I open Remington’s cabinet to stock it, screaming bloody murder and tossing all of the shit I’m holding as running becomes the only thing on my mind. All three of them start laughing from across the studio. I slip in my attempt to get away in a hurry, losing my balance completely before tumbling to the ground. My head hits the hard floor. “You fucking asshole!”
“Come on, Delta. It’s funny.”
Remington’s womanizing voice is the first one to speak. I grab the clown figurine and throw it at his head. Too bad he ducked at just the right time. “I don’t think it’s funny at all. Fuck off.”
“What happened to the sexy badass that’s been walking around the shop for months? Covered in tattoos, hot, and scared of a little clown?”
“Knock it off. This is a fucking business not a playground. Customers will be here soon.” I sit up, my head throbbing a little from the hit on the floor. Kross is standing by his station with a transfer in his hand. He’s been in his office downstairs since we got here this morning. It’s going to be another busy day. We have back-to-back appointments until 11PM between all of the artists.
That shouldn’t surprise me. It’s been busy all week, but Kross mentioned there are rush times during the year for tattoos; the people that don’t ordinarily have an obsession for ink letting their freak flag fly for a little bit, and since we just came off of Halloween, well, us freaks are the topic of conversation and considered the cool kids of the world.
Things have gone back to a happy medium in the world of Kross and Delta. That one amazing night we shared was short lived, and by amazing I do mean unforgettable. I feel like in ways I finally broke through some of his barriers. But to know that we’ve both lived without knowing who our fathers are was the starlight in the darkness. It is something we both share, and there are so many questions I have now that I’ve met someone else like me, but we haven’t discussed it since. I’m starting to gather that closing himself off is how he protects himself.
I’m back to sleeping in my own bed, unfortunately, and we haven’t had any more personal conversations or cuddle sessions since the whole parent thing happened, but we have hung out more after work, which to me is a plus.
His coldness is a little warmer in temperature than it normally is. Instead of solid ice it’s freezing cold water. He has yet to give me that tattoo, though, and I’m starting to have Kross fuck session withdrawals, but I don’t want to bring it up again, because it’s a little depressing to be a young, confident woman and have to do so. I’ll wait until he initiates it and makes me feel like he wants it. I just may combust in the process at this rate of occurrence.
It’s hard to imagine myself going without sex as long as I did now, but I guess when you see the person you actually want to do it with on a daily basis it makes it all that much harder, especially when they’ve given you a few tastes here and there.
I start to pick up the stuff I dropped. “You okay?” Kross asks.
“Yeah. I’m fine.”
“Nice underwear, Delta,” Remington says, slathering his voice with a lustful filter to toy with me . . . or Kross. Us going to the haunted house has really brought us all together. It was like an icebreaker. Jokes have become regular when Kross isn’t around since Monday, now that everyone knows we’re seeing each other. Well, assumes. Nothing has been admitted to as to what we actually are.
Until lunch it felt like there was an enormous elephant in the room, and then finally, Remington being Remington with all of his open whoredom triumphed and he asked if we were fucking. Talk about uncomfortable. Kross walked downstairs—stormed really—making it that much more obvious, leaving me to answer that awkward question by myself. I kept thinking it was a test. My answer was as vague as I could make it, leaving out any words that would even hint to sex.
Kross’s face changes. Shit. I forgot I was wearing a skirt.
“Dude, shut the fuck up,” Joey whispers.
“What? No one has told me I can’t look. Until someone in this place owns up to fucking her, she’s available. And even then, if a relationship is not fully noted in the form of a disclaimer she’s still technically on the market. I’ve made many girls come and not keep them as mine. I see panties, I think of pussy. Simple as that. Especially when I see the outline of lips.”
My head whips toward the three of them, all standing in a straight line. Wesson looks at Kross and I see him pull Joey back out of the way discretely. Remington has a huge invisible smirk on his face. His lips aren’t turned up but the muscles hint a smile.
My eyes widen at the exact same time Remington’s does, most likely resembling a Snap Chat filter. His entire body tenses with the sound of the knife striking the wall, opposite of Kross. “I’m fucking her. She’s staying with me. Her entire being is mine. If I hear one more word come out of your mouth about it you’ll regret it. Remove your fucking eyes from between her legs, close your goddamn mouth for once, and mind your own business or anyone else’s but mine. Are we clear, or do you need to pack your shit and get out of my shop?”
