Masquerade

“Mom did it for me as a surprise.” She looks at me. “Surprise! It’s a very grown-up house, I’m told. My sister helped.”

There’s so much history behind her words that I hear it coating them—dripping off but still leaving residue behind.

Bee doesn’t give me time to ask, though. Honestly I’m not sure if I would. My hands itch too much to tattoo her to think of anything else.

“Drink?” she asks.

“Water. Where can I leave my jacket? I don’t want to fuck anything up.”

Her back is to me as she walks into the kitchen. “Put it anywhere, Maddox.”

A couple seconds later she comes out with two bottles of water. Instead of moving toward the living room, she heads to a hallway and I go right behind her. Four closed doors line the hall, two on each side. Bee picks the last one on the right. When she turns on the light, I see the room is full of tattoo supplies but it looks like an art room too. There’s a desk with a lamp and a light board for drawing. Pencils are in a cup.

In the corner there’s a chair. Not a tattoo chair but one that will definitely serve the purpose. A cabinet is in the other corner, with no doors on the front and stocked full of brand-new supplies.

Bee grabs something from against the wall and I see it’s a foldout table. After helping her set it up, she nods toward the table. “You going to start drawing?”

Her words send electricity shooting through me. She could easily draw whatever she wants, exactly how she wants it. Instead she’s asking me.

Trust. She fucking trusts me.

“What do you want?” My mouth feels dry, so I open the bottle and take a drink. Fuck, this girl does something to me. She ties me in knots and makes me feel free at the same time.

“Leaves, on my shoulder blade.” Her eyes dart to the desk and back at me. “Everything you need to get started is right there. I’ll be right back. I’m going to change.”

And then she’s gone and I’m at the desk. After taking off my jacket, I toss it in the corner. Leaves. What the hell? A little flash of memory hits me. Seeing the leaf fall on her shoulder. Watching her pick it up, then another one.

I think of the stars going down her side and the story she told me about camping. Her Gemini, the mask like someone would wear at a masquerade on the back of her neck and I know. I fucking know what she does. Those things are important to her and the leaves from today are too.

This burst of pride like I haven’t felt in so long fills me. I brought her today and it was important to her. She trusts me to put this piece of her life into her skin forever.

I’m not sure anything has ever been so special to me.

My hands actually shake a little as I sit at the desk. As soon as I put the pencil to paper, it’s like something takes me over. This need and desire to create something incredible for her possesses me and it starts to flow: one leaf on top, another floating below it, and a third under that. The second two are both bent whichever way the wind chooses to fold them. With the side of the pencil I shade some curving lines for the wind. I draw little spidery lines in each leaf, smearing some of the lines. What happens next is automatic. In each of the leaves is a letter, spelling her name.

Not Leila. Not Coral. Even if she goes back to either of those names, she needs to know she gets to decide who she is. And she chose Bee.

By the time I finish, I know it’s been at least forty-five minutes. Bee isn’t back yet but then I didn’t expect her to be. She’s waiting for me. I don’t let myself overthink how I know that.

Sticking my head out the door, I call, “We’re good.”

It’s not five seconds later she’s coming out of the room across the hall wearing short-shorts and a tank top with a thin strap. Her hair is up and all I can think about is how much I want to taste her neck. To put my hands through her hair and kiss the skin I’m about to mark to show it some sweetness before the pain.

“What’cha got for me, Scratch?” She walks in the room and I follow. Bee heads straight over to the desk, her back to me as she studies the drawing. My heart kicks up as I crack my knuckles.

“If you want something else—”

“It’s perfect.” She turns. “It’s beautiful.”

I think about that sunflower on the back of her calf, I know her stars, her Gemini, the mask, and her leaves but I don’t know that.

“Are you sure you want me to do this?” It fucking kills me to ask but I have to. I can do it. I’ll make it fucking beautiful but I need her to be sure.

“I wouldn’t let anyone else.”

Christ I want to kiss her so bad. I know if I do, we won’t stop. And I want to do this tattoo for her. “This is going to get in the way.” I run my finger down the strap on her tank top.

She looks up at me, all strength and honesty. “Then take it off.”

I slide my hands down—down her shoulders and her arms to her waist. Bee shivers when I reach my destination but I start going back up, this time with the bottom of her shirt in my grasp. She raises her arms and I pull the fabric off her before tossing it to the floor.

I swear it’s like my fucking insides are shaking. My tongue traces my lips and I wish I was licking hers instead. Or a tattoo, or each peak of her perfect breasts as she stands in front of me naked from the waist up.

“You’re fucking killing me here.”

She grins. “Then we better get started. I’d hate for something to get in the way of getting my ink.”

My hand slides around her side. “Just worrying about yourself, huh?”

“It’s a great tattoo.”

Her compliment only reignites the wildfire burning me up. “You’ll be the perfect canvas.”

She gasps, my words shocking her the same way they do me. She recovers quickly. “There’s antibacterial soap in the bathroom down the hall. Wash up. I’ll get everything set up.”

Before I lose the strength to do it, I head out of the room. It doesn’t take me long to wash my hands and she’s almost finished with the setup when I get back into the room. The supplies, towels, gun, and ink are all laid out on the table. After grabbing the saran wrap, I put some Vaseline on it.

“Sit down.” My voice comes out scratchy.

Bee does as I say, leaning forward so her back is to me, her breasts up against the back of the chair. Laying the paper against the smooth skin of her shoulder blade, I watch as the hairs on the back of her neck move with my breath.

“Do you have a mirror so I can make sure you like the placement?”

“It’s perfect.” She doesn’t even turn around.

“Bee—”

“I know what I’m doing, Maddox. I can feel where it is. I saw the drawing. We’re good, okay?”

Without a reply, I slip the gloves on and find the right speed on the machine. Goose bumps travel down her arms when I rub a light layer of Vaseline on her shoulder. All inked up and ready, with no hesitation, I touch the needle to her skin. Bee doesn’t flinch—doesn’t move at all as I move down the first line.

Neither of us talk for the longest time. No words are needed right now as I make something that’s important to her, a piece of her forever.

I do the first leaf and then move to the second. Time passes but I don’t know how much. It doesn’t matter. All that does is the art. The whole time I don’t let myself wonder if I’m ready for this. She thinks I am, and I trust her. Christ, I fucking do.

I’ve never felt as co

And I know it wouldn’t be the same with anyone else.

“You good?” I ask her before I start the third leaf. Each of the lines is clean and how they’re supposed to be. The skin of her shoulder is red and puffy but it doesn’t take away from the beauty of the ink.

“You have a steady hand. I can tell.”

“Thanks but I asked how you are.” I lift the needle from her shoulder and she turns to look at me.

“Rock steady up here.”