Page 8

Chapter 8

Giselle

H udson knows I’m lying. It’s written all over the smirk dancing about his lips.

Shit.

It doesn’t help that my heart won’t stop racing with pure excitement, like I’m little girl on Christmas morning all over again.

Heavy footsteps sound across the wood flooring, followed by a gruff voice.

“You’re early, H.”

I watch as Charlie, the man whose about to tattoo me, pats Hudson on the back in a friendly manner.

“I came to support a friend.” Hudson grins, all boyish charm. I hate myself for wanting to smack the look off his face with my lips.

“I’m going to take a wild stab in the dark and guess you two know each other then?” Charlie wags his finger between Hudson and me.

“We work together, don’t we, Giselle?” Hudson takes another sip of whatever is in his mug. Maybe it’s tea, maybe it’s vodka. Either way, I know which one I would rather be throwing back like a shot right about now.

“You found a new place, then?”

“Yeah.” Hudson nods. “I’ve been there nearly a month now.”

God, has it really been that long since I spotted Hudson peeking through the window of my dance studio?

“Good for you, man.” Charlie grins. “You sitting in the room with her?”

“I don’t know…” Hudson turns his full attention to me, causing me to shiver. “Can I sit in the room with you, Gee?”

I nod before I know it.

“Follow me to the back then, you two.” Charlie gestures to the only open studio door. “I just need to grab some more paper towels and some black ink. Won’t be a minute. Hop up onto the bed, Giselle.”

I duck inside, Hudson following, shutting the door behind him with a click, until there’s just the two of us. I frown to myself when I realise, I’m not unhappy about it.

Hopping onto the plastic coated bed, I find myself unable to tear my gaze away as Hudson grabs the spare chair beside me, spinning it around to straddle it before he sits.

I trace his visible tattoos – the ones sprawling up his muscular biceps, which are straining tight against the material of his t-shirt – with my eyes, noticing the whorls of colour and the harsh edges.

It’s Hudson who breaks the silence between us first, his pointer finger reaching out to trace the tattoo on my inner right wrist. “Pretty.”

I can’t repress the outbreak of goosebumps that erupt in his wake or the way my lashes seem to flutter closed in barely contained delight.

What the hell is going on with my body every time it comes into any sort of proximity with this man?

He makes my heart race, my stomach swoop, my nipples pucker in my bralette and my core pulse with a warm, wet heat.

“Thank you. It’s the dates of my parent’s birthday’s.” I stare down at the intertwined dates, looped into the shape of an infinity symbol with a lock and key in the centre.

“Did Charlie draw it?”

I nod wordlessly. I’ve never gone to anyone else for my ink. Charlie is one of the best in the business, and with the help of social media, he’s popular too. I had to make this booking months in advance, scrimping and saving my pay checks to be able to afford the artwork.

“And this one?”

I peer down at my second tattoo Hudson is looking at. Inked onto my inner forearm is a 3D heart; the kind adults pass around at Halloween and even though they taste of equal measures sherbet and chalk, you still unwrap the cellophane to read the message embossed on the front before letting it fizzle away on your tongue.

‘R U Mine’ is delicately inked inside of the heart, the letters perfectly bold and crisp. Just the way I wanted them to look.

“Yeah, Charlie did that one too. It’s my favourite song from—”

Hudson reels off the famous name of my favourite band before I have time to say it.

“You a fan?”

He nods.

“Favourite song?”

“505,” he answers without hesitation. “If I was to get any lyrics from a song tattooed on me… it would be something from that song.”

Hudson tiptoes his fingertips up my inner forearm, tickling ever so slightly, as I sing the song in my head, each and every provocative word – talk of hands wandering between thighs and wrapping around their lover’s neck – dripping between my ears.

I shift in the leather chair as my pussy throbs in response to his gentle touch, uncrossing and then crossing my ankles so I can squeeze my thighs together and give myself some chance of reprieve.

Those dangerously pretty green eyes of Hudson’s track the movement, lingering on my lower half as if he can see me tensing. I wonder if he knows I’m throbbing for him. That my body is as highly strung for him as I was the night I shoved the pillow between my legs, and bought myself to orgasm from a photograph.

Fucking hell…

Hudson drapes himself further along the back of the chair, placing his now empty mug on the table beside the us and then brings his face closer to mine. “So, what are you getting done today?”

I swallow dryly. “I’m—”

“That should do it,” Charlie says loudly on his return. Too loudly for my liking, as if he’s purposefully making his presence known less Hudson and I are mid-fuck behind the closed door.

My core spasms again at the sheer thought.