His hand goes to his head, rubbing along the top of his mohawk. It’s about two inches shorter along the center, the blue tips completely gone. He’s going to have to have that evened out. “You are Papa Smurf no more,” I say, unable to help it.
“Delta, go get my knife and come sit down. We’re doing your tattoo,” he says, an increment of his anger gone.
And like nothing just happened . . .
“Dude, what the actual fuck? You could have killed me.”
“If I wanted you dead, you would be. You took something personal of mine, so I took something of yours. Next time you’ll stay out of my business. Get to work.”
Remington storms to the stairs, still petting his beloved hair as he disappears out the door. I follow him to the wall beside the door, shaking my head as I pry the buck knife from the wall. It was stuck pretty deep, taking some muscle to work it out, and it’s a little scary that he knows how to throw a knife so well that he can give a man a haircut with one throw. At this rate, he’s going to be fixing a lot of holes in walls with filler.
Cassie opens the door as I turn to walk to Kross’s station, letting a client in. “Joey, your nine 0’clock is here.”
Joey is a metalhead through and through. When he’s on piercings all day his music blasts through the walls. His brown head is shaved on the sides and back, all of the length remaining on the top. He keeps it flipped to one side, but it doesn’t extend past his ear. Then, you understand the other side of why he’s a metalhead. He has earrings like Kross, but he also has two eyebrow rings, a nose ring, and a ring in the corner of his bottom lip like I have in the center. I think him and I both are in the running for the most facial jewelry. He has me beat with the eyebrow rings, though, and that doesn’t even include the nipple rings; got a peek at those when he wore a tighter shirt once. He isn’t near as big as Kross and he’s a good bit shorter than all of them, but his body is defined and sculpted.
The talking between them begins as I hand the knife back to Kross, a smirk in place. “We really need to work on your anger issues.”
“I told you I don’t like guys looking at you. He pissed me off.”
I lean forward, bringing myself closer to him. “There is a huge difference in looking and touching.”
“Which is why he’s still alive.”
“You know, for someone that loathes other people looking at me or touching me you sure as hell don’t much. Come tomorrow it’ll be a week.”
He stares at me. “I don’t need it daily to function.”
“So, I’m not good enough for you to think of it daily?”
“I said I didn’t need it not that I didn’t want it. If you knew my daily thoughts you’d be glad you get a break between. On most days, I want to fuck you like an animal. Now sit down. We can revisit this conversation when we get home.”
My eyes close, trying to calm my raging thoughts. He’s so cruel. You don’t say that shit to a girl and then expect her to sit down. They open. “If you knew my daily thoughts you’d know I don’t want a break, and I’d appreciate getting fucked like an animal if it’s coming from you.”
The clenching of his glove-covered fists sways my attention, but I keep it to myself. “Where are you putting it?”
“The back of your neck.”
Oh, this should be fun . . .
I hike my denim skirt up and throw my leg over the chair. Slowly, I lower into a straddle, pulling my hair up as I do. Right after I secure it with the ponytail on my wrist I can feel his hard body against my back. I turn my head, but his lips are already beside my ear, touching against my cheek as I do. “If this is how you tattoo the back of every girl’s neck we may have a problem.”
I can hear all three of their guns buzzing in the room, talking in the mix. He grips my inner thighs, his hands sitting at the edge of my panties on each side. “I guess it’s a good thing you’re the only one I’m obsessed with enough to touch like this then.”
“I like you being obsessed. It makes me feel like you want me.”
“Why would you ever think otherwise?”
“You haven’t asked me to sleep with you since Halloween.”
“I wasn’t aware I had to invite you.”
Fuck, why is this so hard with him? I feel like a child. “So, what you’re saying is?”
“Knock on my door and I’ll let you in.”
“Do you want me there? I don’t want to push myself on you.”
“I told you sometimes I need to be pushed. I’m not wired like you. You’ll know when it’s too far.”
Maybe I need to go at this from a more aggressive angle. I don’t really see what it could hurt. I just feel like . . . Fuck it. I’m going to try. “When you’re done, I want you to fuck me in your office while you stare at your name on my body.”
Without another word I lean forward, placing my forehead against the back of the chair and wrap my arms around it in a hug. He shoves his hips forward, closing any space there was between us. I can feel him against my bottom. He’s hard. Thank God. He’s finally showing me that I turn him on even when he seems so unaffected. And you know what? It makes me feel like a fucking celebrity.
