Page 61 of A Ryan Recollection

“I figured you might need some back up,” she says with a chuckle. “You couldn’t even watch Liam getting his last tattoo.”

“I know.” I place a hand over my mouth as the memory makes me want to hurl. He was in the chair for six hours and I had to leave after fifteen minutes.

“I’m proud of you, girl,” she adds. “Getting a tattoo when you’re terrified of needles is a big deal. You’re a fucking warrior.”

“Yeah, well I don’t feel like one,” I whisper as I eye her instruments.

A wave of nausea washes over me and I sway on my feet.

Conor’s warm hands grip my waist and he moves his lips close to my ear. “You’re okay. You got this.”

“Uh-huh,” I mumble, not as convinced as he is.

“Just sit yourself down here,” Gia says, patting the seat of Conor’s large office chair.

I look at the chair and then at her, and then her needles.

Fuck! I’m going to pass out.

Heat creeps over my skin and perspiration prickles over my brow. I stand rooted to the spot.

Gia looks past me at Conor. “How about I give Conor here a little ink to start with and you can watch exactly what happens this time. Okay?” she suggests.

“Yeah,” I breathe out the word. Knowing exactly what to expect will calm my nerves — won’t it?

“Where do you want it, big guy?” she says with a grin.

If I wasn’t about to throw up into her lap, I might give her some sass for flirting with my husband. Gia flirts with every single person she meets — no matter their gender or sexuality.

Conor pulls his t-shirt off over his head and tosses it onto his desk before taking a seat on the chair. He taps his collarbone, right next to the tattoo of my name. “Right here. Give me a heart next to Jessie.”

She grins at me as she picks up her artists needle. “You watching closely?”

I step closer to Conor and he reaches for my hand, lacing his fingers through mine. When Gia pierces his skin for the first time, I flinch but Conor doesn’t even flicker. He winks at me as he squeezes my hand in his.

“Just a scratch. It doesn’t go all that deep, see?” he nods toward Gia’s hand as she draws over and over the tiny heart.

“Yeah,” I whisper.

He knows I’m not afraid of pain. It is the act of the needle piercing my skin that terrifies me.

I force myself to watch as Gia drags the needle repeatedly over Conor’s skin to create a small heart the size of a pea. A few minutes later, she sits back with a proud smile on her face. “Not bad for freehand, right?”

Conor looks down at his tiny new ink. “Hmm,” he nods his agreement before he looks back at me. “You ready, angel?”

“Uh-huh,” I murmur but I stand rooted to the spot.

“Where are you having your tattoo?” he asks.

“On m-my shoulder.”

He tugs my hand, still clasped in his. “Come here.” His words are soft but his tone is commanding and my body obeys him even though my brain is telling me to run from the room and far away from the small pointy instruments of torture.

I edge closer until my thighs are touching his.

“Here!” he looks down at his lap.

With shaky legs, I straddle him on the chair, placing my hands on his solid chest and feeling how he grounds me. My fingertips flex over the tattoos on his chest. The myriad of dark colors swirling and coiling into beautiful patterns on his skin.

---