, a cocky look in his eyes. “You’ll love it.”

With that, he got to work, angling for me to lay on my side. He didn’t even ask me where I wanted the tattoo, so I was surprised when he lifted my arm and began prepping the spot adjacent to my left breast.

He must have sensed my hesitancy, because he walked in front of me and asked again, “Do you trust me?” Yet, this time, there was a softness and vulnerability in his voice that hadn’t been there before. Like he wanted so badly for my answer to be yes.

“I trust you,” I affirmed, addicted to how his eyes went from relieved to serious as he got back to work.

After a few more minutes of prep, we fell into a relaxing atmosphere, the hum of the tattoo gun providing a soothing soundtrack. It was a delicious pain to me and I already sensed I was slowly becoming addicted to it … tohim. To the experience. Although I couldn’t watch Ares tattoo me the entire time, we locked eyes a few times during the process when he checked on me to see if I was okay.

Then, there was that powerful moment when he was so focused on tattooing me, he didn’t notice when I discovered the mirror on the ceiling. Nor did he realize that I was watching him over my shoulder, memorizing every squint of the eye and clench of his jaw as he inked my body. Watching him presented me with a different Ares that most didn’t get to see outside of his playful demeanor.

He didn’t joke as much as he used to though. Or maybe, he and I just had so much history, that joking took the backseat when the air was electric with so much more. I was extremely comfortable around him, too—evident in the fact that there was no logical reason that he’d removed all my clothes, except for that he clearly didn’t want me wearing them.

And I was okay with that.

I’m not sure how long it took him, but suddenly, he was finished.

“Ready to take a look?” he asked, motioning for me to lean up when I nodded.

There was a full-length mirror stationed in the corner of the room next to a plush loveseat. I knew firsthand that the loveseat could convert into a bed because I’d been the one to place the order for it after Jade had given me the okay.

I hadn’t lowered my arm since rising from the chair, and the second I laid eyes on the design, I smiled.I should have known he’d choose this.

“A butterfly,” I muttered, my eyes pinned to its brilliant pink and purple colors and the way the detailed wings expanded. He didn’t call me his butterfly often, but when he did, it made me melt all over.

“Do you like it?” he asked.

“I love it,” I marveled. “Everything from the delicacy of the wings to the brilliant use of color is perfect. It’s what I didn’t know I needed on my body.”

“Because you probably forgot the first time you mentioned it to me,” he informed.

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