Page 114 of Bad Influence
So this is what love feels like. This big feeling that feels like it can’t be contained by your chest. I feel like I’m about to burst and I have to somehow keep it all inside. A part of me might have always been in love with Killian. The only difference is, now I don’t have to bury it so deep inside me that I forget the feeling exists. And it doesn’t bring a tender ache with it, like an injury that never quite healed.
The strangest thing is, I don’t remember falling in love. Almost like I’ve always been in love with him so there was no before, and there is no after.
“I…thank you,” I choke out. “I accept your offering.”
Killian spreads a clear gel over my arm before pressing the design onto my skin. He rubs it in and when he removes the paper, the design is printed onto my skin.
“I already love it,” I whisper.
“You’re not going to love this part, unfortunately.”
Reaching out, I push back his hair and he glances up at me gratefully.
He picks up his tattoo gun and turns it on. I feel a prickle of pain on my skin, but it’s mostly uncomfortable rather than painful. I disassociate quickly, my focus on Killian, the way he’s bent over my arm, his concentration and care.
I only come to when Killian applies petroleum jelly over my reddened skin followed by a clear bandage. I stare at the tattoo for a long time.
“I love it,” I whisper.
“Now it’s your turn,” Killian says.
My head snaps up. “My turn to do what?”
“Give me a tattoo,” he says casually. He’s standing up and stretching his back before pulling his shirt over his head and setting it aside.
For a second, I’m lost in all the bare skin and muscles. When he turns around, I see the red marks along his back and I can’t stop myself from blushing. Only when he turns back to me do his words register.
“I’m sorry, what?!” I ask. “You want me to give you a tattoo?”
“Exactly.” He shrugs like it’s no big deal.
“Are you high? I’m not a tattoo artist!”
I get off the chair and stand in front of him. Killian isn’t listening, though. He pulls out another transfer paper from his sketchbook on which he’s drawn another butterfly. The wings look like feathers.
I watch as he disposes the needle, ink cup, and tube he used on me and replaces everything from new packages.
“Killian, don’t,” I moan.
“Come on, Butterfly. Tattoo yourself on me,” he says, with a wink.
I press my hands against my burning cheeks. “I’m going to fuck this up.”
Killian settles down on the chair and motions to his lap. “Get up here. I’m going to guide you. I’d rather have a fucked up tattoo by you than one done by someone else.”
How am I supposed to resist when he flatters me? Nervously, I climb up onto the chair and straddle him. Killian rests a hand on my waist to steady me.
“Right here,” he says, tapping his chest right over his heart.
I don’t know if I should laugh or disassociate for a few days. I was supposed to marry his brother today and here I am, inking an equally permanent bond onto our skin with Killian. Maybe it was always supposed to be like this. Maybe we were alwaysmeant to be connected in ways which can’t be erased. More than ink on paper.
“Clean my skin,” Killian guides.
I grab the cleanser and go through the same process he did with me. Once the sketch is on his skin, I sit back and stare at it.
“Are you sure?” I ask. “I mean, it’s kind of permanent unless you want to go through the painful process of removing it.”
Killian grabs the back of my neck and pulls me in for a quick, hard kiss. “I’m always sure.”
