UNDER THE SKIN

“Fuck!” Jazz moaned.

“You okay?” he asked, plunging his gaze into hers.

“Y-yes… Just keep going.” She sighed, dropping her head back, pain and pleasure mixing at the ends of her nerves. It wasn’t her first time, but goddamn, it was hurting.

“Sure.” JJ smirked, a strand of dark hair falling over his forehead as he looked down again. “If you need me to stop, just tell me,” he husked.

They had been going at it for two hours, and she thought she would get used to that stinging sensation after a while, but nope. Her body was hyper-sensitive that day and didn’t seem to want to cooperate. At least, he was the one doing all the hard work while she was just laying there in a comfortable position.

Taking a deep breath in, Jazz squeezed her eyes shut when he went back to drilling into her. The buzzing sound muffled the rock background music and perforated her eardrums, just like the needle was perforating her ribs. Holy fuck! Seriously, it felt as if he was trying to carve something on her bones rather than engraving ink into her skin.

Who the hell had asked her to get such a massive tattoo under her boobs?

Oh, right, yourself.

It was beautiful, a mandala design that stretched on her ribcage from side to side. Geometric, pointed, and arc shapes that had a lioness with half of the face covered by different types of flowers in the middle. Lots of details and shading. She was regretting it with every passing second.

Some people cut their hair or changed its color when they needed to spark their lives a little, or when something wasn’t working, or when relationships ended… Others bought cars or traveled solo. But Jazz? She had to get a new and painful tattoo.

“I think it’s more because of the irritation than anything else,” JJ commented, as if that would make it any better.

“Yeah, I know. It feels like burning, but still…” She whimpered, throwing her arms over her eyes.

“We’re almost done, though. So, just hang in there a bit more, gorgeous.”

“Easier said than done…” She hissed, making him chuckle. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing.”

“Well, you just laughed.” She raised her head and glared at him.

“The sounds you’re making,” he said, wiping the already blackened disposable paper over her stomach. Ow, that stings. “I don’t know if you’re in pain or enjoying it.” He quirked a brow, looking at her as he dipped the needle into the ink once more.

“What the—” She snickered.

The cocky grin on his face widened before he went back to working on her, sending electric jolts straight to her center. Hot. Mysterious. Intriguing. He was annoyingly handsome, and the way his tatted-up biceps and forearms were flexing and tensing while injecting the ink into her dermis together with the deep, raspy sound of his voice stirred her insides. But maybe it was the fact that she had been so busy lately sex had moved to a second plane in her life. Not that she was a nymphomaniac, but she missed it. And having all her senses stimulated at the same time—because damn it, he smelled good too, like the ocean and mint with a dash of sandalwood—didn’t help.

Whatever. She wasn’t that impressionable anymore. “It’s hurting. I’m sorry if my constant groaning is turning you on.”

JJ laughed wholeheartedly, putting the machine down for a second. “You’d be surprised by the things I’ve seen and heard here,” he confessed, shaking his head. “Though, I have to admit not all my clients are so sexy.” He glanced at her, the side of his mouth tugging up again.

“Those overused pick-up lines won’t work with me,” she blurted with no shame.

Funny how things change as you age.

When she was a teenager, Jazz didn’t dare to look people in the eye. She would immediately blush and wish to be swallowed by a hole in the ground. Shyness should have been her middle name because if someone got her name wrong, she never dared to correct them—she’d probably had a hundred different names by now. But growing up and having faced too many hardships in a short span of time, had erased all that wishy-washy attitude. Besides, she was too old for that shit.

“I’m not flirting with you.” He smirked as he continued his job. “I was stating a fact.”

“Right.” She snorted, letting the back of her head touch the black leather again.

After a brief silence, only broken by the constant buzzing hammering on her ribs, he stopped.

“Okay… I think this is done,” the tattooist mumbled, leaning back a little, tilting his head to examine his work.

Placing the electric pen on the cart with the rest of his kit, he grabbed the green soap bottle and sprayed a little over her abdomen to wipe the blood and the remaining excess of ink.

The skin of her entire body crawled. Mother-shit-fuck. For real, that was her least favorite part. You thought the worst had passed, but the area was so irritated it felt as if someone was rubbing sandpaper over an open wound.

“Let me help you down…” he said, wrapping his hand around her forearm to help her slowly sit up. “You good?” Those intense brown irises that reminded her of a cold autumn rainy night fixed on hers.

“Yeah…” She nodded, hopping off the table-bed. Though, to be honest, after laying there for so long and enduring the needle puncturing her over and over, she was feeling a little dizzy.

“Go check it and let me know what you think.” He motioned towards the mirror with his head as he started cleaning his tools.

Standing in front of the reflecting surface on the other end of the room, her heart palpitated fast.

Jazz had found JJ on Instagram. He had thousands of followers and his waiting list was more than six months long, and that was the living proof of why. Whether it was out of practice or because he was one of those naturally talented rare gems—or both—he was outstanding at what he did. Every piece displayed on his feed was beautiful and unique. He could, literally, do anything. From traditional old school to geometrical to blackout to realism. However, that feminine and powerful design was her favorite.

That lioness, the representation of strength and wisdom; and the flowers that added the meaning of how beautiful yet short-lasting life could be, was a reminder for her to focus on the present. It was easy to forget what really mattered in life, and both the past and the future were meaningless if she didn’t enjoy and appreciate what she had now. “I love it,” she murmured, grazing her fingers under the reddened area of her ribcage.

