Page 39 of Sucker Love (Sugar Pill Duet #1)

It’s so different from tattooing anyone else.

I love what I do, but the human element is almost a deterrent sometimes, especially people who don’t sit well or want to talk or fret and criticize the entire process.

There is definitely nothing erotic about it.

I have never, ever made a connection between the art of tattooing and sex.

Now nothing seems more sexy than watching my needle puncture Noel’s smooth, perfect skin.

“Doing okay?” I ask over the hum of the gun, more out of habit than anything else.

Noel turns his face towards me, laying his phone against the bed. It’s almost slack, his expression. “I’m good. ”

My mouth twitches. “I can tell.”

“I thought this was supposed to be bad.”

“It is. For normal people.”

He sighs, pleasantly. “Guess I’m a freak.”

“We already knew that, stunt girl.”

I can feel his gaze on me as I continue to follow the outline of the stencil where his bony hip becomes his lovely, pale thigh.

I know, without looking at his face, that he’s biting his lip and I wonder what the hell possessed me to think me tattooing him was a good idea.

I should’ve referred him to a colleague—except the idea of someone else doing it makes me feel just a little feral.

“What does it feel like for you?” I ask him curiously. “This sort of thing.”

He sounds a little faint when he responds. “It feels like I’m floating.”

And nearly six hours later, with only a few ten-minute breaks for me to eat and stretch—Noel didn’t ask for a single one, but I made him drink some water and use the toilet whenever I stopped—I set the gun aside and say, “All done.”

Noel lifts his head and looks at me. He has a lidded and lethargic look about him, like I roused him from a trance. I suppose that I did. “Really?” he says, a little fuzzy.

“Yup.” I change out my gloves for a fresh pair as he sits up, wincing. “Doing okay? You dizzy or anything? I can get you a soda if you need it. ”

“M’fine.” He seems to rouse himself, tossing his hair back from his face. “Feels like you’ve been beating my ass for hours. ”

“I have, more or less,” I say wryly. “Here, hop up. Let’s get this cleaned up for a few pictures and then I’ll wrap it.”

He takes the arm I offer him and stands, a little wobbly at first before letting his weight settle on his right foot instead.

When he seems steady enough I kneel and soap up his hip and thigh with the foam wash, wiping away the excess ink and lymph with care.

I hear him hiss through his teeth. No amount of gentleness will spare him from the pain of a big, fresh tattoo.

And fuck yeah it looks good, has to be some of my best work to date.

He is the perfect canvas. That fair and flawless skin of his has taken the pigment so well.

The red of the blood-tipped white roses are vivid, almost visceral against his flesh, which isn’t nearly as swollen or angry as I figured it would be after such an intense session.

It’s resilient like the rest of him. It can take the punishment.

Noel’s fingers slide through my hair as I press a kiss just inside of his hip, and then another, my teeth just grazing the skin.

I am still so aware of him and of the hours of what almost seems to have amounted to foreplay.

I want him so damn bad, even now with my neck and wrists on fucking fire.

I wish we were elsewhere; some place private and safe. I wish we were home.

I tear myself away and get to my feet. He’s smiling at me, head tilting up, expecting something I’d like to give to him, but I remind myself for the millionth time I’m at work and I won’t risk it for the biscuit, no matter how damn good it is.

I turn him around and resist the urge to slap his ass.

“Go look in the mirror,” I say roughly. “See how you like it.”

He does, examining his tattoo’s reflection closely.

It’s an incongruent sight to see someone just naked in this room, without even trying to hide themselves.

I’ve worked on plenty of clients in intimate areas, and they are understandably shy about covering up what they can and I always give them their privacy when they inspect the work.

But Noel doesn’t bother and I’m allowed to watch him, the way I know he wants me to.

“It’s like you’ve branded me,” he remarks.

“I guess I have,” I reply, and I like the idea of that. Of my work on him, and only mine. Of laying my claim in this way. Is that sick?

“It’s incredible, Luca.” He turns this way and that to get the best look at it, and of course I’m admiring, too. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. It’s you, after all.”

