18. Permanent

eighteen

Violet

"Ican't believe I agreed to this."

The familiar sting of the needle glides across my skin, the hum of the tattoo gun following its path. Stacy, my regular tattoo artist, chuckles, and I open my right eye just slightly, hoping to catch a glimpse.

"Keep them closed!" Cam snaps from the corner.

I groan.

"That wasn't part of the deal."

Cam doesn't respond, and I can only imagine she's rolling her eyes at me. She does that a lot.

"How long have you two been together?" Stacy asks, wiping a dry paper towel against the raw skin. It stings, even more than the actual needle, but I don't wince.

Cam snorts, which I find kind of rude, even if I have the same internal reaction.

"We're not," I answer.

"Oh! Really? I just assumed because—"

"Definitely not," Cam interrupts. Stacy continues the tattoo, and from the intensity of the burn, I think she's adding the final highlights.

"Okay," she says, not sounding convinced. I can see why. Not many people would let someone pick out a tattoo willy-nilly. But in my defense, I didn't think it was actually going to happen. I didn't think Cam would actually win.

A relieving cold, wet towel glides across my skin.

"You're all done!" Stacy announces. My eyes shoot open, my gaze falling immediately down to the tattoo.

I analyze it, tilting my head in focus, and after a moment, I realize exactly what it is. A maniacal laugh erupts from me, and I slap the armrest, my feet kicking in the air. I knew Cam could be petty, but I didn't know she had such a sense of humor.

"So I'm guessing this means something to you?" Stacy asks, quirking an eyebrow. My eyes land on the greyscale hammerhead shark, permanently inked into my skin. Memories from that night at Monsey's flood into my brain. The spilled margarita. That shiny stained emerald dress. Those fluffy hammerhead shark slippers. I laugh all over again.

"It—no," I say, shaking my head. "Well, yes, but—"

I look up at Cam. She's trying but failing to hide a proud smirk.

"Not really," she says, looking over at Stacy. "It just means that, when I place a bet, I always come out winning."

"You missed the turn!" Cam whines, pointing aggressively at the side street I completely intentionally drove past. My eyes stay locked onto the road in front of me, one hand gripping the wheel so hard my knuckles turn white. She insisted we drive together so that I "couldn't change my mind." Sure, I might be too nice to leave her stranded at a tattoo shop she's never been to. But now, she's going to wish she had taken the risk.

"Violet!" I glance at her, then back to the road. "Violet Wolfe, take me home now!"

For someone who is so unsure about things, Cam is pretty damn demanding. The corner of my mouth tugs into a smirk.

"I can't," I say innocently, pressing my foot down on the brake. We stop at the intersection, the Jeep rolling back slightly as we do. I turn to look at her, her beautiful glaring eyes locking onto mine. "The tattoo was only half of the promise."

Cam's eyes widen, pink rushing to her cheeks. She drags a hand down the side of her face, still staring at me. Her mouth opens to speak, but nothing comes out, so she closes it again.

Cam might have won that bet, but I think I just won this conversation.

She keeps staring at me, jaw slack and face red. A loud honk pierces the silence, and my eyes dart back to the road, my foot to the gas pedal.

Thank God it's Thursday.

9I waste no time once we walk through my front door. It's a good thing I had to get the tattoo because I left Reese at work so he could play. I tug Cam's shirt over her head, my lips crashing into hers the second her mouth pokes out from beneath the hem. I toss it. To where, I couldn't tell you. One hand strategically unclasps the back of her bra, as the other travels downward, grabbing her ass so hard it makes her squeal.

"Damn, Violet, buy a girl a drink first!" She jumps back. I grab her ass even harder this time, pulling her into me.

"I did," I say through gritted teeth. I pride myself on my ability to stay composed. To stay positive. To stay kind. But damn, does Cameron Miller make it fucking difficult. "And I just spent three-hundred dollars on a fucking tribute to you, so shut up and let me work."

I press our lips together again and suck her lower one between my teeth. Her hands press against my chest, but not in the way I want them to. She pushes me away.

"That was not a tribute," she says, frowning. "It was revenge. Every time you see it, you'll remember spilling tequila all over my favorite dress."

I step close to her, my lips grazing hers delicately as her eyes flutter up to look at me in aggravation.

"That dress," I say, sliding my hand against her jaw. "Was already stained. And that description—" My thumb runs across her lower lip, and Cam's breath hitches. "Sounds a lot like a tribute."

Cam huffs, but I don't let her finish getting it out before I press back up against her, this time reaching for the button of her pants. I snap it open, dragging the zipper down before hooking my fingers in the denim belt loops.

