Page 4 of Inked Desires

ANDREW

Even though he asked me yesterday to bring something to eat, he neither looked at the burger nor said a word about it.

He simply slipped away to the back, never to reappear.

I wanted to say goodbye, but once again, he left me facing a mystery.

His workspace is empty, and I feel like he vanished as easily as a ghost.

Something’s slipping past me.

This morning, there’s not much to do.

I stare at my coffee cup, hoping for some kind of revelation.

Maybe I should go check on Ares in the back; after all, I don’t even know my salary yet, though I’d probably settle for scraps anyway.

And if I dig deeper, it suits me—so far, he hasn’t asked for my social security number or ID, which lets me avoid lying by making up nonsense since I have neither.

Honestly, I prefer the tax office to ignore this job. If I showed up in official files, Jace could find me. And that’s absolutely not happening.

Footsteps echo in the room.

I look up; Ares wears the mask I’ve grown used to—cold, distant, and impassive.

“Hello,” I say, forcing a smile despite everything.

“Close the shop and come with me to the back,” he orders.

“Why?” I ask, puzzled.

He crosses his arms and steps closer. A slight nervousness washes over me—his movements intimidate me, but it’s mostly his proximity that unsettles me. His scent floods me, evoking a forest walk and absolute serenity—sensations that have become completely foreign. My body freezes as I realize how much his physical presence affects me, even without touch.

“You want to get rid of that horror on your neck, don’t you?”

Relief floods me. I hadn’t thought he’d agree to help. To be honest, I’d long hesitated to cover that mark engraved in my flesh. It might be my only chance to survive. If Jace finds out I erased it, he could kill me—or worse.

But I have to free myself. I don’t belong to him anymore. I refuse to keep displaying that humiliation to the world.

Once the shop is closed, I head to the studio. Unease creeps in as I spot the tattoo machine. Memories of my last experience come rushing back. I was tied to the bed, unable to move, while a needle tortured my skin. I screamed in pain, but Jace, unbothered, kept working, ignoring my pleas.

I close my eyes for a moment to banish that image, then take a deep breath. This time it’s different. It’s my decision. My choice.

“Take off your shirt,” orders Ares.

I furrow my brows and slip my hands into my pockets.

“I want a tattoo on my neck, not on my back,” I reply.

Ares sighs deeply. His look tells me he won’t accept any argument.

“The new piece will extend to your shoulder blades to cover every letter underneath,” he explains in a lecturing tone, as if I’m a child.

I realize with surprise that only Jace has seen my bare skin, especially my back. He made sure to leave his mark on every inch.

With an annoyed sigh, I grab the hem of my black T-shirt and yank it off in one motion. I just want to get it over with quickly. When I lift my eyes, I see Ares staring at my chest. His jaw is clenched, his gaze glowing, making me shiver.

Embarrassed, I rub my forehead.

“Stop looking at me like I killed your firstborn,” I murmur nervously.

Ares growls in annoyance before lifting his eyes to meet mine.

“Lie down on the table,” he orders.

He tilts the backrest so I can lean on it and hold on if the pain gets too intense.

I turn my back to him, and suddenly a rumble behind me makes me jump. That’s exactly why I hide my back from others.

“What the hell is this?” he growls.

Ignoring his tone, I simply settle on the table.

“I fell,” I say.

Another lie. Nothing new.

“On an iron?” he snaps.

My eyes burn. A lump forms in my throat, choking my breath. I try to control my breathing to avoid collapsing. I need to keep my cool.

“I wasn’t paying attention,” I nod. “I tripped over the cord.”

“Let me guess: the yellow stains on your skin, they’re from that fall too?”

“Exactly.”

I feel movement just behind me. He ignores the chair next to me, and I sense his warmth spreading directly on my skin when his fingertips brush my spine. My legs tremble again under his attention.

“Why are you lying to me?” he whispers near my ear, his breath caressing me.

The trembling turns into vibrations invading my whole being. My heart, pounding heavily in my chest, seems crushed by his closeness. This sensation is new, devoid of fear or disgust, leaving only a deep, unknown desire.

I rest my forehead on the headrest. My breathing has sped up, and I don’t want him to misinterpret my body’s reaction.

“I’m not lying,” I whisper.

“I hate liars,” he mutters in a rough voice. “Nobody falls so precisely on an iron that the imprint is perfectly recognizable. Ignore my question if you want, but don’t lie to me. Ever.”

