Author: Olivia Cunning

“I thought it was the great sex.”

Her flippant comment elicited several stares from nearby tables.

“Well, there’s that too,” Eric said.

After dinner, they walked across the parking lot to the mall. They found the jewelry store, but when they arrived the metal gate was down, and the lights were off.

Rebekah’s heart sank with disappointment. “Closed? How can it be closed? What time is it?”

“It’s after eight,” Eric said.

“Why is it so late?”

Eric lifted his eyebrows.

She made a sound of annoyance. “Of all the days for Isaac to come out of the closet.” She gazed into a display window with longing. Not because she really wanted a ring, but because she wanted the world to see proof that she’d given her heart to Eric. “These are all too girly anyway,” she said, trying to make herself feel better about having to wait at least another day.

Eric chuckled and wrapped an arm around her back to direct her to the parking lot again.

“There’s probably someplace still open that’s more suitable to brand you as mine,” he whispered into her ear.

“Yeah, a tattoo parlor,” she said with an unladylike snort. Once the idea took hold, she grew excited. “Eric!” She grabbed his forearm and stopped walking abruptly. “I want your name as my tramp stamp.” She lifted the back of her shirt and pointed to her lower back. “Right there. Your name and music notes on either side. Maybe some little butterflies.”

“Are you serious, Reb? That’s permanent, you know.”

“I know. You don’t want me to?” She traced a tattoo on his forearm with one finger. It showed a dagger through a skull. It was a beautiful piece of art, but masculine. “Would you rather I get one that matches yours?”

“I would love my name permanently etched on your sexy little back. I could stare at it while…” He lifted her shirt and took a peek at the area in question. “Damn…” he said breathlessly and gave himself a little shake. “Yeah, okay. Let’s go.”

He scooped her into his arms, tossed her over his shoulder, and headed toward his car.

“Right now?”

“Yep. And I’m going to get your name tattooed down the length of my cock.”

“You are not!”

“Yeah, I am.”

She wondered if her name would get bigger when he was hard. She wondered about something else. “How long does it take for a tattoo to heal?”

“Several weeks.”

“Then you won’t be able to have sex for several weeks.”

“You’re right. Forget that then. Where do you want your name?”

She thought for a moment. What was the sexiest part of Eric’s body, besides his cock? That sweet V-shape at his lower belly that disappeared into the waistband of his underwear. That’s where she wanted her name. Then when he held her back against his belly, their names would press together.

“Put me down,” she said. “Let me show you where I want it.”

He gently set her on her feet, and she lifted his T-shirt in front. She pushed the waistband of his jeans lower and traced a swath of bare skin above his underwear. “I want it right here.”

He drew a breath through his teeth. “That is going to hurt.”

“More than it would on your cock?”

He chuckled. “Good point.” He hurried her to the car and opened the door for her. “I know a great artist. He’s done all my ink and the smiley-faced flower on the top of Jace’s foot.”

“Jace has a flower on his foot?”

“Yeah, I got him really drunk. Let’s just say his judgment was impaired. Usually, they won’t tattoo someone when they’re that inebriated, but I’ve known Butch for years. And Jace said it was okay before he passed out. We both got our nipples pierced that night too.”

“Kind of like when girls get their nails done together.”

He looked grievously offended by that comparison. “Uh, no.”

She laughed. “If you say so.”

Eric headed out of the parking lot and drove toward the coast. “As excited as I was to get you a ring, I’m even more excited by the thought of my name tattooed on your skin.”

She smiled. “Me too. My mother is going to hate it.”

Eric’s face fell. “Is that what this is about? Revenge on your mother?”

“Of course not.”

The tattoo parlor was in a quaint strip of old stores a few blocks from the ocean. A cool breeze blew onshore. Rebekah wished she’d brought a sweater. Eric fed a parking meter with quarters while Rebekah waited. He grabbed her hand and led her into The Ink Well—a shady establishment at best. A man, tattooed from neck to toe, looked up from the tattoo he was inking on some guy’s chest.

“Yo, Sticks. Back for more?” the artist called.

“You know I can’t get enough.”

“Who’s the pretty lady?”

“My girlfriend, em…” He glanced at Rebekah. “Fiancée? Can I call you that?” he whispered.

“Do you see a ring on this finger?” She shook her bare, left hand in front of his face.

He sighed. “Still my girlfriend,” he said. “She wants my name tattooed…” He turned her around and lifted her shirt, running a finger along her lower back. “… right there.” He then rubbed his lower belly. “And I want hers right here. Can you squeeze us in right now?”

“Yeah, I’m almost done here.” Butch dabbed the guy’s chest with a towel, removing dots of something red from his skin.

Rebekah winced when she realized the guy under the needle was bleeding.

“Does it hurt?” she whispered to Eric.

“Yeah. In a strange way, it feels good too. Like, you know that itch you can never scratch enough? This scratches it. Do you want me to go first?”

