Midnight Muse

I’m lying on the dining room table, shirt pulled up to my neck, waiting for Knox to put the tattoo gun to my skin. I keep squirming, not quite comfortable on the cold table top, but it’s the best we’ve got. Lying on the couch or Knox’s bed would probably make me feel less uneasy, but I wanted him to have the flattest surface to work with because I know he’s nervous about fucking this up with his shaky hands.

It’s not his hands that I’m worried about. I don’t care what the lines look like and I know he’ll make them perfect. I’m worried about the sudden indecision creeping along my spine.

It’s my first tattoo ever, and I’m hella nervous.

It’s taken me months to decide on what I want it to be of, and Knox has been nothing but patient, not pushing or pestering me once about it, no matter how badly I know he wants to be the one to put my first ink on my skin.

The sound of the gun is intimidating as fuck.

I sigh loudly and Knox shuts the tattoo gun off, placing it on the table. He rips the gloves from his hands and helps me sit up, guiding my shirt back into place.

“Maybe we should wait,” he suggests softly, soothing the skin of my hands with his thumbs.

“I want one,” I huff, sadly. “But I don’t think this is the one anymore.”

Knox’s hand falls from mine only so that he can grip my chin and turn my face towards his. He’s looking down at me sternly and presses a firm kiss to my lips before answering.

“That’s okay, Princess. There’s no rush. You don’t even have to get one, if you don’t want to.”

“I do,” I whine in frustration. I’ve had it planned for weeks and now…I just can’t go through with it. It doesn’t feel right anymore.

I slide off of the table into Knox’s lap, resting my head against his chest while he holds me tight. I let the soothing beat of his heart calm my racing thoughts, the rubbing of his hands up and down my back a relaxing gesture. It makes my heart swell with the amount of love that I have for him, and I’m really going to miss him this summer.

Knox brushes a strand of hair from my face when I finally lean back. He’s studying me with those intense jade eyes that I’ve come to love. I can always tell what he’s thinking these days: his annoyance, his happiness, his anger, his lust. But right now, I’m not all that confident in what he’s pondering.

“I want to show you something,” he murmurs softly and I frown.

“Okay,” I answer tentatively, but his hand is sure in mine as he laces our fingers together after helping me from his lap.

Knox guides me up the stairs and into his room.

“Knox,” I can’t help but tease, because the lingering traces of my nervousness are still making me feel jittery and unsure. His hand in mine helps. “I already know this room too well,” I continue, alluding to when we’d gotten everything moved in and Knox fucked me over every surface in here. It was pure bliss, one of the best nights we’ve shared together.

A good fucking might help my nerves right now, come to think of it.

He puffs a breathy laugh and guides me to sit on the edge of his bed. I follow his instructions with obedience, covering my eyes when he tells me to.

“How many fingers am I holding up?” Knox asks, and I roll my eyes behind my lids.

“Um, two?”

His grumbling sounds like it’s coming from the other side of the room when he answers. “I was thinking two.”

I bounce giddily on the edge of his bed, grinning in his general direction. When I hear his scoff, my smile only widens.

“Easy, Princess.”

I stop my bouncing but not my grinning.

“What is it?” I ask, thrilled now rather than nervous.

Knox’s laughter still sends butterflies shooting off in my stomach to this day, and I don’t ever want that feeling to go away.

“If I told you, that would defeat the purpose of me asking you to close your eyes, Quinn,” he tuts and I swear I can hear him rolling his eyes at me. “But you can open them now, Miss Impatient.”

“Hey, that’s my middle name—” My words stick in my throat as I stare at the canvas he’s holding.

I’m in utter awe at the artwork he’s showing off, the lines he’s so confidently drawn. I’m transported back to the night of his exhibition, when he’d shared the deepest parts of his soul with me in both pictures and words.