His fingers travel down further, discovering a scar on my left side just above my waist. Gently, he traces its contours. The wound healed long ago, unlike the yellow streaks on my back.

They didn’t come from the same punishment.

It was another day.

Another fault.

Jace always touched that spot as a warning. He wanted me to remember the consequences if I disobeyed.

When Ares softly strokes that scar, I perceive no malicious intent in his gesture. On the contrary, a myriad of shivers runs through my veins. The intoxicating scent of his perfume envelops me, chasing away the bad memories. All that matters now is the touch of his fingers brushing my skin tenderly.

Yet, in a way, I should hate myself for letting a man touch me again. I sold my soul to the devil once—I know what it feels like to burn my wings, again and again.

“You haven’t shown me the design,” I whisper, pulling him back to reality.

“Trust me.”

“I trust no one,” I spit instinctively.

“I’m not going to tattoo my name on your neck,” he replies.

The moment I feel a blade glide along my skin to shave the tiny hairs, I understand the discussion is over for him. His movements are meticulous, precise. He applies a compress on my skin, places the stencil, then carefully removes it.

Jace hadn’t taken any precautions. He simply freehanded before mercilessly hammering me with the needle.

The buzzing of the tattoo machine fills the room. My fingers clutch the chair’s leather as all feeling of safety abandons me.

“Relax,” he whispers close by.

His voice manages to soothe my muscles a bit, but my hands refuse to let go. I dread the pain, remembering how unbearable it was last time. I grit my teeth, waiting for the needle to pierce my flesh.

But when the first line is drawn, it’s not pain that overwhelms me. It’s something else. An emptiness. An image I’d buried brutally resurfaces.

A white cloth. Forced darkness. The smell of worn leather.

I couldn’t see. Jace wouldn’t let me see. He said I didn’t need my eyes, that my only purpose was to be useful, to do what he expected without questions. The cloth wrapped around my head, erasing me from the world. An object—that’s what I had become. A puppet shaped according to his desires.

My breathing quickens. I’m here, in this tattoo parlor. Not back there. Jace isn’t here. I see that.

“Andrew?”

Ares stops his movement. He watches me, concerned.

I struggle to regain control. I’m no longer that blinded kid.

“Keep going,” I say in a hoarse voice.

“Are you okay?” he asks, his voice piercing through my emotional bubble.

“Yes,” I whisper. “From now on, everything will be fine.”

I let myself be carried away by the sensation of the needle, a salvation transforming my past. The fear I felt slowly fades, replaced by a strange inner peace.

Ares stays silent, focused on his work. I try not to move, so I don’t disturb him. My eyes open and catch his reflection in the mirror. His hair, slicked back neatly, reveals a face more relaxed than usual. He looks younger, almost vulnerable.

Ares is an attractive man. If I hadn’t been broken by men, maybe I would have tried to flirt with him. The scar on his cheek gives him a threatening air, and his dark aura draws me like a moth to a flame.

Yet, I know it’s an illusion to believe anyone can be changed. No one — especially a bad boy — deserves sacrificing our own well-being. I’ve learned that the hard way, because of my inexplicable attraction to these complex individuals.

Despite myself, one question nags me: what has he been through to become so distant and cold?

I close my eyes again. I shouldn’t dwell on such thoughts. My time here is limited. Better not to get attached. And if I don’t want him digging into my past, then I must leave his alone.

“You need a break,” he exclaims, setting down the tattoo machine.

“No, keep going,” I say quickly, stopping him.

“You need to eat something. We’ve been here for four hours.”

Surprised, I turn my head. It’s true, time slipped away from me completely.

“Your burger’s in the fridge,” he informs me. “You didn’t eat anything yesterday either.”

Ares relaxes his shoulders, and I notice his chest move under his T-shirt.

Suddenly, my lips dry out.

When I moisten them with my tongue, his gaze shifts to the mirror, following the movement.

He exhales loudly, shakes his head, and stands up.

As he turns his back, I notice his hand sliding between his legs.

A wave of heat rushes over me.

I sigh nervously. What’s happening to me? Ares is undeniably sexy, but usually men leave me indifferent. I was raised not to feel anything for others. So why this stir inside me?

He hands me a chocolate bar. My eyes involuntarily drop lower. The bulge in his jeans is impossible to ignore. He’s hard. Apparently, he’s not immune either.

