“It was just a little green.” Sarah rolled her eyes. “From what I’ve heard, it’s nothing compared to what you’ve done.”
“I haven’t touched that shit in years. I assume you’re getting your goods from Damen.” Her lack of response was enough. “You don’t want to get involved with him. He laces his product, and Tenley’s already got a cabinet full of prescriptions from the accident. I don’t need her developing any problematic habits.” Based on the contents of the cabinet, I couldn’t be sure she didn’t already have one, but I wasn’t going to confide that to Sarah.
She looked shocked, and a little guilty, which was good. “I didn’t think about that.”
“Obviously not.”
The bathroom door opened, and Tenley came out, moving like an eighty-year-old.
“I should go. I’ve got assignments to work on,” Sarah said as Tenley returned to the kitchen.
“Thanks for staying last night, and sorry if I kept you up,” Tenley told her.
Sarah gave Tenley a tentative hug. “Call me if you need anything.”
As nice as the offer was, it was unnecessary. I planned to be available to service all of Tenley’s needs.
Once she was gone, I stroked along Tenley’s arm. “I’d like to wash your back now.”
I took her hand and guided her to the bathroom. If shit hadn’t gone down last night, I would have removed the plastic wrap and cleaned the tattoo before she went to bed. However, things hadn’t gone as planned.
“Where do you want me?” Tenley asked when we were both standing on the black mat covering the tile floor.
There were a variety of answers to that question. I wanted to take her sitting on the vanity, where I could see my art reflected in the mirror and her face close to mine. I wanted to bend her over that same vanity to experience the opposite view. And that was just for starters.
I motioned to the edge of the tub. “There is good.”
Tenley took a seat while I collected items from her linen closet. The navy towels were a safe bet, saving her pale ones from being ruined with ink stains. The first step was to clean off the excess fluids so the tattoo would heal properly. It wasn’t going to feel good.
When I turned around, Tenley had already removed the apron and her shorts. There was no underwear. She sat demurely on the edge of the tub, legs crossed, hands cupping her breasts, the picture of modesty. I gripped the towel in my hand, staring at her naked, perfectly imperfect body, with its scars and markers of past trauma.
“I thought this would make it easier,” she said with apologetic innocence.
“I’m sure you did.”
She reached for the towel in my hand, presumably to cover herself, but I held it out of reach. I dropped down beside her, taking in the soft swell of her bare ass on the white porcelain rim of the tub. I thought the apron and the shorts in the kitchen had been bad. Oh, how wrong I was. Tenley naked and vulnerable and needy was harder to resist. Maybe part of the problem stemmed from the knowledge that what was coming next would be far from pleasurable. Cleaning her tattoo was necessary, but it was also a catch-22. Based on my physical response to seeing her naked with my art on her skin, the weeklong hiatus would be torture. Especially if she was actively seeking to break me. And I couldn’t blame her for trying. Like Lisa had said, emotions were always heightened after a big session. Tenley was obviously no exception to the rule, so it was up to me to stay in check for as long as I could.
I turned on the water and adjusted the showerhead to the rain setting. While the water warmed, I explained the process step by step to eliminate surprises. She nodded or made a little noise of affirmation but remained silent otherwise. Even though I warned her before letting the water hit her back, she still tried to move away from the spray and the unpleasant sensation. TK mewed at me from her place by the door, clearly concerned about the welfare of her soul mate. Causing Tenley pain made me feel like shit, but it was a means to an end for her, one I understood better because of what the piece represented.
Once the residual fluids were washed away, I lathered up the bar of soap. I went slow, going over the easy parts first, working from her shoulder to her hip, one side at a time. Tenley was patient but tense. I leaned in every so often to drop a kiss on her cheek or her neck and tell her how good she was doing.
“I’m really sorry I lied to you,” she whispered when I was almost finished washing the fresh ink.
“I know.” I smoothed the soap over her skin with extra care. It was such an uncomfortable process. I hated the possibility that she might see it as penance for being dishonest.
“I just didn’t want you to say no or make me wait,” she admitted.
I understood what it was like to want to ease the internal suffering. Through experience, I’d learned that letting the physical pain go didn’t take the other stuff with it, including the memories.