Page 17 of Forever and Ever

Pain might walk that fine line with pleasure for me, but the sensation right now reverberates all the way down my spine and if I’m not careful, I’m going to break a molar.

“Hanging in there, gorgeous?” Noah smirks, looking up at me through the thick blond hair that curtains over one of his eyes.

“I hate you,” I tell him, but he just shakes his head and laughs like he always does when I tell him how much he drives me absolutely insane.

“This was all you, beautiful.” He drags upward and the tattoo needle scrapes over one of my ribs, sending a shock wave up to my jaw.

There’s no better way to figure out what nerves connect through your skin than for a tattoo needle to draw a path of discovery across your body.

What the fuck was I thinking when I agreed to this? He might have a light touch, but it doesn’t stop the pain from radiating through me.

For a guy with barely any tattoos himself, Noah loves to tattoo others. It’s a hobby he picked up in high school, and he’s been doing it ever since. Occasionally he’ll tattoo roadies, sometimes fans. And today, after him bugging me about it the entire tour, I finally gave in and let him mark my skin.

But only after threatening his balls if he dared to put his name on me. Not that I think he would do that. Noah is actually a gentleman, as annoying as that can be sometimes. But it didn’t hurt to instill a little fear before we got started, given his never-ending flirtation.

“You good?” The buzzing stops and Noah gazes up at me with a genuine look of concern on his face.

I must look as rough as I feel, because he’s seen me get tattooed enough times in parlors to know my reactions by now, and his eyes pinch in worry. Not that it’s his fault. I’m the dumbass who chose to place the tattoo on my rib cage. A decision I’m regretting more and more by the minute.

This is what happens when you start running out of empty skin on your limbs and start itching for more ink.

Pain.

“Can we take five?” I ask him, propping up on my elbows.

“Sure thing, babe.” Noah squirts some antiseptic on the tattoo and wipes it clean.

Looking down, I see Noah has moved onto the shading. The line work was bad enough, but the needles grinding over already tender skin is torture. At least the tattoo itself is beautiful so far. Wings that stretch across the upper part of my abdomen, right beneath my breasts. They fan out from where an Egyptian goddess already sits between them. It’s a big tattoo, but flawless.

“When you get tired of all this rock star shit, you can come work in my shop,” Blaze says.

Blaze owns the Twisted Roses tattoo parlor, where Noah had me take him after picking him up from rehab. He’s in town from LA to see the band, and from what I gather, he and Noah go way back. Every time we’re in the area, Noah makes it a point to stop in and see him. And he’s even let Blaze add a few tattoos to his arm recently.

“You’ve got natural talent,” Blaze says as Noah sets the needle aside and reaches for my hand to help me up.

“Thanks, man.” Noah nods, his pale blue eyes flicking up to meet mine. For a cocky guy, he looks nervous about this.

“It’s beautiful, Noah.” I nudge his arm and he smiles brightly.

“Anything for you, love.”

Noah and I have become really good at playing this game with each other. He’s flirty, while I push him away. He chases, I run. From the outside, people probably think he’s obsessed, but at this point, I’m pretty sure he continues only for his amusement.

He’s in a rock band, after all. He doesn’t need to wait around for me when he gets plenty of pussy. Words are just words, even if the looks he gives me travel a little deeper than tattoo ink.

Besides, I made it clear to Noah from the start. What he wanted, I wouldn’t give him, so friends is all he’s going to get.

Noah squeezes my hand before turning away, so I can slip on a loose T-shirt. Not that it matters, Noah and Blaze have both been staring at me with my breasts out for the last few hours while Noah has worked.

“Bathroom,” I say, snatching my purse off a chair and excusing myself.

I’m almost to the door when Noah shouts my name over my shoulder and grabs my attention.

Turning, he holds up a water bottle and shakes it.

“Thanks.” I catch it when he tosses it my way.

He’s so thoughtful that I can’t help but feel a little bad. Because no matter how chaotic touring is, or how pissy I get with him sometimes, Noah is always there looking out for me.

---