Inflict: A Novel

Chapter Fourteen

"Someone is knocking on the door," Evelyn said softly.

Connor barely heard it over the buzz of his tattoo machine, and since he was positive he didn't hear her correctly, he continued his task. After twelve hours with his back hunched over, his hands were getting tense and his shoulders were stiff. Evelyn had wanted this tattoo badly. It was something she had sketched out the week before, when she had stayed the day with Killian, and Connor couldn't deny her a thing.

Not even when his hand was still healing and hurting like a bitch, and he knew he should have asked her to wait. The pain was grand, anyway, like a feckin' gift to him. It reminded him he was doing better a week after falling into that trap again, that he was alive, and that he had the most beautiful creature under his hands.

Besides, no one else could tattoo Evelyn.

Not with her wee problem once the machine was turned on.

Connor didn't think he would be able to sit still and watch some other fecker—or even a woman, maybe—do something that Evelyn found pleasure in, especially when she then needed to ... find relief. He would probably kill somebody and he wouldn't even feel badly for it.

Why should he?

"Almost done the major outline," Connor said.

"I can tell. You're very low. Still there's—"

"You're going to need at least two to four weeks before we can sit again and start to color it in," Connor explained, "for healing and everything."

"Great."

Connor didn't miss the strange inflection in Evelyn's tone. "What's wrong, lass?"

"I'm sure the wings look fine, don't they?"

He sat back, fully admiring the outline of the wings and all their feathery details over her shoulders and half-way down her back. It was quite a piece—one that might take another artist and client four or even five sessions to complete. But with Connor's almost mindless focus, and Evelyn's high tolerance for pain, two sessions, or maybe three if some color bled, would do it.

"Looks classy on you, love," he answered honestly.

And sexy.

And crazy.

And wonderful.

He wondered, one day, would her skin be covered in art like his?

Connor liked that a lot.

These pieces were absolute art.

And so was her body.

It just fit.

"Great," Evelyn repeated, "but someone has been knocking on the door for ten minutes, and they're starting to get pretty persistent."

Finally, Connor's concentration on the task at hand was broken, and he heard the hard banging coming from the front of the brownstone. After the week he'd had, being able to get lost in tattooing had been a relief he couldn't pass up.

"Obviously, they're not going away," Connor said, referencing whoever was at his front door. He stood, letting his gloved hand slide up Evelyn's back with a gentle touch. Her shiver told him it probably still stung a bit, and her skin was a pretty pink all around the black lines. "You okay?"

"Perfect."

Connor pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "Cover up, in case I have to invite them inside, love."