Keep Me If You Can (If You Can #3)
8. One Handed Texting
25%
Chapter eight
One Handed Texting
“C an you go over the plan for me? One more time?” Sydney asked.
“I’m getting a tattoo,” I said.
“You’re getting a tattoo,” she repeated.
I flipped the page in the book of flash tattoos. “You seem to have a pretty good understanding of the plan.”
“Right, of course,” she said. “It’s just that people usually know what they want to get before they waltz into a tattoo shop.”
I flipped the page again. “I figured I’d see something I like.”
“It’s a tattoo! Not a t-shirt at the mall.” She put her hand on the portfolio, stopping me from flipping the page again. “This is crazy. Even for you.”
I scoffed. “Since when are you the mature voice of reason? What’s next, telling me I need to eat more vegetables and go to therapy instead of working my issues out by sleeping around?”
“I mean, fuck vegetables, but the other part isn’t that bad an idea now that you’re not sleeping with a psychologist,” she said.
“Seriously?!”
“Yes and no.” She frowned, worry in her eyes. “You’re my best friend. I want to make sure you’re okay.”
“I am,” I said, smiling. “I promise. I just really want a tattoo.”
“To piss off your dad.”
“Not just to piss him off,” I said. “I’ve wanted a tattoo for ages. I don’t know why it’s so unexpected. I mean, I have a belly button piercing. But your concerns are noted.”
She sighed. “Alright. I’ll drop it for now. Do any of these look like something you want drawn permanently on your body?”
“I kind of like this bearded merman playing the ukulele,” I admitted, pointing at a drawing on the page.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”
I was bracing myself against the desk as I laughed when someone came out of the back room. Through my laughter, I saw a woman with chin-length bleach blonde hair, upturned eyes, and tattoos covering nearly every visible inch of pale white skin that wasn’t on her face or the palms of her hands. An amused expression pressed her lips in as she watched me—and to some extent, Sydney—giggle madly.
“Let me guess,” she said after a few moments, her voice deeper and huskier than I expected. “You’re here to get your ears pierced.”
“Close,” I said. “I was thinking nipples.”
“Sure,” she said. “Left, right, or both?”
“What do most people get?” I asked.
“Wait, are you seriously considering it?” Sydney asked.
I shrugged. “Maybe.”
The woman chuckled. “Well, I say do both at once otherwise you’re gonna chicken out. But some people get one done before the other since they can take a year or so to heal and you can’t fuck with them while they’re healing.”
I stared at her in horror. “You can’t fuck at all ?”
“Fuck as in play with,” she said. “You’re more than welcome to drag your boyfriend in so I can lecture him about no touching and subtly imply that it’s hard to suck on the nips when your jaw is wired shut, so he better not get his mouth anywhere near them lest I punch his little face.”
“You don’t have to worry about that,” I said. “I don’t have a boyfriend. Or a girlfriend.”
Her eyebrow flicked up. “Well, you’re pretty much set, then. Wanna get started?”
“Nah. I don’t want to not play with my own nipples for a year. And there are a lot of things I’d rather have you do to my face than punch it.”
“Like sit on it,” muttered Sydney.
“What was that?” the woman asked.
“She said ‘Like sit on it,’” I replied loudly.
Sydney’s face turned red, which was fair because there was a chance the woman wouldn’t find that as funny I did, but luckily she started laughing.
“Maybe later, sweetheart,” she said. “For now, what can I help you with?”
“I’m Nellie,” I said. “I’m here to get a tattoo.”
“Sweet. I’m Tricia. I’m here to give you a tattoo.” She leaned over and looked at the portfolio. “Is that the one you’re thinking of?”
She was hot. So hot. Hot enough that having her lean in close like that and being able to smell what I was pretty sure was her shampoo made my stomach flutter. And she was about to touch me. Sure, it was to use needles to draw on my skin, but I couldn’t stop picturing how pretty the colourful backs of her hands would look cupping my breasts, or wondering how far under the collar of her crewneck t-shirt her tattoos went. Or how inappropriate it would be for me to hit on her after she was done my tattoo.
