Page 170 of Devious Obsession
All in all, the vibe of this place is cool. I can see why magazines would be interested in featuring it—and his work, hung in gold picture frames set against the dark paint.
“Do you want to see the stencil?” Steele calls.
“Nope.”
“What if it’s on my dick?”
I snort, keeping my gaze on the wall of art. “Then you’re shit out of luck on getting laid this trip, huh?”
Steele groans.
I smirk to myself. Except, I wouldn’t put it past him to get a snake tattooed onhissnake.
Gross. But also…
With that thought in mind, I hurry into the room—and relax when I see the purple stencil on Steele’s forearm. His other arm is covered in tattoos that I love to run my fingers over. The rose, the trees, a wolf. And the deer skull on his sternum. He has more, of course, but the deer skull is my favorite. For no other reason than it’s a nice place to trace with my lips, and I love the morbidity of it.
Still. Even though the placement of the tattoo is better than what I expected, it takes me a minute to work out what it is.
A snake, winding down and ending with its teeth sunk into Steele’s wrist.
I shake my head and sit beside him while Saint prepares his tattoo machine and ink. Just a little cup of black.
“A viper,” Steele explains.
“I can see that.” My cheeks heat. “Wouldn’t a tree have been more… apt?”
He laughs. “You’re not atree. Your venom went right to my heart.” He catches my hand and brings it to his lips. He kisses my knuckles. “And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
I shake my head, drawing my legs up onto the chair.
To be fair, it’s kind of surreal to see an artist like Saint Hart do his thing. The hum of the tattoo machine is almost kind of lulling—especially since it’s not going inmyskin. But the longer I watch, the more I think I want one of my own.
Five hours—and a few breaks—later, and Saint wipes down the tattoo for the last time. He had Steele change positions a few times, since it wraps all the way around his forearm, and now he cleans all of it.
Steele rises and checks it out in the mirror. He started smiling when the tattoo began, and now it widens into a full-on grin. He ducks into the bathroom, and I glance at Saint.
I bite my lip.
But Saint just smiles faintly. “You want one, too?”
I nod.
“He already booked you an appointment following his.”
“That asshole.” It’s hard not to laugh, though. “Did he tell you what I might want?”
“Something about a wedding ring?”
I lift my left hand. Ihavea wedding ring. The thin little band perfectly accentuates the engagement ring that came from his mother.
“He’s delusional,” I inform the tattoo artist. I tell him what I want instead, and Saint nods.
“Give me some time to draw that up.”
Steele reemerges, and Saint puts a waterproof wrap over his tattoo. It’ll stay on for a few days to help with the healing process.
“Ready to go, baby?” Steele wraps his hand around the back of my neck, drawing me toward him.