She shook her head. “If I wait, I might chicken out.”

“You’re sure you want this done?”

She looked at him, her heart fluttery with emotions. “Yeah.”

When it was Rebekah’s turn to go under the needle, she explained her vision to the artist, Butch.

“Just his first name? Or first and last?” Butch asked.

“Just Eric in fancy lettering. And maybe a music staff and music notes on either end to bracket it, and tiny, multicolored butterflies above it to make it look feminine.”

Butch nodded, obviously picturing what she wanted in his mind. “I’ll draw up a stencil real quick. See if I can capture what you want. Then we can make adjustments before we make it permanent.”

Rebekah’s tummy fluttered as if she’d swallowed a few of those feminine little butterflies. “Okay,” she croaked.

“I’m going to help him,” Eric said. He handed her a book that had photos of the tattoos Butch had done. “Keep yourself occupied.”

Nervous, she looked through the pages. Butch really was a talented artist. She could tell she was in good hands. Some portraits he’d inked on people looked so real it was as if she were looking at a photograph taped to their skin. Ten minutes later, Butch and Eric returned.

The stenciled drawing he showed her stole her breath. It was perfect! She imagined brides must feel that way when they tried on the wedding dress they were destined to wear for one special day. She was trying on a piece of artwork she would wear for the rest of her life.

“Oh… I love it!” She waved at the tears suddenly in her eyes. She was making a lifelong commitment to this piece of art and the man it represented. Or all the guys named Eric in the world.

Eric ran his finger along the notes drawn on the wavy music staff that tapered into pointed curls on either side of his name. “I’ll play this for you when we get home,” he said.

“Did you write me a real song? I thought it was just for looks.”

“Just a little melody.” He brushed her hair behind her ear and leaned close to whisper, “It means I love you.”

She turned her head to capture his lips in a lingering kiss. “I’m so gonna rock your world when we get home, baby.”

“You always do.” He patted her butt and directed her to the table where Butch was waiting.

She unfastened her jeans and slid them low on her hips so he had more area to work with. He transferred the stencil to her lower back and made her look in the mirror to make sure it was where she wanted it. It looked even better on her skin than on the paper.

“So sexy,” Eric murmured.

Butch laughed. “She’d make any tattoo look sexy. Great-lookin’ woman you’ve got here.”

Rebekah beamed. She never tired of compliments.

While the stencil dried on Rebekah’s lower back, Butch busied himself changing the needle in the little machine that reminded Rebekah of a small gun, only with a big freaking needle sticking out of the end. She was trying to be brave, but her tummy fluttered with nerves.

“Do you want yours to match hers?” Butch asked Eric.

“Less swirls in the lettering and bats instead of butterflies, but yeah.”

Rebekah tensed when Butch dragged the buzzing needle across her skin. It felt like someone was scratching her repeatedly. It didn’t hurt nearly as bad as she’d expected, but adrenaline continuously pumped through her body. Eric held her hand the entire time and kept asking if she was okay.

“Why don’t you try taking my mind off it instead of reminding me that someone is jabbing me with a needle eleventy million times?” she asked testily.

“Sorry.”

“Do you still have that jagged crack I inked between your shoulder blades?” Butch asked Eric.

“Yeah. I haven’t even modified it. Still looks great.”

“That’s the first tattoo I ever did professionally,” Butch said. “How old were you, Eric?”

“Um, fifteen, I think.”

“Yeah, he tried to tell me he was eighteen. I figured he was lying, but I needed the experience, so I put him under the needle.”

“I like that tattoo,” Rebekah said. It looked like a crack in the earth that led to hell. The fingers of a demonic hand protruded from the fiery interior, clinging to the edge of the fissure, as if trying to escape. She sucked a breath through her teeth as the needle passed over bone for the first time. “Ow.” Another surge of adrenaline coursed through her body.

Butch paused to let her catch her breath. “Okay to continue?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

“Your name wasn’t even Sticks back then,” Butch said. “What was it again?”

Rebekah strained her neck to look at Eric. He was scowling.

“Anderson,” he said finally.

“Sticks isn’t your real name?” Rebekah asked. The needle scraped over her spine again. “Ow.”

“Yeah. I had it legally changed when I turned eighteen.”

“Why?”

“Because I didn’t want my mother’s fuckin’ name anymore, that’s why.”

Apparently a testy subject.

“And that design he wanted on his back?” Butch said. “He told me it was a crack in his soul to let the pain escape. Pretty profound for a fifteen-year-old kid.”

“You have a big mouth, Butch,” Eric grumbled.

“You haven’t told her any of this stuff? No wonder she’s willing to have your name inked across her back.”

“The past can’t be changed,” she said. “The future can’t be predicted. All we really have is the present. So none of that matters to me.”

“Isn’t she perfect?” Eric murmured.

“It’s about time you found the perfect girl,” Butch teased. “You’re practically an old man.”