“I don’t like sweets,” I say, shaking my head.

“You don’t like chocolate?”

I feel my cheeks flush. Yes, I’m one of those rare people who don’t like it.

“I prefer savory,” I admit.

His jaw tightens. He huffs and puts the bar aside.

“You should think about what you say,” he mutters to himself before leaving the room.

My cheeks burn redder at the thought that my words might have been misunderstood. I didn’t mean it as an invitation, but well...

He comes back carrying two plates, each with half a burger.

“It won’t be as good as yesterday’s, but it’ll do,” he explains.

I sit up on the table and take one plate. The burger’s cold, with a slight fridge taste, but it calms my trembling.

“Can I see your work?” I ask after finishing my part.

“I’m not done yet.”

I roll my head. My bones crack after so long stillness.

“I just want to take a look,” I insist.

Ares nods, takes my plate, and heads to the sink to wash his hands thoroughly before continuing. Suddenly, something catches my attention.

“You’re not wearing gloves to tattoo?”

He stops, freezes instantly. Then shuts off the water and dries his hands with a towel.

“Do my hands on your body bother you?”

Dry throat, short breath, I search for an answer that escapes me. It’s not his hands that hold me, but the weight of what it means to me. Memories explode, dull blows echo, fingers grip too tight, cruel whispers.

“No,” I whisper, voice strangled.

His nostrils flare. He closes his eyes for a moment, nods, then reopens them.

“Good,” he replies simply.

He comes back to me.

“Turn around,” he orders.

His voice triggers an irresistible reflex: obedience. I bring my right leg onto the table to turn my back to him. Once again, he ignores the chair beside me and sits right behind me.

He resumes his work. His fingers first glide along my spine down to my tailbone, then veer off to find my scar precisely. His scent envelops and holds me. I hate myself for it, but I only breathe deeply and let myself go with his movements. I mustn’t show anything.

The buzzing of the tattoo machine resumes, and the needle attacks my neck again to finish its work. We remain silent. The pain doesn’t intensify; it stays a rhythmic tingling that paradoxically frees me. This ink returns a part of myself that Jace had stolen. I finally belong to myself, and no one else. Ares probably has no idea what he’s giving me right now. I won’t tell him, but my gratitude is immense.

“It’s done,” he says, turning off the machine.

He stands and offers me his hand. I place my fingers in his, accepting the gesture. My back straightens, and a slight moan escapes me as a shiver runs through me. A deep vibration travels from his palm to my arm. I look up. Ares stares at me with an almost bestial intensity. I bite my lips before slowly standing, removing my palm from his.

This isn’t normal. I don’t usually react this way to men. But deep down, what do I know? I’ve spent my life chained.

I shake my head and walk toward the mirror, turning my back to its smooth surface, trying to regain control of my emotions.

Ares, meanwhile, composes himself and hands me a handheld mirror, finally letting me admire his work.

It’s beautiful. Three black and white roses adorn my neck. The leaves stretch down to the base of my shoulder blades, the tips of the foliage brushing my shoulders. My eyes fill with tears. I am finally free of this burden.

“Thank you,” I whisper, moved.

“Do you like it?”

I watch his reflection. Ares plays nervously with the tips of his hair. It strangely soothes me. His distant, dark side gives him an unreachable air, but this nervousness makes him human.

“It’s perfect.”

A barely perceptible smile brushes his lips. My stomach tightens. That smile suits him well. And if he ever laughs out loud, it would probably be breathtaking.

“Let me clean and protect your skin,” he says, guiding me back to the table. “Once the film’s on, you can put your T-shirt back on.”

With sure, precise movements, he cleans, applies cream, and lays down the protective film. The tattoo is officially finished.

“Thank you, Ares.”

He looks at me sideways, tilts his head slightly, but says nothing.

“Can I pay you tomorrow?” I ask cautiously. “I don’t have much money on me today.”

“No need to pay me,” he dismisses my offer.

“Of course I do. You invested time and ink.”

“I’d have been willing to tie you up to get that crap off your skin. You owe me nothing.”

I stiffen. Memories resurface. I know he’s joking, but some people really do act, even the most harmless-looking ones.

I quickly move away, grab my T-shirt, and pull it over myself to cover up.

“Thanks,” I say one last time before leaving the room hurriedly.