The entry door rang out with a ding, the tattoo shop smelled of ink and leather, and the front desk was stained with ink and hand-drawn designs. Rafe clicked the bell on the counter as he waited impatiently for an employee to come speak with him; his foot continuously tapped against the linoleum floor.

Rafe's gaze drifted towards you, sitting at the tattoo station, practicing with a tattoo gun on yourself. Rafe smirked and tilted his chin up.

“You! Hey!” He called out; your head snapped towards him as your gaze narrowed. You knew who Rafe was, an old “friend” of sorts; his family did business with your family for a few years.

“Ah, Mr. Cameron.” You drawled as you wiped a wet paper towel on your finger, getting rid of the extra tattoo ink before you set the tattoo gun down with a clatter as you stood up, walking towards him, “What can I do for you?” you asked as you stood behind the wood counter, pulling out an iPad to prepare for his tattoo design.

“Well, hello there, pretty girl,” he rasped as he leaned against the counter, his arms splayed out on the wood—his fingers twitched with the want to touch you.

You and Rafe stood there, talking and bickering for a few minutes before he finally settled on a design, a small motorcycle helmet stencil on his shoulder. You walked over to the chair and had him take his shirt off before you shaved his chest and shoulder and prepared the skin for a tattoo.

You sat on the roller chair and started, placing the stencil down before you tried to press the tip of the gun onto his skin. You realized quickly you couldn’t get a good angle; you huffed, and as you went to move the chair—Rafe grabbed your hips and yanked you onto his lap. You gasped loudly and stared at him, swallowing hard.

“I guess this is better,” you muttered as you leaned over him and pressed the needle of the tattoo gun into his skin.

“Damn right, pretty,” he murmured as his thumbs rubbed shapes on your hipbones.