Page 3 of Sin City

I shut the door to the room and point to the chair for her to sit as I pull out my stool. Sitting down in front of her with her legs hanging off the table, I count to three in my head before I look her in her eyes. “So, it’s your first time?” I ask.

She blushes a little, making her chest turn a shade of pink as she tucks a piece of her golden hair behind her ear. “Is it that obvious?”

Wrinkling my nose, I raise my hand and pinch my thumb and index finger together. “Just a little, but I am honored to be the one popping your tattoo cherry.” I wink.

Aria laughs, and I let it wash over me. “I guess so.”

We stare at each other for what feels like hours. I break the trance and say, “A Phoenix.” Aria tilts her head as if she is confused. “For your tattoo. A Phoenix is a symbol of resurrection. It also represents longevity or the enduring of love and relationships. You mentioned you are celebrating the end of your marriage. This tattoo would symbolize that you can rise from the ashes renewed, a rebirth, a chance to start over and to be free on your own.”

Smiling at me, Aria whispers, “Okay.”

Before I start setting up my tray table for what I’m going to need for the tattoo, I ask, “Do you have an idea where you would like the tattoo to be…on your body.” My hands are itching to touch her.

She nods and takes a deep breath. “I was thinking on my left wrist, like a big middle finger salute to my ex. As close as I can get to my ring finger, I guess.”

“Fuck yeah!” I tell her.

Rolling my stool away from Aria, I stand up and turn my back to gather the items I am going to need for her tattoo. Lying down a paper towel on the tray, I put down the black rubber gloves, black, white and gray inks. The tattoo I’m imagining does need color to make it bright and stand out. I want to capture the hurt and abandonment of this marriage for her. This tattoo will tell a story. I grab the clear water spray bottle, my tattoo gun, and a few more paper towels before grabbing the anti-inflammatory ointment. As I’m setting up my tray, I can feel Aria’s eyes burning into me. I peek in the mirror to see her taking me in as she licks her lips.Oh, angel, I feel the same way, too.

Setting the tray table next to the chair, I grab my stool and sit down. Looking up to meet Aria’s emerald eyes, I smile big at her. “Are you ready, Aria?”

She closes her eyes and bites her lip. “Yes.”

Oh, myAngel, I am just getting started with you.

I plan on making every dirty thought I am having become a reality…tonight.

Four

Aria

Jamesonhasmesitin a reclining chair and he positions himself in his chair to where my left arm is lying out straight. He puts on his black gloves, and when his hands touch my wrist, my body instantly feels like it is on fire. I’m not sure if it’s my nerves creeping in or if it’s the man in front of me that is making me feel this way. Jameson is pure sex on a stick. His scuffed, chiseled jawline that could cut glass to his mesmerizing blue eyes that I want to get lost in. When he looks at me, I can feel him peering deep into my soul and he can see all of my darkest secrets. His white t-shirt is bunched up on his biceps, showcasing the beautiful artwork of his tattoos, and I have this wave of desire to trace each one of them with my fingers to see where they lead me. His legs look like tree trunks in his black jeans with a little distress in the knees, allowing more tattoos to peek through. I have never met any man who could ruin my vagina just by looking at them. I keep wondering if he has tattoos covering the rest of his body.

I watch him pick up a black thin sharpie marker, I burrow my eyebrows together at why he needs a marker. He raises the marker to his mouth and removes the cap with this mouth. I’m instantly jealous of that damn cap. He is still holding my wrist and uses his other hand to lightly trace out my tattoo. I can’t make it out or tell how he will bring it to life as its mostly lines.

Jameson raises his ocean-colored eyes to meet mine, and says, “Aria, this may hurt a little. Getting a tattoo on the wrist can be slightly painful. If it is too much, let me know, and I will stop. You have to keep still for me or you will have a fucked up looking tattoo. Can you do that?”

Taking a deep breath. “Yes.”

Winking at me. “Good girl. I’m going to do a little line first, that way it will help you adjust to it.”

Jameson lowers his head and starts up his tattoo gun, and the sound of buzzing fills the room. I thought hearing the tattoo gun would make me even more nervous, but I have this sense of calm and I’m not as nervous as I was when I walked into the shop.

The walls are a deep shade of red that reminds me of blood, with black accents all around highlighting the artwork that is hanging on the walls. If I were to guess, the beautiful pieces are his drawings, and if I’m correct, he is incredibly talented. I felt the slight sting of the tattoo gun, and I flinched slightly.

“Aria, I need you to remain still. I’m only going to ask one more time, and I don’t like to repeat myself,” he tells me in a commanding tone.

Blushing at how I liked his tone, I whisper. “Sorry,”

He looks up from beneath his dark lashes and winks at me. “No need to apologize. I just need you to stay still.”

Nodding at him is all I can manage. Why am I acting like a mute around him? I’m never this shy or quiet around anyone. I want to do whatever he asks of me. I want to please him.

He goes back to my wrist, and I do my best not to flinch again when the needle connects with my skin. I keep my eyes trained on the wall in front of me, staring at one of his pieces of artwork. It’s a skull with blood dripping from the vines and roses interloping. The piece is black and white with shading, it’s beautiful. The humming sound of the tattoo gun was soothing in a strange way. I remove my eyes from the artwork on the wall and turned my head to watch Jameson. He was hunched over with one hand grasping the gun, the other holding my wrist, and using the towel to clean the tattoo as he went. There was no stencil when he started. He was using his outline like a guide for my tattoo, and I found myself in a trance watching him at work. Every so often, he would look at me, and our eyes would lock, and it felt as if the world stopped moving. He winked at me before lowering his gaze back to my wrist.

Moving the gun like he was coloring a picture, every so often he would wipe the tattoo with a paper towel. Coloring. Wiping. Coloring. Wiping. All I can think about is why did I wait so long to get a tattoo? I am stunned at the beauty of what goes into a tattoo. Tattoos are not trashy, they are a form of expression or even to grieve the loss of someone…or something.

With his eyes still on my wrist, he’s the one who breaks my trance by asking, “So, you came to Vegas to celebrate your husband who cheated on you?”

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