Because I might have been insanely attracted to her, but I wasn’t stupid enough to potentially upset someone when, again, they were using needles to draw on my skin.
After, though?
After, maybe I’d see how serious she was when she told me she might sit on my face later.
The point of this all was that Tricia was hot. Hot enough that I wanted to sleep with her. And she seemed like she’d potentially be into it. Especially after helping me decide on a tattoo—a super fucking cool but elegant dragon in flight with scales trailing behind it—and where to put it.
“It would look best on your ribs,” she said, tracing a spot on her body just below her breast and to the side. “If you’re okay with getting it somewhere a little less visible.”
“It’s only less visible if I keep my clothes on,” I said. “So yeah. That sounds great.”
“Awesome.” She took the portfolio back and jerked her head towards the back room. “Let’s go get set up. Your, uh, friend can come. If you want. But we’ll be using one of the private rooms since you’ll have to have your shirt and possibly your bra off while I’m working.”
Sydney shook her head. “I came for moral support. I was going to do some shopping while she’s in there.”
Which was a complete lie, but Syd was an awesome wing-woman, and she texted me before I even had the stencil on to say she’d headed back to her place because she assumed I was gonna fuck my tattoo artist, but if that changed to let her know so she could see my new tattoo.
So I had the motive: Tricia was hot.
I had the means: Tricia potentially sitting on my face.
And good golly, did I have the opportunity: not only a private room in the back of the tattoo shop while I was topless, but the subtle mention that she was the only one working that day and the receptionist who’d checked me in was leaving in about twenty minutes.
“You sure you’re ready?” she asked after confirming no less than three times that I was happy with the placement of the stencil.
“Hell yes,” I said.
She nodded, then sat on the stool beside the tattoo chair I was sitting in and picked up the tattoo gun.
“It’s gonna hurt,” she warned.
“I’m looking forward to it.”
Tricia snorted. “Just my luck. Last tattoo of the day and I get a masochist.”
She leaned forward as I laughed, putting one gloved hand beneath my breast, and brought the tattoo gun towards me. Moments later, a sharp pain pricked at my skin. It wasn’t strong enough to make me gasp or flinch, but I definitely took a shallower breath than normal. After a few seconds, she moved the tattoo gun away.
“Doing okay?” she asked.
I nodded.
She smirked. “Good. This is the easy part.”
I tried not to laugh, knowing it would make my chest shake. Tricia went back to work, tracing over the stenciled lines.
It was hard to explain the sensation. It hurt, certainly, but at first, it seemed tolerable. It was only as she got further along that I really understood why people said tattoos were painful. The sensation built up, becoming more intense each time she passed the tattoo gun over my ribs.
“Do people usually talk while they’re doing this?” I asked the next time she took the gun away.
“Sometimes,” she said. “Some people find it distracts them. Some people go almost meditative. Does it hurt as much as you thought it would?”
“Maybe a bit more than I expected,” I admitted.
“Well, you’re doing great so far,” she said.
I was oddly proud of that, but she’d brought the tattoo gun back to my ribs and started again, so I didn’t say anything. It must have shown on my face, though, because when Tricia glanced up a few moments later, she let out another low chuckle.
“You got a bit of a praise kink there, Nellie?” she asked.
“What? No,” I said. “I mean, I like a compliment as much as the next person, obviously.”
“Mmm,” she said.
“Come on. Who doesn’t like compliments?” I rolled my eyes. “That doesn’t mean I’m into being told I’m a good girl or something.”
“Of course it doesn’t,” Tricia said lightly. “Don’t worry, I won’t argue when you’re doing such a good job proving your point, sweetheart.”
“I—oh, fuck off,” I said, laughing.
She smiled. “Maybe when we’re done.”
And if you’d asked me right then, I would’ve said we were for sure going to. Fuck, I mean. We flirted a bit more, and laughed a bit more, and she had to have noticed the fact that my nipples were hard the entire time she was touching me.
But we didn’t.
I didn’t fuck her.
Not only that, I…
Fuck, I couldn’t believe I was admitting it.
I chose not to fuck her.
And all because some asshole texted me halfway through the appointment.
Bastard
How’d you do on your case study?
“What’s wrong?” Tricia asked.
