The Tattoo Artist

The comments exploded instantly:

“Ahhh! That sounded so good it killed me!”

“Did you see Henry’s ears turn red? This pure-hearted beast is shy!”

“That soft whimper was basically toeing the ferocious beast’s danger zone! Henry’s sanity meter must be nearly drained!”

“This is the moment! Female lead, make your move! His defenses are at their weakest!”

Provoked by the barrage of comments, my face heated up.

That pent-up frustration, the longing to touch him yet not daring to, mixed with the days of suppressed yearning, instantly shattered my reason.

Before I could think, I turned around and met the eyes that had not yet managed to rein in their emotions.

Our gazes locked.

Henry’s hand holding the cotton swab stiffened in midair.

“Um… Hi…”

I drew in a deep breath, my fingers twisting the hem of my shirt as I gathered every ounce of courage I had.

“Since this piece is ruined, then I… I want to get a new one somewhere else.”

Henry looked at me quietly, his voice so low and hoarse it barely sounded human.

“Where?”

I lifted a finger and shakily pointed a little lower on my back, toward those faintly visible indentations.

It was an extremely private and extremely sensitive place.

“I… I want to tattoo it on my lower back.”

The moment the words left my mouth, I saw Henry’s pitch-black pupils contract sharply, narrowing to needle points.

The sudden sense of danger made my skin prickle.

…

“Whoa… Who’s excited?”

“Lower back! So scandalous!”

“The absolute peak of seduction!”

“I heard Henry has a private tattoo of his own, in the same spot, hehehe.”

Henry swallowed.

“You sure?” he asked hoarsely.

I hadn’t thought it through at all, so I tried to redirect the firepower.

“I heard… You have one too?”

I had overheard a staff member mention it once, but I had never seen it myself.

Henry’s breathing became louder.

He pressed his tongue against the roof of his mouth, as if struggling desperately to restrain himself.

I couldn’t help wondering, would he just throw me out?

Then, Henry slowly straightened.

The pressure in that moment was intense.

Henry had a naturally sullen look, and when he didn’t smile, he could put the fear of God in a petulant child.

But right now, the way he looked at me was like a massive dog who had retracted its claws, seeking only the mercy of its master.

It was as if, with just a beckoning of my hand, he would give me his life.

“Want to see?”

The sense of danger dissipated the moment he spoke.

I nodded without thinking.

“Yes. Definitely.”

Henry’s eyes flicked slightly, a dangerous edge coloring his tone.

“Once you see it, there’s no going back.

“Tattooing this spot will hurt.”

I had cried like a baby the last time I had gotten my collarbone tattooed.

“Then… maybe forget it.”

I breathed a secret sigh of relief.

Henry’s expression said, “I knew it”, but he didn’t expose me.

He seemed in a good mood, a faint, almost imperceptible smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Lie down. I’ll deal with the inflamed area first.”

I obediently lay across the tattoo chair, just like last time.

Yet, somehow, it felt completely different.

For example…

“From now on, if you want to see me, just come, don’t torture yourself.”

“Oh.”

Henry sat behind me so I couldn’t see his expression.

The cold antiseptic brushed over my warm skin, sending shivers down my spine.

As he cleaned the wound, he murmured, “Bear with it.”

“Uh huh…”

But then—

“Miss Rivers, you come running to my shabby shop every day. Doesn’t your fiancé get jealous?”

“Ah?”

The twist was so sudden I almost bit my tongue.

Henry’s tone, in contrast, was calm, like he was asking about the weather.

Yet the pressure of his hand on the cotton swab grew just slightly heavier.

Could it be… that he was jealous?

The comments, of course, went wild:

“Henry’s hand is shaking! The jealousy jar just tipped over!”

“Because of his rough upbringing for being so different, he’s so insecure that he barely dares to look her in the eye.”