My parents, aunts, uncles, and all my cousins had been so excited for me when I told them I was interviewing with Dustin. But all their excitement combined had nothing on how Mila’s eyes had sparkled in the passing lights as she’d commended me for my accomplishment.
“How many tattoos do you have?” I asked, spying the edge of some sick line work on her shoulder.
“Five,” she said, not looking up from examining the portrait I’d done for my cousin Mia’s husband, Barrick, of their baby girl. It had only been his second tattoo, and he’d sweated bullets the whole time he was in my chair. Unfortunately for him, it had taken a few sessions, but he hadn’t whined once. Normally when I got people who were as scared of needles as he was, they complained the entire session. “She is so beautiful,” she murmured softly, skimming her fingers over Emerson’s cheek.
“That’s Little Em,” I told her. “She looks just like her mom and grandma.”
She stuffed the last bite off her fork into her mouth. “You got a picture of her?”
If it had been anyone else, I would have brushed her off and told her I didn’t have any. But this girl was going to be Emerson’s family, so I didn’t hesitate to take out my phone. After pulling up the last batch of pictures I’d taken while I was at Mia’s house, I handed it over.
“She adores you,” she observed. “The way she’s kissing your cheek in this picture, you seem to be her favorite person.”
“Nah, her favorite person is her grandpa, Nik.” I leaned back, shaking my head at how spoiled Little Em was by both her grandparents. “I thought my niece Hayat was spoiled by my dad, but he’s got nothing on Uncle Nik and Emerson.”
She flipped through a few more pictures, but when I sensed her mood shifting, I leaned over to see what she was looking at. Seeing the selfie I’d taken of my cousin Arella and me, I hid a grin. From the stiffness of her body, the way her gray eyes were narrowed and her nose was flaring, I knew she was jealous.
“That’s Arella,” I explained when she didn’t ask about the picture. “Unlike a lot of my cousins, who are only honorary family and not actually blood-related, Arella’s mom and mine are sisters.”
“This is Arella Stevenson?” she half shouted, her eyes focusing on the phone screen once again. “But she looks nothing like this on TV.”
I leaned forward and stabbed my fork into another boneless wing before lifting it to her lips. “She refused to dye her hair blond, so she wears a wing. And supposedly, she spends an hour in the makeup chair every morning to look less like herself. Why, I don’t know. She’s a fucking amazing actress and beautiful as hell, but they wanted to change the entire shape of her face for that stupid part.”
Arella wasn’t happy working on that drama. It was in its third season, but my cousin said that it was likely the last one. She loved acting, but her heart just wasn’t in the character she was currently playing. After the show ended, she said she was going to branch out, maybe do some overseas work. Not that she ever needed to work. Between the money her grandfather left her, her sisters, and Aunt Lana when he passed the year before, and the trust fund her dad had set up for her, she didn’t have to work a day in her life.
But like me, and our other cousins, she wanted to work. Wanted to earn her own way and find herself in the process. The Arella who wasn’t just the rock legend’s granddaughter or the Demon’s daughter. When she’d landed the lead female role in that stupid-ass drama, people started saying she’d only gotten the part because of who her family was. Usually it was jealous twats who wanted what she had and thought by trashing Arella’s name, they could build themselves up and steal her spotlight.
But she never let that bring her down. She only lifted her head higher and showed the world just how perfect she was for the role she was playing. Even though she hated it, she gave the job one hundred percent, and I respected her for that.
“Tell me, Mr. Famous Tattoo Artist,” Mila said after chewing the piece of chicken I’d fed her. “After knowing me for two hours, what tattoo would you give me to remember you by?”
“You want me to ink you, baby?” I asked, leaning forward to lick the smear of barbecue from the corner of her mouth.
I heard her breath hitch, and I pulled back, smirking down at her.
“I want to remember this night for the rest of my life,” she whispered. Then she blinked and cleared her throat. “You got your gear?”
“Never leave home without it,” I said and got to my feet. Walking into the bedroom, I grabbed the bag that had my tattoo gun, ink, and fresh needles. Going back to her, I laid everything out. “You’ll let me have free rein?” She nodded, continuing to eat. “Anywhere I want?”
