“Stay after closing.”

Rook’s voice hit me low and rough while the machine still hummed against my ribs. I lay on the client chair in nothing but my jeans and the thin sports bra he had already pushed up. The shop smelled of green soap, ink, and the faint copper of my own blood. Outside the front windows the street lights flickered. Inside it was only us.

I should have said no. Mark was waiting at home with takeout and the same soft questions he always asked about my day. Instead I nodded. Rook’s dark eyes stayed on the fresh lines he had just finished. He wiped the excess ink...