18. Magic Hands

EIGHTEEN

MAGIC HANDS

Tattoo, Rauw Alejandro ” something about hippies being troublemakers or some shit we know isn’t true. I shortened it but it wouldn’t fit the vibe being Tattoos and Hips so I abbreviated both.”

“Genius,” I reply, because there’s not much more I could say. Every time she opens her mouth, I’m impressed by either her witty comebacks, the way she reacts to situations, or how creative she is. It doesn’t surprise me one bit that she’s a tattoo artist. You can see the creative wheels clicking in her head when she looks at something, and this place is also a good example. She has an eclectic style that mixes some of that boho-chic, whatever girls are always talking about, and the fun of a six-year-old race car fanatic’s room.

“Gotta play the system,” she says, looking around and crossing one foot under the other leg.

“Are you working today?” I ask.

“No, I don’t usually open on Mondays. Saddlers is closed too so I take the time to chill and decompress at the beginning of the week.”

“Which one are we doing?”

She raises an eyebrow. “Uh…what?”

“Chilling or decompressing?” I ask, amused by her confusion.

“Neither, take a seat,” she instructs, pointing at the chair.

Alright, Roe, let’s play.

I sit quietly and wait for her to explain. She reaches for the hook on the wall and grabs her iPad out of her backpack. I notice that the backpack is shaped like a goose so I chuckle. She notices me looking at her bag.

“That’s Bruce,” she says, completely serious and not a slightly bit amused.

“Bruce?”

“The silly goose, he goes with me wherever I go.” Her voice is peppy as she smiles and flips the cover of her iPad back, clicking and pushing at the screen with a pencil.

“Aurora, you do know you’re not actually a Disney princess, right?”

“I’m aware, asshole. It’s a long story, I’ll tell you one day,” she adds, looking up before continuing, “So what are we doing today, Saint?”

“I’m waiting for you to tell me,” I ask. Now I’m the confused one.

“You said you wanted a new tattoo. I happen to be an amazing tattoo artist and I have time today, so, my question stands: what are we doing today?”

Holy shit. Okay. “Are you serious? How do I even know you’re good?”

“Oh, pretty boy, you already know I am.” She winks. “What do you want?”

“How much time do you have?” I ask her and her expression is like what you would expect to see on a child when you offer them candy.

She grins, getting up and throwing herself on the deep green couch opposite of where I’m sitting. “For you? I have all day,” she says, and if she knew that I would take all day with her in a heartbeat, she wouldn’t have said that. So now I guess it’s time for me to pick the biggest tattoo I can think of to keep this girl’s hands on me, her body near me, and hopefully get her heart to soften for me.

I opted for a back tattoo that, according to Roe, will take several sessions so she started outlining today. She spent around an hour drawing and when she showed me what she created, I had to remind myself to close my mouth after dropping it at the sight. This girl is more than an artist—she’s a genius. The drawing looks more like a blueprint for a cityscape and my back is about to be her canvas.

Now I’m settled into the chair with a mix of anticipation and excitement coursing through my veins. My chest is flat against the chair, which is reclined into a bench, and my eyes are fixed on the mirror across from us. I can see Roe’s reflection. She’s focused, with one hand on my back as she wipes the excess ink and blood while she tattoos my skin with the gun in the other. She asked what music I wanted and I pressed play on the Dale playlist on Apple Music. Rauw Alejandro plays in the background and she’s occasionally humming to the beat like she knows this song. Her hands, which look so delicate, are moving against my back with purpose and skill. It’s so different from the way she softly touched my skin the other night. I’m in awe of how focused she is. Her confidence is sexy as hell, almost like she has an aura around her that captivates me.

The steady buzzing sound of the machine soothes me. Always has, always will. It reminds me of the busy street sounds where we grew up before we moved to the United States. As she taps that needle and dances it across my back, a wave of sensation crosses through me. She’s drawing near my ribs. Goosebumps break on my skin immediately, showing her how affected I am by her touch in that sensitive spot. My breath catches and shivers run down my spine. With each stroke closer to my rib cage, I feel a mixture of pleasure, pain, and comfort. Three emotions I’ve never felt at once before, let alone while getting a tattoo.