I can feel the transfer paper against the back of my neck after he cleans the surface. “You trust me?”
“Oddly, yes.”
“You want to look at it first or for me to just do it?”
“You trust someone completely or not at all. Do it.”
He removes the paper, leaving the damp feeling of the ink in place. I’ve never been more excited about any tattoo on my body than the ones he’s done himself. It’s a high in itself, because I know with him he’s leaving a part of himself behind. Even if we talk about what I want beforehand, I never really know the end result, and every single time it’s been better than I expected.
My eyes squint with the first touch of the needle. It’s always the worst part, along with continuing after reloading the ink. It feels kind of like broken glass scraping hard against your skin. It’s fine as long as he doesn’t pick up the needle, but every time it starts back it temporarily cuts off your air for the briefest second before you get used to it again.
Still, even through the pain, it’s my favorite way to express myself. I can’t remember a time that I didn’t have a love for tattoos. I’m not even sure how it started honestly. Since I figured out I could draw, I’ve loved it, but there isn’t a specific time I remember falling in love with tattoos. It’s always just kind of been in the background.
For years, I’ve loved tattoo reality TV. It’s my guilty pleasure, I guess. I remember having the biggest fucking crush on Ami James and Chris Nunez from Miami Ink. God, they were so hot. Still are. Ami had that whole bad boy alpha vibe going on that just makes girls wanna fuck his brains out. Chris was the traditional asshole with a good guy side. Kat Von D broke my heart when she left, but the girl is still my idol in the tattoo industry, and LA Ink was also in my top two shows, so I’m just guessing it’s something that’s built over time.
My favorite tattoo sessions to watch were always cover up pieces; seeing the artist turn something hideous into something beautiful. I know more so now than before that it’s not an easy job. It’s a skill that takes a lot of talent: having to work with the pre-existing colors, the scar tissue, the deep lines that are hard to cover, and still come out with a design that will take away the regret the client had already. I can only hope one day I’m that good.
At first, it was just something I thought was cool from an early age, but also, it’s the foundation of one memory I have with my mother that I’ll never forget. For my sixteenth birthday we got mother-daughter tattoos. Yeah, a lot of parents or onlookers would have probably thought badly of her signing for me a tattoo at the age of sixteen, but to me, it was one time that she wholeheartedly thought of what I wanted and set aside worldly opinions to give it to me. It was one day she marked out a time slot in her social life to spend with me.
We ended up going with a moon and stars on the top of our right foot with shading in the background to create the night sky. It was her version of a promise that she would always look out for me no matter how dark it got; she the moon and me a small star in comparison. Too bad she couldn’t actually keep that promise. I suppose it’ll always be my fault. My sins drove us apart for good. Not that we were ever close to begin with . . .
After that, tattoos became my obsession. I found ways to get around the no tattoos under eighteen without parental consent law by using someone else’s ID and a tattoo artist that turned the other cheek. All he needed was information to keep on file and a payday, and all I needed was another fix.
A moan escapes when he hits a bony place again. One particular spot at the bottom of my neck gets me every time. It feels pretty big. At one point or another, I’ve felt him on just about every part of my neck.
My arms are starting to become uncomfortable around this chair back. I allow them to fall, and the first place they go are his thighs. He doesn’t flinch nor shake me off. Instead, he allows me to leave them there. That’s huge considering Kross is very private about his personal life and not inclined to public displays of affection. Fuck, he doesn’t really do affection at all. Moments like these are when I feel like we’re a real couple.
The pain is becoming higher and my tolerance getting lower. All of the skin is now sensitive. My eyes start to roll in the back of my head, searching for a state of unconsciousness. The one thing I do best when I’m hurting in any form, emotionally or physically, is sleep. Those are the times that it becomes the easiest. Before I can even register that I’m tired, I begin to nod off.
“Where’s Mom?”
“Work. So she says . . .”
“Oh . . . But didn’t she just get home an hour ago?”
“Yeah, but you know your mother. She can’t keep her ass at home long enough to have a family life. It’s getting pretty fucking annoying. Especially since she’s older than me. Maybe if she’d act her fucking age she’d get somewhere in life.”
“She was supposed to hang out with me today is all. I’ll probably just see what Lux is doing.”
I start to walk back toward the hall from the living room when his voice sounds again. “It’s not your fault, Delta.”