Charlie folds himself to sit down on his stool, picking up his tattooing gun and begins to change the ink cartridge. He snaps on a fresh pair of latex gloves, picks a clean wipe from the crinkly pack to sanitise my skin with and then turns to me.

“Whip off your shirt Giselle and we can get to applying the stencil.”

Hudson is so close beside me, his arm grazing mine, that I feel him tense up.

I flick my eyes to Charlie, whose too busy adding an extra bit of shading to my tattoo stencil to notice, and then back to Hudson. His dark pupils are blown wide, leaving only a slice of green around the edges.

Crunching my abs together, I hold Hudson’s stare as I sit up, my fingertips reaching for the hem of my plain black long-sleeved t-shirt. Slowly, and with my more care than I usually would give removing my clothes, I peel the soft material upwards, feeling the cold air kiss the skin of my lower stomach… tummy button… up the ladder of my ribcage… and finally the ridiculously sensitive skin of my collarbones.

When my shirt gets stuck around my neckline, I give it a harsher tug, obscuring my face while I desperately try to free myself from it’s confines.

I jolt when a second pair of hands, warm but calloused, join mine, smoothing over the bare skin of my chest and then pulling my tight shirt up and over my head in one smooth motion.

Hudson’s eyes are practically black, the whole ring of his iris swallowed up, as our eyes catch once again. Except now he holds my clothes in his obviously very capable hands and I’m almost naked from the waist up, nothing but my thin bralette covering my nipples.

“If I was a better man, an honest gentleman, I’d ignore that little show you’ve just put on, Giselle,” Hudson whispers lowly. If Charlie can hear, he pretends not to be able to. “So, it’s a good job I never claimed to be.”

As his words pour from his lips, Hudson’s eyes dip from my body on purpose – the sweet curve of my neck, my heaving chest, my puckered nipples…

I wish I could say they were standing to attention because of the cold air in the studio room, but both Hudson and I know that’s not true.

He’s the reason why.

No matter how much I wish he wasn’t.

In any other lifetime, Hudson would have been exactly the type of man I’d gravitate towards. Tall, handsome, cheeky… He’d tick all of my boxes and the way the universe had just thrown us together would have seemed like fate. Maybe we’d have dated for a while, fallen madly in love, and been happy. Maybe I’d have a ring on my finger within a year of us knowing each other and we’d spending our evenings in bed discussing baby names and who we think they’d look like.

But it’s all just a fantasy.

Reality isn’t like that. In fact, she’s the biggest bitch I’ve ever had the displeasure of meeting.

Because it isn’t an engagement ring on my finger, or even a wedding band, no, it’s my golden ring to remind me of my celibacy and why I’ve chosen to follow this path.

Maybe any other girl, celibate or not, wouldn’t have an issue with sleeping with Hudson. But I do. He’s a playboy, I’ve seen it with my own eyes and that’s not what I need. It’s not what I know I deserve. I’m not willing to give myself away to someone whose most likely just going to be done with me after we spend the night together.

Even if my body vehemently disagrees with me.

I wholeheartedly meant what I told him about us not sleeping together, even if, yes, I have thought about it and imagined it one too many times to be appropriate.

It’s not the proper thing to do to keep teasing him, playing along with the game he’s created, all the while knowing I can’t give myself to him.

I need to stop. I need to stay away.

But every drop of willpower I thought I possessed seems to have disappeared.

“Lie back, Giselle,” Charlie directs, holding aloft the thin piece of paper containing the stencil of my tattoo.

The leather material of the reclining chair, with the easy wipe down plastic wrap covering, sticks to my shoulder blades as I lie down, gathering strands of my hair out of the way.

Charlie leans over me, placing the stencil down on my sternum, in the space between either of my breasts. Once he’s smoothed down the edges, so they won’t lift and smudge the outline, he reaches for a small handheld mirror.

“Are you happy with that placement?”

I stare at myself in the mirror, ignoring the pink flush overtaking the apples of my cheeks in favour of staring at my breastbone. Soon, the space on my skin will no longer be bare and unless I’m willing to go through the pain of lasering off the tattoo, or paying more hard-earned cash for a cover-up, I need to make sure the placement of my third fine line tattoo is pretty much perfect.

“Can we move it a little bit to the right?” I ask politely, wanting my fresh ink to be dead in the centre.

With nimble fingertips, Charlie gently peels the stencil from my skin, wipes away the ink left behind with a cool cloth and then repositions the paper back onto my skin an inch more to the right.

“There?”

I nod. “Perfect.”

The hum of Charlie’s tattoo gun starts up again as he peels away the paper for the second time and presses the tip to my skin.