"Wait, Violet! Don't—"

I'm getting real fucking tired of this woman telling me what to do. I yank them down, trying to pull off her pants but—

"Violet!"

I look down, my fingers still curved into hooks but not attached to anything. Two, thin strips of denim hang off of the waistband of Cam's jeans, her pale skin peeks through the small holes where they had just been attached. Blood rushes to her face, and I swear a vein starts peeking through the skin on her forehead.

"Those were my favorite jeans," she snaps.

I shrug. "I'll buy you new ones."

Then I dip my fingers into her waistband, and tug the jeans the rest of the way off. They're tight against her body, so I don't even need to try to take the underwear along with them. It just happens on its own. My hands hook on the backside of her thighs, but Cam pushes me away again. Why is she always pushing me away?

"Wait, wait—" She shakes her head. "I'm not doing this again while you're fully clothed."

I frown.

"I wasn't fully clothed last week."

She shoots me an unimpressed expression. "I'm not consenting until your clothes are off," she declares, crossing her arms over her naked body.

God, Cam is sexy. And beautiful too. She's got these light pink nipples, the same color of her lips. And the pear-shaped curve of her body makes me feral, I swear. All I want is to get my hands back on that delightful ass of hers.

But nothing turns me on like her eyes. She tells me everything with them, even things she'll never say out loud. I never thought something so pure could make me so desperate. I stare into them, plastering a wide smirk on my face as I unbutton my own pants, pull them down, and step out of them.

Cam's eyes widen and lock onto me as her lips slowly part. I continue smiling as I pull my shirt over my head, followed by my sports bra, before letting them both drop to the floor.

The cold air hits my clit and my breasts all at once, causing the hairs on my body to stand up. My nipples harden around the solid metal bars, and I watch Cam cross her legs, her muscles tensing.

"May I approach?" I ask sarcastically. "Or is the Ice Princess still not satisfied?"

Cam stares, shaking her head, but then nods instead. I chuckle as I step closer to her and allow my cold hands to glide across her bare skin.

"Better?" I ask, tilting my head to get better access to her collarbone. My lips press against the skin, sucking softly at first, then harder. Cam hisses.

"Yes," she whines, pushing her body into mine. I smile against her skin, then loop my hands under her thighs and scoop her off the ground.

She grabs at my back frantically.

"Violet! What the fuck are you doing?" she squeals. I continue walking over to the laundry room, then plop her right on top of the washing machine.

"I thought this was about trying new things," I say innocently. Then, I lock eyes with her as I reach out, and turn the knob on the washing machine, pressing "start."

Cam's brows press together, a small "v" forming between them.

"Violet, I—"

But the washing machine starts, the soft hum of it vibrating the entire appliance, and Cam's eyes grow wide, her brows shooting up. Her body sways with the rumble of the machine, her thighs shaking. God, I just want to put my face between them. Cam looks at me, bewildered.

"I can stop, if you want," I offer, even though it's the last thing on Earth I want to do. Thankfully, Cam shakes her head. My hand slides between her legs, scooting them apart slowly in the process. She swallows, gripping the edges of the washing machine nervously. That beautiful pussy reveals itself to me slowly the more I keep spreading her open.

I chuckle, shaking my head.

"God, Cam. How'd you do it?" I ask. Her brows furrow, and she looks down at me.

"What?"

My mind flicks to last week at the bowling alley, Hayden's hands wrapped around her. I couldn't ask her about it before today because, if I violate that contract, I will never hear her moan my name again.

That isn't something I'm willing to lose.

"How'd you get Hayden to practically air hump you in the bowling alley?"

I know Hayden knows about our agreement now. Cam told me. But his arms were around her before that, and I haven't stopped thinking about it since. Cam rolls her eyes, the soft vibration of the machine making her squirm.

"He wasn't air humping me," she says. She starts to close her legs, but I shake my head, stopping them with my hand. She sighs. "We have an agreement too. We'll pretend to be a couple sometimes, in public situations. That way we don't have to deal with people."

My lip piercing clashes with my teeth as they sink into my bottom lip, images of her ass pressed against his pelvis flashing through my memory. I lean down and look up at her as my head settles between her thighs.

"This is my pussy, Cam," I say, heat filling my cheeks as those thoughts fill my mind. Thoughts of Hayden or anyone else touching her make my skin hot.

I said I'm not jealous. But I never said I liked to share.

"I don't remember that being in the contract," Cam taunts, tapping her fingers on the side of the washing machine. I frown, lifting my head.

"If you want to come," I say sternly, pressing two cold fingers against her pussy. "It's ‘yes, boss.'"*