Page 56 of The Heart Breaker

“Did it hurt?” she asks, watching me with a smirk. “Giving me a compliment?”

She just can’t help being a brat who drives me insane, huh?

I arch a brow. “Just because I don’t like you doesn’t mean your art isn’t good.”

Her brows lift, some of the snark slipping for half a second, and instead of snapping back, she just presses her lips into a line and says, “Well… thanks.”

I peel the stencil paper away and study the ink left on her skin, checking the lines, making sure everything is clean and in the right position.

“Alright,” I say, rolling my chair back a little. “Go look in the mirror. Make sure you like the placement.”

She stands and walks over to the full-length mirror in nothing but that tiny pair of black cotton panties and a black top. I keep my eyes on my machine, pretending I’m not aware of every step she takes.

When I finally glance up, she’s turned slightly, studying her reflection. She doesn’t say anything, just turns around and walks back to the bed.

“Everything alright?” I ask her, rolling my chair back into position.

She just nods, refusing to give me even the slightest compliment. I just huff out a laugh and adjust her leg, stretching it out, twisting her slightly.

I move to her side, the familiar hum of the machine starting up.

“Last chance to run,” I say, looking up at her one more time. “This is gonna sting.”

She glances over her shoulder and holds my gaze. “I don’t run.”

I snap my gum and line up the needle, letting the familiar buzz roll through the room and settle under my skin. I love this part, love the way the ink bites clean into skin and marks it, love hearing the machine hum and everything else in my head quiet down long enough for me to breathe.

Today, though, it’s a fight not to notice every time my hand brushes her thigh.

My hand brushes the inside of her thigh as I position her, and the contact is electric in a way I hate. Her skin is warm. Too warm. And my brain keeps replaying other ways I’ve touched her, other sounds she’s made because of me—none of which are helpful right now.

I force my attention to the stencil, carving one line at a time but I glance up as she lets out a little noise when the needle digsinto a tender spot, watching as she breathes through her nose, refusing to show that she’s in pain.

I wipe away excess ink and pause, sitting back a little, raising an eyebrow at her. “Need a break?”

She shakes her head too quickly. “I’m good.”

She’s tough as hell. Thigh tattoos are painful—probably my most painful tattoo—and she’s just taking it. I lean in again, steadying her thigh with my free hand, dragging the needle along the curve of the design. She’s stiff under my palm, her muscles locked tight, and I pause when I hear another sound slip out of her.

I roll my chair back under the pretense of swapping needles and wiping down my station, giving her a breather before she passes out. I might not like her, but that doesn’t mean I want to watch her cry out in pain.

She clears her throat when I turn back around a few minutes later. “Who did your first tattoo?”

The question catches me off guard, because Aurora doesn’t give a fuck about me. I know this. But when I glance up and see her eyes squeezed shut, I realize she just needs noise to distract her from the pain.

I lower the needle back to her skin. “Remember that sketchy bar behind the grocery store in Oakwood?”

She lets out a strained little “mhmm,” with her eyes still shut, breathing a touch too fast.

“There’s a tattoo spot underground,” I say, shading in one of the thorns. “I went on my sixteenth birthday. Guy didn’t ask how old I was. Didn’t care.”

“Sixteen?” Her voice wavers a little. “Why that young?”

I glance up as she lets out a gasp when the needle digs into her hip bone. “Always wanted one,” I mutter, going back to the linework. “Didn’t feel like waiting another two years.”

I dip the needle again, working along the curve of her thigh, stopping every few inches to wipe and check the stencil, make sure I’m following the lines she drew.

“Are you… almost done?” she asks eventually, her voice coming out between shaky breaths.