“You designed most of it,” I say modestly, but I know I killed it. “Happy with it?”

“Oh, yeah. I fucking love it.”

He returns to me, all smiles, and after I get him to cover up a bit I take a few pictures and a video that are getting pinned right to the top of my Instagram grid.

I set to work covering his slender thigh and hip in plastic wrap.

Taking my time with it and lingering far longer than I should on bare skin that is warm even through the black gloves.

I want to bury myself in him. I’m aching for it.

Just another hour, I tell myself, and I’ll be gentle with him tonight. I’ve spent the day beating his ass, after all .

When I’m finished, I drop a quick kiss on his lips. “Don’t touch the wrap until I get home. Do you want me to get you an Uber?”

“I’ll just walk.” He pulls on his sweats, careful of his tattoo.

“The fuck you are, you little masochist.”

Noel grins at me, wide enough to bring out the dimples I rarely get to see. He’s a brat and he knows exactly what he’s doing. “Fine, I’ll get a ride. Gonna use the bathroom first.”

“Sure.” I start wiping down the bed.

He shuffles off, leaving me to clean up, but I’m alone for all of thirty seconds before Amy knocks on the doorframe and pokes her head in.

“Hey, Luca,” she says. “Someone’s here for you.

” And that’s weird, because I don’t have any more appointments today.

I look up with a frown and she amends, “It’s your wife. ”

My stomach goes into a brief free-fall before I scramble to compose my face into something that isn’t complete shock and nausea.

Because that’s not a normal reaction to being told your wife is there.

Because I haven’t told anyone here we’re separated and fast-tracking to divorce—and wow, had I entertained the thought of fucking Noel here, however briefly?

What the fuck. It’s as effective as a bucket of ice water on whatever arousal yet lingered.

“Okay,” I say. “I’ll be there in a sec.”

I toss my gloves, sanitize my hands and go out into the lobby—and there’s Demi.

Pissed in a way only I can see, because to anyone else she appears perfectly pleasant, but that’s just how she looks when she doesn’t want anyone to know she’s about to murder someone.

She has a legendary resting bitch face that took me awhile to not take personally.

I now know to fear this congenial simper far more.

“Hey, Demi,” I say, leaning my hip against the front desk. “This is a surprise.”

The smile plastered to her face is little more than a baring of teeth as she hisses, “Is it really when you’ve been basically ignoring me for weeks?”

I’m painfully aware of Amy’s presence at the desk behind me, though she’s trying to make herself unobtrusive. “Do we have to do this here?” I say. “Now?”

Demi folds her arms over her chest. “Where else, Luca? I can’t seem to track you down any other damn way. It’s not like you bothered giving me your new address or anything, like you said you would.”

“Okay. Okay. ” I lead her towards the waiting area and we both sit on the adjacent couches, facing each other. In a low voice I start, “I’m sorry. I know it seems like I’ve been avoiding you?—”

“ Seems like?” she says incredulously.

“Luca?” Oh great, I’ve already forgotten that Noel is still here, somehow, and it’s too much to hope that he would keep on walking by us and right out the door without interrupting.

That would require him to take a social cue for once.

He stops near us and I catch sight of his bemused face. He says to me, “My Uber’s almost here.”

For fuck’s sake. “Okay,” I say through gritted teeth. “I’ll see you later.”

But he doesn’t take a hint or maybe he just ignores it deliberately.

He’s eyeing up Demi, his expression turning almost hostile.

“This is your wife, right?” he asks, and I don’t know how he deduced that unless he overheard something.

By his tone of voice I can tell he expects me to make introductions.

Like I’m going to fucking do that. Hey Demi, this is the kid I’ve been fucking practically the minute we separated. My face is burning.

“I’m sorry—who are you?” Demi says rudely. She’s so far gone she can’t even feign politeness anymore.

One side of Noel’s mouth curls in that familiar, patronizing way when he knows something you don’t, and he feels very superior for it.

He lays a hand on my shoulder and it takes everything in my power not to shrug him off and shift out of his reach.

“I’m Noel,” he replies, voice dripping with condescension.

“His roommate .” And it’s laden with meaning, roommate.