I stop, looking at him on the couch in his tee shirt and boxers, his hair disheveled like he just woke up. Really, he should be with someone closer to my age than my mother’s, only fifteen years my elder.
Thirty-two is a good age on a man. He’s out of that immaturity stage it seems like, but he still is every bit good-looking like a man in his twenties. But I don’t understand what she sees in younger men, like she’s scared to get old so she keeps dipping into the fountain of youth, because each one gets younger than the last. Him I’ve always liked, though, unlike the ones before. Considering what he does for a living, he’s a down-to-earth guy. And why the hell he’s still with her is beyond me. They always leave by now, but not him.
“What isn’t my fault?”
“That she doesn’t love you. If it helps, I don’t think she loves me either.”
“Then why are you still with her?”
“Because of you.”
I stare at him, unsure of what to say or how to take that. He stands, walking toward me as I stand frozen in the middle of the small living room of our house. “What do you mean?”
He stops in front of me. “I know she doesn’t give you any attention, Delta. I can see it, and if I had to guess, it’s always been this way. She treats you like you’re a burden instead of a blessing. Every time I hear her talk about you, she makes it sound like she is stuck with you. That’s not how you treat your child. You deserve so much better. The more I recognize her flaws, the more I see your beauty. It makes me want to give you what you aren’t getting.”
“How?”
He rubs his fingers up my arm, leaving chill bumps behind. “Like touching you, for example.” He takes another step forward, his hands going around my waist. My breathing becomes erratic. I like the way it feels. “Has anyone ever touched you like this?”
“No,” I whisper.
He bunches my tank top in his hands, his fingers grazing my lower back. “Do you want to be touched this way?”
“Yes, but this would be wrong on so many levels.”
“Sometimes two wrongs make a right, regardless of what everyone says. I smelled cologne on her when she got home, even though she thought I was asleep. The first place she went was to the shower. She’ll always be a bar whore, unlike you.”
“I don’t know . . .”
“Are you attracted to me?”
“Yes.”
“Do you want me to stop? If you do, I’ll never bring it up again.”
I try to think. The way I feel is foreign. Every part of me feels like it’s on fire. I have that uncomfortable wetness in my panties I get sometimes but ignore.
His fingers skim up my back as he looks at me. It feels good, really good actually. I’ve never gotten close to hooking up with a guy because of everything Lux has gone through at such a young age. It scares the hell out of me, so I just avoid it all together. Before I can stop it, the word comes out. “No.”
He removes my shirt, leaving me uncomfortably naked since I haven’t put on a bra yet. My hands go to my boobs to cover myself, but he removes them. “You’re beautiful. I want to see you.”
One phrase and all of the stress leaves my body. “Okay.”
“I need you to promise me something if we do this.”
“What?”
“Promise me you’ll never tell. I could get into a lot of trouble since you’re just now seventeen. I’ll never use you, but I need you to promise you won’t use me either.”
“I promise it’ll never leave my lips.”
His lips instantly go to mine, pressing against them so softly I can barely feel them. “I’ve wanted you for what seems like forever,” he says, and picks me up. I wrap my legs around his waist as he leads me to my bedroom and locks the door behind him.
Words like that I never hear. I’m often not wanted. It sucks, but it’s the life I was given. He wants me, though, and she obviously doesn’t want him either, so I will let him have me instead. It may be wrong, but she has always only cared about herself.
He lays me in the middle of my bed and removes my shorts and panties, baring me completely. His eyes slowly descend my entire body, making me nervous. Does he like what he sees? When he smiles and removes his shirt, I relax a little. “Spread your legs for me.”
“What? Why?”
“I want to see all of you.”
I do as he says. He pushes down his boxers and gets on the bed, his body between my legs. “How many guys have been here?” His fingers brush over my entrance.
“None. I’m still a virgin.”
“You haven’t had sex at all?”
“You asked me if anyone has touched me. I told you no.”
“I thought you meant like cuddled and spent time with you. I just assumed . . . Never mind. You promise you won’t regret this?”
“I’m pretty sure I won’t.”
The tip of his finger starts to rub me. My nerves are making my stomach hurt and I feel nauseous. “Chuck . . .”
“What, beautiful?”
“Can you promise you won’t get me pregnant?”
“Yes. I promise. You don’t have to worry about that with me. I had a vasectomy and I followed up to ensure it worked. I don’t want kids and I can’t afford accidents. I like being in control of who reaps the benefits of my hard-earned money.”