“I’m going to start, okay? You let me know if you need a breather or some water.”

I inhale sharply as the first painful pricks of the ink dripping needle pierce my flesh. The studio room smells mostly of something antiseptic hanging in the air, with a tinge of the perfume I dabbed onto my wrists before I left my apartment. But now, with Hudson sitting beside me, my shirt still in his hands, I can smell the citrusy scent of his aftershave too.

Swallowing dryly, I breathe heavily, but slowly, through my nose, gritting my teeth as Charlie creates the first curve of my soon-to-be lotus flower.

His head is lowered over my bra cladded chest, eyes fixated on the point of his needle. It’s hard not to watch him. Not because I’m attracted to him, certainly not – for one he’s married, for two Charlie isn’t my type – but simply because it’s obvious how much he loves his job, how much he loves creating and bringing people’s ideas to life. He’s a true artist at work.

“Eyes on me… not on him, Giselle.”

Is he…

Is he kidding?

What a possessive arsehole.

And yet… I kind of like it, if the thrill running through my veins has anything to say about it.

Whatever power Hudson holds over my body, has me sliding my eyes to him without a second thought.

He sits in the chair, legs spread wide on either side, gaze focused on me.

I don’t know why I find his posture so masculine, something so intensely… man … but I do, and I can’t seem to get enough.

“You okay, Giselle?” Hudson asks.

It’s all I can do but nod, the pain not allowing me to speak.

My hands grip the edges of the chair, nails digging into the plastic so hard I’ll not be surprised if they snap in half. I’ve had a fair few tattoos inked on me before but this one feels like I’m being stabbed repeatedly.

Maybe it’s because of its placement, right on my bone?

Or maybe it’s because I’ve used up the entirety of my pain threshold getting the other two tattoos inked into my skin?

But either way, it’s fucking killing and I’m doing everything in my power not to scream out loud.

Warm fingertips peel my left hand away from the chair, intertwining our hands.

“Squeeze away,” Hudson says with a small smile.

“Do you need to stop?” Charlie asks, sensing my discomfort.

“No,” I grit out. I just want it over and done with. “Keep going.”

Using Hudson’s large hand as a stress ball, I pinch his flesh hard, watching as it turns white and mottled from lack of blood flow. But he doesn’t complain, in fact he doesn’t say a word about it even though I’m squeezing the blood supply out of him.

“Hudson, talk to me.” I inhale raggedly. “Tell me something to take my mind off the pain.”

“Like what?”

“Anything,” I hear myself pant. “What’s your family like.”

“Loud.” A large smile dances its way across his lips. “I’m one of four. All boys. I’m the baby of the family.”

I hope it doesn’t show on my face that I already know about his brothers because of the social media stalking I’d done a couple of weeks back.

“Are you close?”

He bobs his head. “Very. When we’re not trying to kill each other, that is. I’m close to both of my parents too. Mum makes a roast dinner every Sunday, so I take the train up to see everyone. It’s loud and chaotic, but I wouldn’t change it for the world. What about you?”

“I’m close to mine too, but I’m an only child… unless I’ve got a hidden sibling out there, I don’t know about.”

Hudson laughs, rubbing the pad of his thumb across my knuckles in an attempt to further distract me from the pain.

I’ve got to admit it working, but only because all I can focus on is the feel of his skin against mine, the feel of him touching me, holding me, just like he did when he was spotting behind me.

Embarrassment washes through me as I remember my almost fall.

God, it had been a couple of days ago now, but I’m still not over it.

Why did it have to happen to me? Why did it have to happen in a packed gym? Why did it have to happen with Hudson behind me trying to give a demonstration to his client? It wasn’t like I hadn’t squatted that amount of weight before, or that I was on my period and loosing extra blood, or that I hadn’t had enough sugar intake that day.

I’d been fine, felt fine, until all of a sudden, the world was pitching on its side and the ground was moving upwards to kiss the palms of my hands.

“You’re blushing.”

“No shit sherlock,” I say in reflex. My hands would usually fly up to feel the heat permeating my face, but I can’t, because one is still gripping the chair while the other has been captured by Hudson.

Another guffaw escapes him. “Why are you blushing, Giselle?”

My scoff is riddled with a quiver as Charlie hits another particularly painful part of my breastbone. “Like I’m going to tell you.”

“Am I the cause of said blushing?”

I narrow my watering eyes at Hudson. He’s playing pretend innocence, like a choir boy, when we all know – Charlie included – that his facade couldn’t be any farther from the truth.

“I’m not telling.”

“That’s a yes, then.”

“Shut up— fuck .”

Charlie lifts his needle away from my skin at the sound of my expletive. “Need a break?”

