3. River

THREE

RIVER

I let the needle brush her skin, my stroke as fuckin' light as I could get it.

She gasped a throaty, bottled cry at the contact, body arching as a lick of pain whispered across her flesh.

"You okay?" I asked, barely able to get the words off my tongue as I struggled to grip whatever the fuck it was that I was feeling.

This stranger had me twisted.

Was bad enough the way I'd reacted when she'd first come through the door. It was an entirely different thing when I'd read the statement she'd had written in her pretty handwriting on the piece of paper.

In grief we must live.

Had nearly demanded that she tell me exactly what that meant, but I'd shoved it down because I didn't have any space to get stupid like that. Wanting to know the details of her life when I knew there was no chance that I could care.

"Yeah," she breathed, and I turned my attention back to the design, and I started sweeping the needle over her flesh that was blooming pink.

Could tell she was trying to hold her breath. Doing her best to ignore the burn that erupted on her skin as I marked her deep. Cutting into the lines and filling it with ink.

She squirmed and whimpered, and fuck me, my dick strained.

A twisted fiend who was eating up that little bit of pain. Consumed with the fact that I was causing it and wanted to soothe it at the same time.

Loving that I was the one etching her permanently. That she was going to walk out of here and forever carry a piece of me.

I edged back, wiping up the excess ink and the bit of blood with the towel before I leaned in and blew across the heated skin to give her some relief.

Yeah. It was a line I crossed, so goddamn irresponsible and against protocol I deserved to lose my license, but it was a whole lot better than dipping all the way in and swiping my tongue over the wound like I wanted to do.

Depraved, disturbed urges hitting me from all sides.

She whimpered a soft sound, and I murmured, "Just relax, I've got you."

She gulped and kept watching me as I pressed the needle back to her flesh, wild eyes raving as I worked, woman so fuckin' distracting with that heart-shaped face and those cherry lips that I was lucky I didn't slip.

Pausing for a beat, I glanced up at her, and those lips parted, air rushing up her throat as our gazes tangled, and I wondered if it was from the pain that she was gasping or if she might be imagining the same salacious things as me.

Me peeling her out of those little shorts and dragging her tank up so I could get to those sweet, tiny tits.

Sinking my cock deep into the well of her squirming body.

Fucking her right here on my chair, something I'd never done before because it was fuckin' unprofessional.

Yet there I was, itching to get shady.

That deviant part of me that wanted to devour her, anyway.

The tattoo didn't take long to complete, and in less than an hour, the phrase was forever imprinted on her skin. I sat back to appraise my handiwork, chest glowing for a beat because I was fuckin' pleased. Pretty much was every time I completed a piece.

"What do you think?" I asked her.

And fuck, the girl had moisture glinting in her mesmerizing eyes, and she bit down on her bottom lip as she whispered, "It's beautiful."

"Worth it?" I asked.

A smile tipped down at the edge of her mouth. "Yeah. I needed to feel it. I need to remember it."

Heaviness swam in my chest, thick and sticky as she looked at me with all that innocence, but carved beneath it was a sorrow so bleak I was slammed with the need to wrap her up and hold her in my arms.

And that was the most twisted urge of all.

Should keep my mouth shut and my hands to myself, but I was reaching out and running my thumb along the curve of her cheek.

"It's the only thing we can do. Live. Put one foot in front of the other."

"That's what I'm trying to do." Her voice was soft, and I wanted to lean forward and inhale a bit of it. Her belief. A fucking glutton because I knew the only thing I would do was destroy it.

I cleared the roughness from my throat, and I applied the ointment and bandage. Peeling off my gloves, I ran through the care instructions with her then gave her the sheet that reiterated them.

"Do you have any questions?" I asked.

She slipped off the chair, coming to stand a foot away from me, gnawing that lip in uncertainty. Then she seemed to shake herself out of whatever trance she was under and grabbed her jacket from where it hung on the arm of the chair. "I think I've got it. How much do I owe you?"

There was no resisting the impulse, and I reached out and brushed the pad of my thumb over the divot in her chin. "How about you do exactly that—live—and we'll call it even?"

Heat rushed, and her cheeks pinked. "I don't like owing anyone anything."

"Told you tattooing you was going to be my pleasure. I meant it."

Redness swept her chest and rose up to her cheeks, and that energy swelled. The two of us were trapped, the already cramped walls of my station closing in.

Somehow, I came to my senses, and I managed to grit out, "Think you should go before I ask you to spend the night with me."

Surprise widened her eyes, those eyes that rolled with whatever this insanity was that thrashed between us.

Something familiar.

Like she was someone I was supposed to know.

For one fuckin' second, she looked like she was contemplating it.

"Go," I grunted through the greed, and she blinked a bunch of times before she hurried to toss her jacket over her forearm like she'd just realized the treacherous path she'd been toeing, then she turned and headed for the doorway.

Only she paused, looking back with that stunning face that could convince a wicked man to do good things. "Thank you," she whispered. "For taking care of me. I'll forever be grateful."

Then she ducked out, leaving me inside my station, my hands curled into fists as I forced myself to remain standing and not go after her to see where this night might take us.

I listened to her light footsteps as she moved through the lobby, before I heard the scrape of metal as she unlocked the door, then the beep when she pulled it open.

She took that energy with her when she left, leaving me stunned.

"What the fuck was that?" I mumbled once she was gone. I scrubbed the heels of my hands in my eyes like it could break up the need she'd evoked in me.

Emitting a long sigh, I focused on cleaning up my station, doing my best to put the girl out of my mind, stamp it out, and do it permanently.

Once I was satisfied my tools and the room were clean and sterilized, I grabbed my things and headed for the door, though I slowed when I was passing by the display case and saw the stack of hundred-dollar bills sitting on top. I picked it up, seeing there were five of them .

I rumbled, "Shit," under my breath as the smallest smile hitched the edge of my mouth.

Sweet little thing wanted to do me in. Drive me out of my mind.

But I didn't mess with women like that. I saw what was in her eyes, the same as I understood what I'd inked on her flesh.

Grief.

This girl? She wanted to live.

And a monster like me would only destroy that.