“What’s a vasectomy?”
That word is familiar, but I’m not sure I know what it is.
“I’m shooting blanks. I’ve been snipped. I’m sterile. When I come, it’s just semen, no sperm. It would be impossible for me to get you pregnant.”
“Okay. Are you going to use a condom? I don’t have any.”
“Only if you make me. I do with everyone else so I don’t end up with something I can’t get rid of, but if you’ve never had sex, I know you’re clean. I get tested regularly. It’s up to you.”
“I want you to use one.”
“Okay. Be right back.”
He walks out of the room, leaving me with my thoughts as I stare at the ceiling. I work to breathe evenly, trying to calm down. I’m seventeen now. Just had a birthday this month. Most of the people my age have done this already. They talk about it at school all the time. People assume I have because I have a few tattoos and a belly button ring, but I never waste the breath to tell them otherwise. People are going to believe what they want anyway.
He returns, already rolling it on his dick. I stare at it in his hand, my nerves only getting worse. “Is it going to hurt?”
I’ve never had anyone to talk about this kind of stuff with. I don’t ask Lux certain things because of the way she lost her virginity, and I don’t want to open old wounds for her, so I keep my thoughts to myself. “Probably at first. I’ll be easy.”
He gets back on top of me, his finger returning, and then he slips one inside of me as he places his mouth on my breast. “That feels good.”
He looks at me. “You’re so tight. I might like this too much.”
“Is this going to be a one-time thing?”
“No. It can be our little secret.”
“Okay.”
Something touches me. It’s bigger than his fingertip. He pushes forward a little. My breathing is embarrassingly out of control, but his hand rests against my cheek. My hands go to his waist. “It’s okay to be nervous.”
I nod. He kisses my lips, taking my mind off of it as he pushes inside of me all the way, leaving me in a state of confusion. It doesn’t hurt like I thought it would. He didn’t seem small, leaving me to think that it’s me. No girl wants to be considered loose. That I know for sure. But he said I was tight, the questions returning. I wonder if it’s because I use tampons.
When I don’t make a sound, he begins thrusting in and out of me, his groans already starting as he grips my thigh. He looks at me. “Fuck, you feel so good, baby. I can’t believe this is what I’ve been missing. I don’t think I’m going to ever be able to stop.”
Baby . . . He called me baby. All of the guilt washes away the better it feels. I grow comfortable, wrapping my legs around his solid body and kissing him this time, only harsher. A moan slips through my mouth into his. I like it, regardless of how shitty of a person it makes me.
“Delta!”
I jump at the sound of his voice. “Fuck. What? Is it done?”
I wipe my mouth, ensuring there is nothing embarrassing present . . . like drool. “Damn, Delta. I never took you for a snorer.”
I cut my eyes at Wesson, still looking down at the thigh he’s tattooing. It’s the only gun I hear at the moment. “Shut up. I do not snore.”
“Keep telling yourself that. Meanwhile, I believe you’re wanted in the boss’s office.” He looks up, a goofy-ass grin on his face. He’s the only one of the three stooges in here. “Didn’t anyone tell you that you aren’t supposed to sleep in class or on the job? If he comes back without you, I’ll know you didn’t make it.”
I glance around, realizing Kross is in fact gone, all of his stuff lying on the tray. I reach behind my neck, feeling the taped disposable cloth in place. Damn. I just heard him. I couldn’t have been asleep for that long. Let’s be real. I stand. “How long has he been gone?”
“Him hollering your name in a pissed off fashion was his exit call. May the tattoo gods be with you. Never seen boss man so angry. Not even when Remington got a haircut.”
“I thought you were my friend. You’re going to send me into the lion’s den with no backup?”
The girl he’s tattooing is staring at us through the entire conversation. He continues talking, looking up when he reloads ink. Nosey-ass client. “I think you can handle it. You are the one banging the boss, after all.”
I groan and walk to the door, flipping him off over my shoulder as I open it. “This is how I feel about you right now.”
“You know I would’ve, but you gave it to someone else,” he calls out as I slam the door shut. This should be fun. Who the hell knows what I did. Or what I may have said in my sleep. I’ve been known to be a sleep talker, and walker.
That dream rears its ugly little head at the worst damn time. Thoughts I have sometimes without even attempting to think of them invade my dreams on occasion; unwelcome little bastards. Fuck my life . . .
