Page 55 of The Heart Breaker

What is it about Aurora that turns grown men into weak little puppies?

My jaw tightens as Halloween flashes in the back of my skull. Her hands climbing up my chest, making mebeg, and me being the idiot who did.

Guess I fell for her trap, too. I let her sink her fangs in and pump me full of venom. That’s the only explanation for why she’s still in my head when I made it perfectly clear this shit between us was done. Over. Never happening again.

My dick clearly didn’t get that memo, because it gives a traitorous twitch in my jeans just from looking at her.

My fingers curl so hard my knuckles ache. There’s a rational part of me that knows I don’t have a claim over her. Knows she doesn’t owe me shit. But there’s another part that sees her with anyone else and wants to smash something, that wants to mark her in ways that never wash out, wants to make sure she remembers exactly who made her fall apart first.

I cross the floor, and they both glance up as I approach, but I try my hardest to keep my eyes on Alex.

“I’ll take her,” I say.

He blinks, flicking his eyes from me to her, then back at me, confusion written all over his face. “What? Dude, I’m?—”

I hold his stare instead of repeating myself. His gaze cuts to Aurora, then back to me, and sighs, muttering something about taking a smoke break.

Aurora folds her arms, one brow arching in a way that does absolutely nothing to help the fact that all I can think about is shoving her up against the nearest wall. “I didn’t ask for you, Ellis.”

“Too bad,” I mutter, working my gum between my teeth as I turn and head for my workroom. “You’re stuck with me.”

I don’t bother checking whether she actually follows. She’d be smart to turn around and walk right back out, find some other artist who hasn’t had his hands on her before. Someone who doesn’t have a head full of memories he’s trying to drown.

But when I push the door open and step inside, I glance back and there she is, hovering in the doorway, like she’s debating whether walking away or walking toward me is the bigger mistake.

I lift a brow and jerk my chin toward the chair. “Sit down.”

She holds my gaze for a second, defiant as ever, then drops into the chair with a little huff, crossing one leg over the other.

I exhale through my nose, shut the door behind us, and move to my station, dropping into my stool. I tug my gloves on, snapping the elastic at my wrist, and start opening the ink, checking the needle. I focus on my job, not on the fact that the last time she was in here, I kicked her out because I couldn’t handle how close she was. How all I could see was her on that stage in lingerie, grinding on my lap.

Now I’ve seen every inch of her. Fucked her. Tasted her. And I’m never doing that again. So yeah, I can do this. I can keep it professional. I can put ink on her skin without losing my mind.

I can hear my own pulse in my ears while I pull up the sketch I’d saved on my iPad from the last time she was here. I print it, cut the stencil, lay everything out on the tray, and then finally look at her.

“Do you need numbing cream?” I ask her. “Last thing I need is you whining before I’m even done.”

She scoffs, flicking a strand of hair behind her shoulder. “No,” she says, shooting me a glare. “I don’t want numbing cream.”

Of course she doesn’t. She’d rather die than show weakness.

I chew my gum, roll my chair in, and my eyes drop to her denim jeans. “You’re going to have to take those off.”

She keeps her eyes on me as she lifts her ass off the bed and tugs her jeans down, leaving her in a tiny black thong.

Jesus.Keep it together. I’ve seen plenty of women and men practically naked on my tattoo bed before. This is nothing new.Except with every one of them, it was just a job. I kept shit professional and didn’t give a single fuck. But with her… I’ve seen what’s underneath that scrap of fabric. Tasted it. Been inside of it. And I’m trying really hard to remind myself I don’t ever want to go there with her again.

I turn my head and sanitize my hands again out of habit, and when I turn around, she’s out of her jeans and has tugged the strap of the thong up her hip. I chew harder, grinding my teeth, and slowly press the stencil against her upper thigh, smoothing it over her skin. Goosebumps break out under my gloves the second I touch her, and I pretend I don’t notice. I need to stop noticing shit about her.

“You draw this yourself?” I ask, smoothing down the top along her hip bone.

Her gaze drops to her thigh, brows drawing together. “Yeah.”

“Looks cool,” I mutter.

She lets out a disbelieving little huff. “Wow,” she says, shaking her head.

I glance up, my brows tugging together. “What?”