“You need to stop moving,” she demands in a low whisper, flattening one of her hands on my back and touching my skin again with the needle.

“Can’t. Help. It,” I grit out.

“Do you want to stop? We’re almost done but this is a big piece. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I have so many feelings right now, princesa, but I know you won’t hurt me. Keep going,” I add.

She sighs and gets back to work, adding a few more strokes before she gets up and motions me to move toward the mirror to see what she made.

Emotions swirl within me. Witnessing the transformation to my skin, at the hands of this tiny magical being with a goose backpack and overalls, the mouth of a sailor, and an attitude to last her for days. This permanent mark, etched by her talented hands, is the best thing I’ve ever seen and it’s not even done.

“Roe, this is—” pausing to look at her in the face and not through the mirror “— increíble .”

We look at each other for a beat – maybe two – holding each other’s gaze and sensing the connection between us. I was right, this is more than sex. And if there was any doubt, this moment channeled by ink and sweat has bound us together even more. I know she doesn’t welcome touch all the time but right now all I want to do is hug her tight.

“Thanks.” It’s all I can muster right now.

She nods, grabbing some ointment and rubbing it on my sensitive back. She places some wraps and instructs me to take it off tonight before showering. She heads to the back for a moment and returns holding a bag with aftercare items. I smile at her, walking to grab my shirt from the table, and putting it on. I intend to grab my wallet to pay her, but when I reach for it, Roe’s hand goes up, holding my wrist and keeping me from falling under. Falling under her spell. Falling under her touch. Falling under her mercy.

“It’s my treat,” she says.

“I can’t let you.”

“You can and you will. This is my shop so it’s my rules,” she adds. “Besides, I’ve been itching to get my hands on your skin since I met you.”

I raise an eyebrow at her and she giggles. “Get your head out of the gutter. I’ve been wanting to tattoo you since I met you. Your skin is like a canvas.” She lets out a sigh and when I don’t say anything, she continues, “Fishing for compliments, Saint?”

“Not sure what you mean,” I say, allowing her time to tell me whatever is swirling in her head.

“Your skin tone is the perfect mix of warmth and richness. The tattoos you already have look like your veins are tracing the ink around your skin.” She reaches her fingers over my wrist, flipping my hand palm up and tracing my forearm. “These earthy hues are the perfect foundation for a drawing. For art. I knew that ink would love your skin but nothing could’ve prepared me for the way it blended seamlessly with it.”

Her hand keeps going up, touching and tracing the other tattoos on my arm as I swallow harshly and try to think of anything but the way her touch feels on my skin. My heart’s racing fast and I pray that she can’t tell the effect that just her fingertips touching my skin has on me.

“It’s like a dance of colors, tones, and contrast. It’s a timeless effect and it’s not often I get to lay my hands on smooth, golden skin like yours. So yeah, I should be thanking you.” Her cheeks flush, and she removes her hand from my arm, coughing slightly and allowing space between us. I feel the loss of her touch immediately. It’s at this moment I realize something major. I ’ m in trouble.

“Well thank you, Roe,” I choke out, distracting myself by looking over the aftercare instructions. “Good thing there’s not another race until next month or I would be screwed, huh?”

She nods and throws herself on the couch, closing her eyes and raising her feet to dangle them over the armrest. I walk to her and sit beside her, lifting her feet and placing them over my thighs. She doesn’t open her eyes, not even when I remove her shoes or when I take her socks off.

I grab one of her feet in my hand, and massage gently, especially against the arch in the middle of the foot. Hers is a perfectly shaped semicircle, and so soft.

I use my thumbs to massage the bottom of her foot when she moans in response. I work my fingers, kneading away the tension and stress of the day; hell, of the whole weekend. She lets out another moan that makes my dick twitch, and when I look at her, her eyes snap open immediately, creating tension in the air. I continue to massage and with each gentle stroke, a soft moan of pleasure escapes her lips.