“Huh?” I looked up.
“You’re frowning,” she said. “And you tensed up. It won’t hurt as much if you relax.”
“Just like anal,” I said.
She pulled the tattoo gun away so she could laugh without messing anything up. “Can’t say I’ve ever experienced it. But is everything okay?”
“Oh, yeah,” I said. “Just a text from someone I didn’t expect to hear from.”
“Mmm,” she said knowingly. “An ex?”
I snorted. “God no. I burn those bridges until they explode so I look cooler while I’m walking away.”
She chuckled again, then went back to doing my tattoo while I clumsily texted JP back.
Me
y r u txting me
Bastard
y r u txting like that?
Me
one hand
Bastard
Why are you only texting with one hand?
Me
busy
Bastard
Doing what?
Or is it “doing who?”
Me
tattoo
He sent a set of laughing emojis.
Bastard
Sure you are, babe. Since when have you wanted a tattoo?
I didn’t want to admit why I’d impulsively ended up sitting topless in a tattoo parlour. And I could’ve just not responded and come up with something later. But I was impatient, and I wanted to know why JP was texting me.
Also, I loved proving JP wrong.
“Do you mind if I take a picture?” I asked Tricia.
“Of what?” she replied.
“Me being tattooed.”
She glanced up. “To send to your not-an-ex that’s texting you?”
“He would’ve had to be something in the first place to be an ex. But we might mess around now and then.”
She smirked. “Alright. Go ahead.”
So I held up my camera and pointed it down my body, making sure both of my tits were showing in the photo, and sent it. The checkmarks showing he saw it appeared immediately, but it took almost a minute before he messaged me back.
Bastard
See, exactly what I said. You sure are getting a tattoo
Me
jelus?
Bastard
I wouldn’t say jealous, but I do wish I was as close to your tits right now as she is
“Here,” Tricia said, and I nearly jumped as I realized she’d stopped tattooing me and stood up. “I’ll lean you back a bit and you can prop your elbow up on this stand so it’s easier to type.”
“Thanks,” I said as she helped me adjust.
“No problem, sweetheart. I want you to be comfortable.”
The low huskiness of her voice was definitely doing it for me, but I didn’t say anything else. And I didn’t text JP back until Tricia sat down and started working again.
Me
I haven’t got my case study back yet
Bastard
Your what now?
Me
The thing you texted me about? They won’t have it back to me until next week
Bastard
You can’t blame me for getting distracted
Seriously, look at your tits right now
Me
I can see them. So can she. So unless there’s anything else you want, I’m gonna go since I’m trying to seal the deal here
Bastard
Go for it, babe
I frowned again, but Tricia didn’t comment on it that time. Something about JP’s message felt strange, like he was…
I don’t know.
He shouldn’t have been anything. We both knew that. So I didn’t know why he thought he needed to give me the go-ahead.
Me
I don’t need your permission to get laid
“Are you still doing alright?” Tricia asked.
“Yeah,” I said, probably too quickly. “I’m fine.”
She studied me for a second, something flashing through her mind that I couldn’t have guessed at, then nodded. “If you say so.”
I did, but before I could tell her that I did, my phone went off again.
Bastard
Of course you don’t. But I figured it’d be extra hot for you to know I’m picturing it and jacking off while you’re with her
Oh God.
Oh God .
I mean, it was. It absolutely was. Somehow, even though it felt like wasps were attacking my ribcage and stinging it repeatedly, the thought of JP touching himself while thinking of me was…
I shouldn’t have liked that so much.
Me
Narcissist much?
Bastard
For what?
Me
Thinking it’s hot for ME to think about YOU when I’m with someone else. And please. You would think two women going at it was hot regardless of if I was involved or not
Bastard
Technically true, I guess. Pretty much anyone going at it would be hot to think about
But this is hotter than that. Knowing she’d be playing with a pussy I know every inch of, tasting exactly what I’ve tasted before, remembering the exact pitch of your moans when you come…
It adds a little something extra, babe. Trust me
I swallowed hard. I did trust JP. Especially when he was telling me to trust him, for some reason. JP didn’t take things like trust lightly.
