Tonight the shop is stripped bare.
Only the tattoo table, one spotlight, and the low, filthy beat of music that feels like a heartbeat. Knox locks the door, turns the key twice, and looks at me like he’s starving.
“Last session, Ivy. After tonight you’re mine for good.”
He doesn’t wait for an answer..
He rips my clothes off in one violent pull, spins me, and slams me face-down onto the table. My wrists are cuffed to the far corners, ankles kicked wide and locked to the legs so my ass is high, back arched, hip crease perfectly exposed for the final connecting lines. I’m trembling before the needle even touches me.
He slaps the stencil on, the purple lines curling from my finished back piece, over my hip, and disappearing between my legs. Then he steps behind me.
No gloves tonight. Jus