“Saint, your hands are magic,” she whimpers and I can’t help but laugh at that.

“Perks of working with them,” I wink at her. This earns me a roll of her eyes. “Just like yours.” I wink at her again, and her sass goes away the moment my thumb touches the pad of her foot. She arches off the couch, asking me not to stop. Mierda ? 1 .

The room is filled with upbeat reggaeton, punctuated by the rhythmic movements of my hands and her soft sounds. Every gasp is making me go wild. I don’t think I’ll make it out of this tattoo place in one piece.

I stop massaging, lower her foot, and rest my head back on the couch. I close my eyes and breathe, hoping I can calm my erection and my thoughts. Both have been unraveling all day with her proximity and her delicate hands over me. Her lavender scent and her sultry voice are like a damn siren. I can feel her moving next to me and I silently pray to all the angelitos? 2 that she doesn’t touch me right now because I’m about to lose every ounce of self-control I have left.

“Saint,” she whispers breathily, her soft hand touching my elbow and somehow reaching every inch of my body.

Opening my eyes slowly, I tilt my head to look at her, but don’t open my mouth to say anything, because truly I can’t. If I do, I’ll tell her to take her clothes off, and that can’t happen here. That can’t happen, period.

“I have a proposal,” she says, “What if we get out of here, go to my place, and we can have some fun away from this street full of nosy people?”

I stifle a groan, “Roe, I already told you.”

“Told me what? That you liked fucking me? That your hands couldn’t resist being on my body?” She moves toward me until one leg swings over mine as she straddles me and places her hands on my neck.

“Or that you couldn’t contain your demanding voice when you asked me to crawl to you?” She tugs at my hair while pressing her breasts against my chest. “Or the way that you got hard every time I moaned your name?” she adds while grinding her hips on me.

I know deep down I should show self-control. I need to get up and walk away. And if I were a gentleman, I would, but I don’t have it in me to deny this girl anything.

“Which one of those things are you talking about, Saint? Or was it that bullshit about not being able to fuck me again?” Her fingers are tracing my jaw and she’s biting her lower lip. That little move makes me lose it all and I snap. I close the distance between us with a kiss. Swiping my tongue against her lips, she allows me into her mouth, dancing with my tongue and matching my every move.

I reach to tug at her hair, wrapping her ponytail in my fist and pulling back. Her lips leave mine as she arches against me, showing me her perfect neck. I kiss, nip, and bite. One hand tugs harder at her hair while the other holds her flush against me. My dick is hard in my pants and I’m seconds away from turning this couch into a flip and fuck.

With each moment that passes as she grinds her ass against me and her hands tug my hair, the intensity grows and I want nothing more than to get her naked and under me. I let go of her hair, cup her breast and bite down over the fabric and she hisses. “Fuck,” I say, unable to form any other coherent thought. Except… we’re in her tattoo shop. Her place of work. Sitting near a window that anyone walking by could look in and see. She thinks this town was upset about the name she wanted to give this place? Imagine what they’d say if they find us fucking out here in the open.

“Roe,” I whisper, and her bright blue eyes pierce me completely. “We can’t do this here. Someone can walk by and you can get in trouble.”

“I know that you’re not using a moral clause on me right now, Saint. You didn’t give a shit this weekend when anyone could’ve walked by and seen or heard us.”

She’s right, but so am I. The window is behind us and all it would take is someone taking a peek to see her flushed and needy on top of me. I grab her by her ass and pick her up. She wraps her legs around me and her hand touches my back slightly but enough to make me hiss. “Careful, princesa. Your hands may be magic, but I’m still sore as shit, so no touching.”

She smiles devilishly before asking, “Where are you taking me?”

“Shh, I have an idea.” I kiss her again, this time slower, taking my time tasting her. Memorizing every single curve of her lips on mine. Committing to memory the feel of her soft lips and the way she smells, like lavender and sage, and keeping it under lock and key.

1 ? Mierda: Shit

2 ? angelitos: little angels