I swallow but my mouth feels like it’s full of cotton wool. My hand is shaking, cupped safely in Hudson’s palm. “Maybe. Just a little one.”

Nodding, Charlie pushes back on his stool and stands. “I’ll go get you a sugary drink from the fridge. Hudson, want anything, mate?”

“Nah. I’m fine, thank you.”

For the second time this evening, Charlie disappears, leaving Hudson and I alone.

“This has never happened to me before.”

Hudson’s thumb rubs along the webbed lines of my thumb and forefinger. “It’s alright. It’s happened to me before, it’ll pass, it’s just a mixture of adrenaline and the release of chemicals in your body because of your pain receptors. Your body is just trying to protect itself the best way it knows how.”

“That… actually kind of makes sense.”

“Mhm…” he hums. “Do your feet ever stop moving?”

Peering down, I watch my wriggling my toes and ankles. They’d been growing dead from laying down so long, so I’ve been keeping them moving to encourage proper blood circulation.

“Not really.” I laugh. “My mum says I’ve always had dancing feet. Even before I was born.”

“Is that why you took up dancing?”

I nod. “I didn’t really have much choice at three-years old, when Mum decided to put me in baby ballet classes, but apparently, I loved it. As I got older, any opportunity to dance, I took. My cousins and I used to make up our own routines and perform them in front of our family, mainly so we could ask them for a favour, usually a sleepover and a bucket of ice cream each.”

“Did it work?”

I grin. “Sometimes.”

“Did you always know you wanted to teach dance?”

“Always.”

“So why not set up your own dance company? You could have your own studio, not just at the gym and—”

“I’d love to, Hudson, but I don’t have the funds… Yet,” I tack on the end. “I don’t come from a wealthy family so I can’t borrow something they don’t have and I’m working on my credit score but it’s still a long way away from being good enough that I could get a loan. I have a savings pot, but… it’ll happen when it happens.”

“One sugary glass of pop.” Charlie makes his return at the perfect time, handing me a cold glass filled with a distinct orange coloured fizzy drink inside. The bubbles fly up my nose, but I force down a few sips and return to my supine position.

Hudson stays silent but doesn’t pull his hand away as Charlie begins tattooing me again, flicking his eyes between my face and the patch of black ink forming the shape of a lotus flower and moon on my skin.

With a final scribble of shading, Charlie finally declares he’s finished. Thank fuck . I’m not sure I could take much more. He hands the mirror to me again, so I can see my tattoo before he wraps it up.

“I love it,” I gush, grinning. “Thank you, Charlie.”

He smiles, stripping off his latex gloves and throwing them into the waste basket in the corner. “You’re welcome. Sit up and I’ll wrap it. Do you need me to run through the aftercare steps again?”

I shake my head, holding out my palm for Hudson to hand me back my t-shirt.

“Arms up, then.” Charlie comes at me with a roll of plastic wrap, tearing a portion off and beginning to tape it between my breasts. It takes a bit of manoeuvring to slip my shirt back over my head, mainly because my hands are still a little shaky, but eventually my head pops out of the neckline, and I can roll the soft fabric down to cover my bralette and stomach.

I slurp back the rest of my carbonated drink and swing my legs from the chair, happy to be able to walk off the cramp slowly building in both of my calves.

“Are you feeling okay?” Charlie asks.

“Yep, all good. I can feel the shakes starting to wear off now.”

“That’ll be the release of adrenaline slowing down. Did Freya take your payment in full for the ink?”

I bob my head.

“Great. Don’t forget the aftercare steps and if there’s any problems, just give us a call. Alright?”

“I will do. See you—”

“Stay,” Hudson interrupts. “Stay while I get tattooed and then…”

I pause, waiting for whatever he was going to say next. “And then…?”

Hudson’s lips tick up at the corner. That faux boyish innocence is back on his face “I’m going to need someone to hold my hand.”

“Charlie can do it.”

Both men erupt into loud laughter.

“Abso-fucking-lutely not,” Charlie chuckles.

“His hands are nowhere near as soft as yours.” Hudson pouts. “Come on, Giselle, distract me from the pain he’s about to put me through.”

“You’re about to put yourself through,” I correct, feeling my feet moving beneath me without a second thought.

Hudson shrugs those broad shoulders of his. “Either way, the feel of your hands on me is going to be worth any pain.”

I swing the chair Hudson had been lounging on to face the correct way and sit, desperately trying to ignore his residual body heat now flowing along the backs of my thighs. “Even if I was the one hurting you?”

“I’m sure I told you before Giselle, but if you need reminding… any way you want me, I’ll take it.”