“It turned out pretty well, yeah. I think it’s one of my faves that I’ve done in this style,” he rasped from his seat, staring straight into her eyes through their reflection. It was just a flash, but she caught a twinkle in his irises that made her want to do something reckless and stupid. “Let me add some ointment and wrap it up,” he said, turning his chair.

“Sure.”

Walking towards him, she bit the inside of her bottom lip. He was seriously hot. Broad shoulders, narrow hips, sexy undercut hairstyle with the top long enough to cover his eyes when it fell down, plump lips, small ear dilations, and all the skin she could see covered in ink. And she was already half-naked… Too bad he was, most likely, a decade younger.

“You know how this goes.” He pointed at the scattered tattoos on her left arm with his eyes. “Keep the bandage on till tonight,” he started, “And gently wash the area twice a day with antibacterial soap and water for a week or two. And pat dry, for God’s sake, don’t rub,” he blabbered while applying the balm on her ribs. It was fucking heaven. “Do you have any of this”—he raised the jar in his hand—“to put on during the first few days?”

“Probably expired.”

That is, if I knew where to find it.

The last few months had been a rollercoaster of emotions, and her memory was trash. Her inner world felt like a jumbled mess between an after-party and a city destroyed by a tornado. Yeah, she was exaggerating, but it really was numbing. Disappointed, anxious, helpless, angry because she was sad. She only had her head over her shoulders because it was glued to her body, if not she would have lost it somewhere already. Getting divorced after almost sixteen years of sharing her time, her dreams, her life with the same person wasn’t easy.

She might not have been in love with him the way she was at the beginning, but she still loved Connor. And the end of that relationship, while inevitable, had left a sour, mournful taste in her mouth that had drained her energy. Good thing she still had Ethan with her. That boy that was the perfect mix of the two of them was her light in the dark. The way his green eyes glowed when he smiled illuminated everything around him, and that was enough reason for her to go on. Of course she still had her family, her job, her friends, but the strength the sound of his laugh gave her was unparalleled.

“I can sell you the one I just used,” he said while covering the tattoo with plastic wrap. “My colleague’s wife prepares it and it’s a miracle cure. That, or you can go to the drugstore to get whichever you previously used. Whatever you want…” he said, putting the last piece of tape to hold the covering in place. “There you go.” Giving a single nod, he slightly pushed his rolling chair back.

It was quick, but his gaze coursed her body from the bottom up, until it met hers, lingering there longer than necessary. Intense, lustful, blunt. An old yet familiar need boiled in her blood as a faint smirk darkened his features.

Jazz could hardly remember the last time a man had looked at her like that, especially after finding out she was a mom. They either subtly referred to her son as a burden, asking her to leave him with a babysitter or at a friend’s so they could go out on a date—which obviously closed the door for them to get any further—they ran for the hill or felt uncomfortable doing certain things; as if having been a vessel to a new life had changed her true nature. Sex and childbirth were just the disjunction between what biblically was considered sin and grace. But sadly for those devout religious people, you couldn’t have one without the other.

Clearing his throat when the chiming of the front door reverberated in the room, JJ turned around. “If it gets infected or anything, come back so we can check it, okay?” he said, taking off the black latex gloves before he stepped out of the room.

“Yeah…” She sighed, peeled off the gauzes covering her nipples, and got dressed again.

As she walked to the reception area of the parlor, a blonde—whose feminine charms were as big as her head—was leaning on the front desk, clearly flirting with the tattoo artist.

“Oh, I thought you were alone,” she said with such a high-pitched voice the dogs across the neighborhood probably had heard her too.

“We’re done,” JJ simply replied while writing something down on a piece of paper.

“I’ll wait for you inside, then.” The blonde winked at him and, swaying her hips, disappeared inside the room Jazz had just come out from.

“You’re gonna get the ointment too?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

“Great.” He softly smiled. “Since you already paid half of the tattoo, it’ll be a total of…” He scribbled on the same paper. “Two hundred and sixty-five.”

“Card, please,” she said, getting the Visa out of her wallet.

“Sure.” Entering the price on the keypad, he grabbed the plastic and grinned. “What a coincidence.”

“What?”

“All our initials being the same.”

“Oh, yeah.” She chuckled. “But I bet your parents had the decency to call you something prettier than a flower and a mineral used for jewelry. Am I a fairy or what?”

He laughed, almond eyes squinting as he did. This man was a different level of sexiness. It was as if someone had put all the best features and qualities of both ethnicities; Caucasian and Asian, and whisked them together to create some kind of God.

“They went the easy route and just picked up whatever sounded good that could be JJ, like my father, but different.”

“And that would be…?”

“Jayden James.”

“That sounds…” Hot. Very hot. “Nice.”

“You can call me whatever you want though.” A lopsided grin curled his lips as he propped his elbows on the glass counter with her card and receipt pinched between two fingers; the grey tee wrapping around the muscles of his shoulders and arms like a second skin.

“Ah…” Putting a palm over her heart, Jazz faked being hurt. “The things I’d do to you if you were a bit older, honey.” She might as well play that game.

JJ chuckled. “I doubt the difference is that big.” He walked around the desk while she was putting her wallet back in her bag. “Besides, age is just a number, and this one”—he leaned forward, husking as he gave her a business card with his personal phone number scribbled on the back—“is the only one you should care about.”