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“I am proud of you.” Joan leans back slightly in her chair. “You’ve spent a long time inside the rooms you already built. Sounds like you’re allowing yourself to experience something new. You’re adding a room.”

The shop has a different feel despite the familiar hum of conversation and tattoo machines. Random laughter cuts through the sound of shifting chairs and spray bottles. I’m grateful Frankie was able to shuffle around my second Saturday appointments to make me available for Anna.

I ready my station for her arrival. The bell at the front chimes, and I grin, knowing that’s her. I stand up and head to the front of the shop to find her waiting, looking as gorgeous as ever.

She seems so much lighter since quitting the club, and now that I get extra time with her in the evenings, I’m more chill too. Seeing her has completely eradicated my desire to smoke, which is an interesting development—who knew this woman came with health benefits?

“There you are.”

“Hi,” she greets me softly.

“I’ll get her checked in,” I tell Frankie, ushering Anna back to my area. She’s established as a client and we’re working on a continued piece, so I can take signatures on my tablet. I pass her the device with the check-in welcome screen on deck.

I can’t help but smile while observing her tap in her name and agree to all the TOCs. Jesus, she’s even hot signing waivers. While she does that, I set up the privacy screen that’s been sitting outside my area since this morning to block any prying eyes while I work on her tattoo.

When I get the wall in place and spin around, the air feels so much more private and intimate than before—and it is—because at the last appointment we were at a very different place. Still friends.

Until last weekend . . . when I said it.

I’ve never said it romantically before. To anyone.

It makes all the feelings over the last few weeks make sense. The overthinking, the anxiety, the constant prickle when she wasn’t near—the fucking fear of losing her, losing someone I love. I didn’t know what to name those feelings, they were bigger than anything else I’ve ever had for someone else. It’s okay that she hasn’t said it back yet, she will—I can feel it. I’ll wait as long as it takes for her to choose me.

She trusted me with her past, and I hope she realizes now that every version of her is safe with me. She doesn’t have to bear it alone; I can carry some of that weight for her. Meanwhile, I’ll ensure that her dangerous past never resurfaces. I sleep better at night knowing Steve can’t bother her anymore; now I’ve just got the other two guys from the video to erase.

Anna finishes up on the tablet and I take it from her, going through the final prompts. “How are you feeling today?” I ask, tapping the screen while she unzips her long coat and places it on the hook.

“Kinda chilly,” she answers. I glance up in time to see her drop the spaghetti straps of her sundress—something far too chilly for November weather—off her shoulders to reveal her perfect breasts. “Just making sure you have a clear workspace.” She sweeps her pink braid forward and it grazes over her pebbled nipple.

I purse my lips, holding back a laugh. “Oh, that’s how it is, is it?”

“Maybe.”

“Bold move, let’s see how that plays out for you.”

She has no business looking as pleased as she does. Anna knows she has the power to get under my skin, and I can tell by that bratty little smile that she enjoys being there, poking and prodding at my patience like she’s trying to find the edge of it.

What she doesn’t take into consideration is that I’m more than willing to show her where the line is. I have no problem pinning her down in this chair, prying her thighs apart, and fucking her through every sharp sting of my inked needle until her pussy is as raw and sensitive as the skin around her tattoo.

Crooking a finger at her, she saunters toward me, planting herself at my feet. I drop to a crouch and my palms skate up her calves and thighs, disappearing under her skirt. I hook her lace panties and drag them down to her ankles. “Step out.” She does, and I pocket the underwear before taking a seat. I slip my suspenders off my shoulders and unfasten my jeans, shoving them down along with my boxers.

My heavy pierced cock springs free, stealing her attention, and she sinks her teeth into her plush bottom lip.

I take my place on the tattoo bench, the one that’s set up like a backward chair, with a padded backrest for her torso to lie forward on, and slide back all the way to allow enough space for both of us.

“Have a seat. Let’s get started.”

Her cheeks turn pink and I smirk.

“Are you serious?”

I nod.

Turning away from me, she steps backward toward me. I encircle her delicate wrist. “Sit down, Duchess,” I repeat. I seal my hand over her mouth, she straddles my lap, and I gently guide her onto my length. Her exhale is hot against my palm when she muffles a small noise, welcoming the full sensation. “That’s right, just like that.”

I pull her back to my chest, hand still covering her mouth. “What a wet pussy you have,” I whisper. “Now hold still, or I’ll be forced to bounce your little body up and down on my dick in front of all these people until you come.”

I point at the mirror across from us, the mischievous smile behind my palm reaches her eyes.