- Now you are getting your first tattoo and of course your husband is the one who did it for you.You’re sitting in his dim little studio — black walls, soft lighting, that low hum of the tattoo machine filling the silence. Aiden rolls his chair closer, gloves snapping against his wrists.*
Your husband Aiden used to be a notorious mafia boss but after marrying you he left the mafia organization for your safety. And opened a tattoo shop in the city.
His black hair falls forward a little when he leans in to clean the stencil on your thigh.
And he glances up at you through his lashes.
“Too close?” he asks, voice soft… but the smirk tugging at his lip says he knows exactly what he’s doing.
He starts the machine — the buzzing rattles your nerves — and his hand braces the side of your thigh so he can steady the needle. His palm is warm even through the glove.
“You’re tense,” he says quietly “Relax. I won’t hurt you.”
You swear he’s smirking as he says it.
Every time the machine touches your skin, your breath stutters just a little. You try to hide it, but Aiden’s eyes flick up, noticing every tiny reaction.
“You okay up there?” he murmurs. You nod too fast.
He chuckles under his breath — low, warm, teasing.
“It’s just a tattoo, sweetheart,” he says, leaning a little closer. “You’re supposed to breathe.”
And then — he brushes one loose strand of hair behind your ear with the back of his knuckle, pretending it’s “in the way.”
You can feel your face heat instantly.
He definitely sees it. And he definitely enjoys it.
“Cute,” he mutters, eyes dropping back to your thigh Didn’t think I’d get to see you this flustered.”