This is a continuation of a serial piece of erotic fiction. You may wish to start at the beginning, here.
The table was familiar and cool against Alex’s back. She lay back, her skirt hitched up over her knees, a flutter of nerves making her breath come too quickly. Victor readied his tools with his back to her. He hadn’t said a word beyond “Hello”.
She worried she wouldn’t be able to lay still this time, her thoughts scattered and unsettled by his demeanor. Alex’s eyes clung to the sliver of his profile, trying to read him. His expression held smooth and betrayed nothing.
“Victor?” His name escaped before she could help it and she watched his jaw and shoulders tense in response. You say my name as if uttering a curse. His words came back to her, as they had many times over the week. Their middle of the night phone call still rattled her on recollection, remembering how she’d responded to his quiet voice, his tender concern.
He looked back at her and her heart jumped; his cool blue gaze stripped all thought from her mind. “Yes, Alexandra?”
Her tongue snaked out to moisten her lips and his eyes followed it, a muscle in his jaw jumping. “Are you angry with me?” It took effort to get the words out and they still emerged breathless.
Victor closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “No,” he answered, turning back to his table without meeting her eyes again. “I just need to concentrate.”
“I distract you?” Her stomach tumbled end over end; a tingle slithered down her spine.
His dark head shook from side to side; she swore she heard a low sound like a growl. “Alexandra.” Her breath stuttered when he turned, his expression tight and closed. He sighed at whatever he saw reflected in hers and scrubbed his hands across his face.
Her stomach tightened with nerves. “Close your eyes, Alex,” he said. She met his clear blue gaze for a moment; Victor reached, brushing his fingers against her lashes. In the darkness behind her eyelids her heart sounded louder. “Slow your breathing,” he instructed, his voice dipping back into that timber she’d heard on the phone. “Settle yourself. I know you know how.” He was close, near enough his breath brushed against her face.
“You’re upset with me,” she whispered and he sighed.
“Hush. I need to work on your tattoo. Can you be still for me?” He was closer still; she could smell the crisp tang of his cologne.
“Yes,” she breathed. He touched her shoulder and a shiver traveled down her spine.
It was strange listening to him instead of watching him. He moved around in something close to silence, just the quiet click and ting of his tools. She jumped when his warm hand finally touched her calf, turning it gently.
She was prepared and yet not for the first bite of the needle. Alexandra wanted to be still for him, hoped if she did, he would smile at her after. Her desire for him baffled her, but she wanted him. Her mind fought her attempts to meditate, to quiet it and drift on the blurry edge of endorphins. His hands delivered caress and agony in the same stroke, fingers sliding over her skin, needles punching ink into her dermis.
Her eyes watered, filling until tears threatened to escape. Alex’s hands twisted in her skirt, bunching the fabric, every muscle above her waist pulled tight.
“Breathe, Alexandra.” The attacking needles never paused but his words forced an exhale from her chest. The first tear escaped and she sobbed. She wanted to look at him; but didn’t dare.
continue reading in part 9 of The New Canvas