Page 53 of Tessa

She bobbed her head up and down and Axel used his wheelie stool to shuttle across the room, opened the drawer of a large standing tool box, the big red metal ones they had in car garages, and came back with a small black device that he easily wrapped his hand around to hold like a pencil.

“See?” he said, holding it up in front of them. “It doesn’t look that scary, does it?”

“No… but… where’s the needle?”

“Well, the needle goes here. It’s not in there yet because we use a new one each time. But I promise, the scariest thing about a tattoo gun is the name.” The big burly oaf of a man offered her a smile that was somehow both dazzling and doting, and Dax knew that if he really did have a Little of his own at home, that was one lucky Little.

“You good?” he whispered to Tessa again, ignoring his own bundle of nerves.

She worried her lip, her focus still on the device that Axel was holding before confirming her intentions with a decisive nod.

“Yup. I’m good. I still wanna do it. But you go first.”

Gritting his teeth, Dax nodded. Of course he would be the one to go first, whether he actually wanted to or not. After all, it was his idea, and he was the Daddy in this situation. Kinda.

He looked up to find Axel staring at him with raised eyebrows. “You ready, boy?” He held up the sheet of carbon paper and Dax wondered when, between his teasing and his Daddy-like tattoo gun explanation, he’d had the time to draw up the design but there it was.

Last chance to back out.

But Dax knew he wasn’t going to back out. As nervous as he may be, he was also excited. He wanted to do something to mark himself as Beau’s and he still thought tattoos in naughty places were sexy little secrets for two, or in this case, three, people to share.

“I’m good.” He swallowed thickly, three times because his throat was suddenly dry as the Nevada desert and jumped to his feet.

“Over there,” Axel directed. “Facedown on the tattoo table. Pants down, at least in the back. If you need to use the bathroom, best do it now. The tattoo will take about forty-five minutes and I don’t stop once I’ve started. Unless you pass out.”

“People pass out?” Dax questioned as he slowly shuffled over to the tattoo table, which was more like a flat leather chair, currently covered in the same scratchy paper they used in doctor’s offices.

Axel shrugged. “It’s been known to happen once or twice. Usually only with big pieces or people who lie about their alcohol intake.” He sized Dax up shrewdly. “You haven’t been drinking have you?”

“No, Sir! I don’t… I mean I rarely drink.”

“Never know. Have to ask. While drunk is the worst time to get a tattoo, it’s also the most common. Gotta have some of that liquid courage.” He grunted. “If you can’t get a tattoo sober, you shouldn’t get one at all.”

“Understood.” Dax was starting to feel awkward standing there being lectured about something he didn’t do and had no intention of doing, so he sidled over to the paper-covered table and draped himself facedown in the center of it.

Wheels squeaked as Axel rolled over to him. “Pants down,” he reminded. “Can’t tattoo your butt through your cargo shorts.”

“Yes, Sir.” Dax slid his hands in front of him, between his body and the paper, slowly working the button and zipper on the front of his shorts until they were loose enough to slide down his butt, exposing the area he wanted tattooed.

“Which cheek?” Axel asked.

“Um… the right one.” Dax wasn’t sure it made a difference at all.

“Good choice.” Rolling to the other side of the table, Axel poked at Dax’s buttock. “Right about here?”

A pit settled in his stomach. “Yes, Sir.”

“Oh, I forgot to ask. Did the size look okay?” He held up the drawing again and Dax turned his head to look.

“It’s perfect.”

“All right. Then I’m gonna go ahead and prep the area.”

Dax sucked in a sharp breath when the cold alcohol wipe hit his skin.

“You want this in black, or do you want color?”

“Just the outline of the heart please. And in black.” Coloring it in, he knew, would take much longer, and he didn’t know how long they had before Beau got home. When he was done, Tessa still had to get hers. Assuming she didn’t chicken out.