So he was into this.
Me
You need to stop texting me and go get laid before your horny levels reach critical mass and you have a mental break or something
Bastard
mmm yes
keep talkin dirty
u kno i lik it
Me
Why are you typing like that?
Bastard
one hand
He probably was joking. It’s not like it was late at night and he was texting me while he was in bed or something.
But my pussy didn’t want to believe that.
Especially because my pussy seemed to insist on conjuring up an image in my head. An image of JP in his bedroom—which I knew wasn’t the right background because he didn’t live at home anymore, but I didn’t know what his new bedroom looked like—with his fist around his cock, stroking lazily as he texted me.
Of him sitting on his bed, leaning against the headboard, his legs spread and his shirt lifted so when he came, he wouldn’t mess up the fabric.
Of his eyes closed, his head tilted back, his lips parted, his breath shallow as redness crept up his neck and cheeks.
Of a mop of hair belonging to some anonymous girl in his lap. Blonde and pin straight one moment, brown in pigtails the next, natural curls after that, and then red and wavy and mussed up like he’d been using it to guide her up and down on his cock.
Of what she was tasting.
Feeling.
Hearing.
In the new image, his fist was no longer wrapped around his shaft, but twisted in her hair. His pants weren’t just pulled down, they were off, and he was shirtless, and he was fucking up into her mouth while pressing the back of her head down the way he did when he emptied a load down my throat. I didn’t know if he did that to other people, but it didn’t matter; it was my image, and my daydream, and my pussy getting wet while I thought about JP fucking another girl and understood exactly what he meant about the little something extra.
“Nellie?”
I almost jumped as Tricia said my name. She had sat back on the stool, another amused look on her face.
“It’s done,” she said. “Go take a look.”
My legs were unsteady as I got out of the chair. That had to be from the adrenaline of the tattoo and not what I’d been picturing, obviously. And I forgot all about JP for a few minutes as I looked in the mirror and nearly screamed in delight at the dark dragon outlined on my ribs, the skin surrounding the ink swollen and tinged red. Tricia took a few photos for me, then cleaned it off and put a clear bandage thing on it with strict instructions on how to change it, how long to keep it there, and what I could and couldn’t do during the weeks it would be healing.
“That should be it,” she said when she finished, then glanced down. “Unless there’s anything else?”
And there was.
But there wasn’t.
“I think that’s all,” I said, not quite looking at her, but able to see enough of her in the corner of my eye to catch the smile hiding a look of disappointment.
“For sure,” she said. “If anything comes up, you can call the studio here. Or come in and see me. Anytime, sweetheart.”
And I agreed I would, even though I was pretty sure we both knew I wouldn’t.
And I paid for my tattoo and left a way bigger tip than I originally planned on because it turned out they did take credit cards instead of just cash like I’d thought and I decided the only thing better than getting a tattoo that pissed off my dad was making him pay for it.
And then, adrenaline surging through me and barely feeling the ache in my ribs because the ache in my pussy was more demanding, I walked out of the tattoo parlour and pulled out my phone.
Me
Show me
Bastard
Are you soliciting a dick pic from me?
Me
I’d prefer a cumshot video with the sound on but I’ll settle for that, yeah
Bastard
You gonna listen to it while you’re getting tattooed?
I didn’t reply. Not with words. I just sent him one of the photos Tricia had taken before I put my bra back on.
Bastard
Damn, that’s hot. And the dragon looks amazing, too. Suits you, babe
If you’re done, aren’t you going home with your new friend?
Me
Didn’t work out
So show me
I had a photo by the time I got back to my apartment. And I forced myself to take the time to send one in return before pressing my vibrator to my desperately throbbing clit.
After, when I was lying on my bed with my phone sitting next to me, I vowed to never tell anyone I’d rejected a sure thing with a hot tattoo artist and chosen to go home and masturbate to a picture of JP’s dick instead.
And when my phone went off again before I’d even caught my breath, they wouldn’t have been able to torture it out of me that I shoved my vibrator out of the way, dug my much more powerful rabbit out of the night stand, and came harder than I’d ever been able to make myself come before while watching—and listening—to the cumshot video he sent me.