Page 97 of Show Me How
I take her question as an opportunity to force myself back, grabbing my tattoo machine and adjusting the settings just right. The black gloves on my hands are tight as I flex them and then scoot toward her again.
“I could, but I’d break it if you just have a really low pain tolerance,” I say gently before patting her bare knee. “Lay on the bed with your legs all the way out, and then rest your hand here on this table.”
It’s a small black one, already wrapped and ready for me to move it into position. I shove it to rest beside her and guide her hand onto it. She doesn’t fight me as I roll her hand into the position I need and stroke the bone in her wrist.
The blush-pink dress she’s wearing has ridden up her thighs, exposing more of her soft, pale skin. I tighten my jaw and ignorethat, turning the machine on and getting started. She doesn’t flinch when I make the first line, and I snap my eyes up, curious to see if she’s trying to hide her pain.
Vibrant blue eyes are already on me, no sign of pain for me to see. “That’s not so bad.”
“That’s my girl,” I coo.
She smiles coyly. “Proud?”
“Very. Next time, we’ll have to do something bigger. Maybe right here,” I murmur, reaching up to palm her warm thigh, right above her knee.
“A thigh tattoo?”
“Mmhmm,” I hum.
“What would I even get there?”
I swipe away some extra ink and continue around the right side of the crown. “There are plenty of options for a ‘slutty little thigh tattoo,’ as Daisy calls them. I’ve got both my knees done, so mine are a bit higher on the thigh, but I’ve got butterflies.”
“I remember seeing them when I was . . . you know.” She tries to hide her smile, but the humour in her eyes gives her away.
“Go on, laugh it up, princess. I’m not ashamed of them.”
Millie rolls her lips, the corners twitching. “Why butterflies?”
“Why not?”
She lets that answer sink in before saying, “I’d get butterflies too, maybe.”
“Bryce did mine. She’d do yours if you asked.”
Idiot.
I don’t want Bryce to do them. If Millie chose to get another tattoo, I’d be the one to do it. I would fight with Bryce for the honour, and that’s fucked up.
Millie purses her lips slightly, head tilting as she looks at me. I focus on the tattoo for the next several silent minutes, swiping the red skin gently to remove the ink every few strokes before turning the machine off and setting it down. Grabbing the bottleof alcohol, I spray the crown and wipe it again, cleaning it well enough I can do a final look for imperfections.
There aren’t any, but I tell her to check anyway, just in case. When she lifts her hand, I watch eagerly, my leg bouncing. For the first time in years, I’m nervous for someone’s reaction to a tattoo I’ve given them.
“It’s so cute. Dainty. I love it,” she murmurs.
“If you choose to later, I can add something else to it. Some pink would look good.”
“I wonder where you got that colour suggestion from,” she teases, setting her hand back onto the table.
I spray it with alcohol again and use a clean wipe to make sure all of the ink is gone. Before I reach for the healing balm, I gently lift her wrist and take a final look at the design.
“If the colour pink was a person, it would be you, Millie.”
“Does that mean you’d be grey?”
“Grey? That feels like an insult.” I wink and slather some balm on the crown before cutting a piece of second skin and applying it. “Don’t take this off for at least two days. I’ll be checking tomorrow to make sure it’s still on.”
“Okay, bossy,” she drawls.
