Page 66 of Show Me How
MILLIE
I’ve never likedthe word “slut.”
The negative connotation is not only socially damaging but also emotionally abusive and dehumanizing. Despite my lack of sex life, I’ve never judged others for being interested in having one. It’s natural, and I’m beyond jealous of anyone who can feel so confident and excited about it that they have lots of it.
With that said, I think Shade has turned me into one. An orgasm slut, at least. It would make one hell of a bumper sticker.
After only a single fingered orgasm, I’ve become intensely interested in getting myself there over and over again. Maybe it was because after so long, the floodgates have opened, and for the first time, I’m able to get myself off, but holy.
I was nearly late to work this morning because I was too busy repeating Shade’s instructions from last night. And it was far from the first time in the last twelve hours.
“You look horny,” Bryce utters, appearing behind me.
Jerking in my chair, I whip my head to the side and swallow. “What?”
“You look horny.”
“I heard you.”
She drops a hand to the desk I spent all morning cleaning and organizing. “You don’t have any tattoos, do you?”
“No.”
“That’s what I thought.”
My temperature cools, going back to normal. “So why did you ask?”
“Getting a new piece can turn someone on. I was curious if you were enjoying watching Shade work.”
I was, but not because of that.
“People get turned on when they get a tattoo? Why? I always assumed they hurt.”
“Body modifications can be arousing to some. Or so I’ve heard. Shade would know more about it than me.”
My skin prickles, and I’m drawn to where he sits beside the woman on the bed. He’s already watching me, the needle of his gun lifted an inch above the patch of skin he’s been tattooing for the last hour. It’s a collarbone design that he showed off the sketch for this morning. His thick black brow curves upward when I stare back.
“He sees a lot of people get aroused while tattooing?” I ask, finally focusing back on Bryce.
She tilts her head, her mouth curling at the corners. “Oh, probably. But that’s not what I meant.”
“I’m confused,” I admit.
With a relaxed jerk of her shoulder, she says, “You should ask him about it. I’m going for lunch now. If my one o’clock comes in before I’m back, can you ask what size they were thinking for design and print a few examples off? My iPad is hooked up to the printer.”
“Yeah, sure,” I mumble, my thoughts scattering.
“Thanks.”
Bryce leaves, and I stay seated. The music today was Shade’s choice, and as the last song rolls into the next, it’s easy to tellwhat his preferred genre is. The raspy voice singing over a hard-rock beat flows through the studio but still can’t hide the buzz of the gun. I’ve begun hearing that sound while I’m at home now, almost like it follows me everywhere, reminding me of where I’ve been spending my days.
I think I like it now, actually. Instead of annoying, it’s calming.
Maybe it’s because I’ve never modified my body in any way, but I don’t know how someone could get pleasure from it. I’d expect pain and discomfort, not arousal. Then again, there are all sorts of kinks that I don’t understand because I’ve never experienced them. Maybe this shouldn’t be all that surprising after all.
Sneaking a look across the studio, I place my hand on the edge of the desk. Shade’s concentrated as he brings the needle along the blue stencil on the woman’s collarbone. He follows the sketch with precision, only stopping when he swipes away the ink with a paper towel or swaps out the needle he’s using.
The buzzing cuts before he wheels himself toward the metal toolbox-looking set-up beneath the sign with his name and takes a packaged needle from where he has all of his supplies laid out. The cling wrap lies beneath everything, keeping it sanitary, I assume.