“As long as it’s somewhere my dad can’t see. He has this one rule when it comes to his kids getting tattoos. He’s the only one who can put ink on us. I got my first tattoo at fifteen, and he and Mom didn’t have a problem with it because it was Dad doing it.” She looked up at me, her eyes full of so much trust, it took me a second before I could draw in a deep breath. “But I need you to mark my skin, Lyric.”
I wanted to grab her and mark every inch of her with my lips, possess each part of her, show her that she was mine. But once I touched her the way I needed to, it would be game over. I wouldn’t let her go until she begged me to release her, and even then, I wasn’t sure I was strong enough to watch her walk away.
“Take off your shirt,” I commanded.
Her fork paused halfway to her mouth, her eyes darkening with a hunger that had nothing to do with food. “Lyric—”
“You said you don’t want your dad to see it, Mila,” I reminded her, smirking at where her mind had instantly gone.
“Right,” she muttered. Dropping the fork onto the plate in front of her, she reached for the hem of her shirt and pulled it up over her head unashamedly.
Fuck. The air rushed out of my lungs as if I’d been punched in the stomach, and I just stood there looking down at her, entranced by her beauty. Her creamy skin only enhanced by the ink I saw on her shoulder and ribs. The way her tits pressed up against her wine-colored Victoria’s Secret bra. Her flat stomach and the freckle right above her navel.
There was no hiding how hard I was right then. She looked at where my cock was trying to push through my jeans, desperate to get to her, and gulped. “Sweet Jesus,” she breathed before quickly averting her gaze.
“Give me a little bit to sketch something up,” I said, grabbing my pad and a pencil. “Make yourself comfortable. Finish eating, watch TV, whatever makes you happy, babe.”
“Can’t do what would make me happy while you’re busy,” she grumbled, half under her breath.
Bending, I pressed her back against the couch and brushed my lips over hers. “Be patient for me, my Mila,” I breathed against her lips. “I promise it will be worth it.”
Chapter 6
Mila
With a hand towel over each breast, I lay on my back on the couch while Lyric sat on the chair he’d rolled over from the desk. The whirring sound of the tattoo gun, the feel of the needle marking the skin in the valley between my tits, none of that really registered.
How could any of that be of any consequence when I got to watch his eyes swirl with a kaleidoscope of browns as he put his mark on me?
I didn’t know what he’d come up with, but after seeing his wicked skills, I trusted him not to fuck up my skin. No doubt, it would be a masterpiece even if it was just a verse or a heart.
“Who is your best friend?” I found myself asking, wanting to hear his voice.
“My brother,” he answered without hesitation. “I used to have another best friend, Piper, but we drifted apart over the years. She’s younger than me by several years, so we were never in the same schools at the same time, but she lived down the beach from my sister, so I was at her house a lot.”
“You two don’t talk anymore?” Why I was jealous of some girl I’d never met before, I didn’t have a clue, but I hated the idea of him having a best friend who was a girl.
Who wasn’t me…
Damn it. This was only going to last one night. I had to stop feeling all possessive of this guy before my heart got confused.
It already was.
“We text every now and then, but she’s crazy busy touring.”
I felt my brow pinch. “Touring?”
“She followed in her parents’ footsteps. Liam Bryant. Gabriella Moreitti.” He added more ink, his strokes even and precise, not a single hesitation in any of his movements. And it was sexy as hell.
Then I realized exactly who he was talking about and nearly smacked myself in the face for being so stupid. “Piper Bryant was one of your best friends? Wait, isn’t she touring with Jagger Armstrong and Cannon Cage? I remember reading that somewhere only the other day.”
His lips twisted in distaste for a moment before his face cleared. “Yeah,” he said with a grunt. “She’s touring with Jagger and that little shit.”
“I see there is tension between you and Baby Cage.” Everyone in the media called Cannon Cage “Baby Cage.” For one, he looked a lot like his dad, Axton Cage, the lead singer for OtherWorld. For another, his voice was so good, it rivaled his father’s. I wasn’t sure if the nickname was to piss off the young rocker or to compliment him, but by the way Lyric smirked at me, I instinctively knew it annoyed the hell out of the younger Cage.