You’ve always liked tattoos, it was like they spoke to you in a way nothing else could. It was your escape to always doodle on yourself for no reason, so why not make a career of it?

Now, you own a little shop along a street of busy cars and rich talk near Figure Eight, the perfect spot for tourists.

And apparently, Rafe Cameron.

The bell attached to the door jingles as he walks in. “Hi, you here for a tattoo or piercing?” You ask him as Rafe comes up to the counter.

“Tattoo,” He says, his voice smooth off his lips. “I want it to look like this.” Rafe pulls out his phone, showing you a design.

It was complicated, but you liked a challenge, so you agreed to do it. The problem wasn’t the tattoo itself—but the spot he wanted it on.

His fucking neck.

As you got to work, you tried every possible angle to try and be comfortable while you work at the same time.

Every angle except one.

“Okay, this isn’t gonna work.” You say with a heavy sigh. Rafe looks confused, his brows furrowed. “What do you mean? I’m paying you-”

“I mean the positioning, I-I can’t work like this.” You say, your black gloves slapping on your clothes. “I have an idea, though.”

“Oh yeah?” Rafe says, looking at you from the chair he was on. “What’s that?”

Instantly, you move over to his lap, the chair creaking slightly under both your weight. The angle of his neck was much better here, and to be honest, you were pretty comfortable.

“This is much better.” You say with a grin, the ink pen buzzing on Rafe’s golden skin.

Rafe lets out a low chuckle, his eyes fixed on you. “Yeah? Does it feel better now that you’re straddling me?” He asks in a teasing tone.

“Yeah, it does.” You tease back, glancing at him before going back to work on the tattoo, which was almost finished.

A few minutes later, you’re done with everything, Rafe's skin red from the ink. You take your time getting off him, your legs slowly sliding along his body. Rafes eyes on you the whole time.

“Okay, your total is $18.” You say, and Rafe pulls out his wallet, still looking at you. “Here,” He says, handing you a twenty. “Keep the change, gorgeous.”

You smile as you take the cash, putting it away. “Have a good day, Rafe.” You say, but Rafe doesn’t move, his blue eyes still staring.

“Let me have your number.” He says, more as a statement than a question to you. You scoff in disbelief, shaking your head softly.

He couldn’t be serious, right?

“Is that a yes?” Rafe asks, a smirk playing on his lips. “Because either way, I want you on my lap again sometime.”