He’s put every ounce of dirtiness possible into the word.

He might as well have said fuck toy or Fleshlight or Luca’s own personal no-loads-refused come dump.

And the meaning is not lost on Demi. Her face takes a brief journey, from quizzical to surprise to disgust and then finally stoniness. “That’s nice.” Her voice is icy.

This time I do brush him off, dipping my shoulder beneath his hand where he’s leaning far too heavily upon me. “I think your ride’s here.” It’s not a lie. A stark white sedan has, in fact, pulled up to the curb, engine idling.

I don’t know if Noel is even capable of feeling shame, considering his behavior around Killian this weekend, but he can at least tell when he’s seriously misstepped.

Something flits across his face, something demure and almost apologetic.

He shifts his bag onto his other shoulder and exits the shop without another word, the bell above the door tinkling as he goes.

The moment he’s gone Demi leans forward. “Luca, really ? How old is he?”

I want to say it’s not like that but it is like that. I rub my face. “He’s in his twenties,” I mutter into my palms, as if keeping his precise age vague will somehow exonerate me.

She opens her mouth, then shuts it and shakes her head. Her long hair swirls around her shoulders, earrings jangling. “You know what? Never mind. I don’t care. It doesn’t matter.” She does care. It does matter. “I’m not here to lecture you on your predilections.”

“Don’t say it like that.”

“I wanted to drop these off.” She digs in her purse and produces a file, which she tosses into my lap. “I’m tired of waiting around on you.”

I open the folder, see the words JOINT PETITION FOR DIVORCE in bold at the top of the first page. I swallow. “Right. Yeah. Of course.”

“The separation agreement is in there, too. If there’s anything you want to contest, you need to tell me so we can figure it out.”

I can’t imagine there will be. We hashed so much of it out before I moved out, and I’ve decided to give her whatever she wants, anyway. “When do you need this done by?”

“As soon as humanly possible. I want this over with.” She pauses. “My family knows, by the way. I told them this weekend.”

The second gut punch she’s delivered today, and this one literally leaves me winded. I feel like the air has very suddenly been sucked out of the room and left me gaping at her. Both from shock and lack of oxygen. I finally find my words. “You what? Demi, what the fuck?”

“I told you that I would.”

“But you said you’d warn me first! Why couldn’t you have waited until after you saw me?”

“Because!” She’s emotional now, heightened, and it’s not like her.

Not at all. “While you’ve been fucking around with your new boy toy and living it the fuck up in Vermont, I’ve been completely and utterly alone.

Do you know how isolated I’ve been this past month?

Having to pretend everything’s fine and I’m not going to bed alone every single goddamn night?

” There are tears standing in the corners of her dark eyes.

“I deserve the support of my family, Luca.”

The guilt roils through me. I reach for one of her hands. “Demi, I’m sorry. I didn’t think?—”

“I know you didn’t. That’s why we’re in this situation in the first place.

” She folds her arms beneath her breasts and out of my reach.

“Frankly, I’m not here for an apology. We’re past all of that.

This is nothing more than a courtesy call on my part.

” Her face falls, just a little. “It’s my marriage that’s falling apart, too, you know.

Not just yours. It’d be nice to get that much consideration. ”

I nod. I don’t know what else to say. She is right.

I was—I am—selfish. Enormously so. My dad’s reaction will be fair punishment enough.

And a smart person might try to get ahead of that, be the one to break the news, but I’m still a coward.

A very stupid, self-centered one. I will preserve whatever’s left of my peace until he shatters it into so many pieces I won’t know how to begin picking them up.

Demi stands. She hesitates. “For what it’s worth,” she offers, “I’m sorry it’s going to suck for you.”

Well, so am I. But maybe I would’ve done the same, if I was her.

She bids me farewell, and then she’s gone, too.

Amy is still there, I realize. Doing busywork or pretending to, acting like she didn’t just hear that entire terrible exchange. I stand up and say, “So I’m getting a divorce, I guess.”

Amy’s hair hides her face as she ducks her head. “Oh,” she says nonchalantly. “Sorry to hear that, Luca.”