“Still time to change your mind if you can’t handle it and need to chicken out.”
The urge to punch him gets stronger, but I look at the wall over his head. His words shouldn’t make me horny and angry all at the same time. I’m throbbing inside, ready for the moment he touches me. I open my legs wider, knowing that if he looks closely enough, he will see the wet spot in my underwear. Fighting with him seems to be my red flag. I’m definitely in need of therapy.
He rubs some sort of gel on my inner thigh, and I suck in a breath when his hands touch my thigh, pulling the skin taut to shave me. The glide of the razor up and down, getting closer and closer to the seam of my thigh, the edge of my panties. I start to tremble, and he continues that torturous, slow movement, dragging the razor up and down. He’s dangerously close to my pussy, and I feel the latex on his hand, but his warm breath is also making me crazed. When he stops, I let out my pent-up breath, sagging a bit. I feel dizzy.
When he goes back to his desk, he bends his head and begins to sketch. “Onyx says you wanted a crown?”
“Yes.”
The muscles in his back flex, shifting under her black shirt. Holy hell. The width of his back would put a linebacker to shame. Minutes later, he turns and hands me a paper with the crown drawing on it. I nod, but something comes over me,remembering seeing him shirtless a few weeks ago. “And add the word Lady underneath.” He freezes, his marker poised above the paper. He slowly looks up at me, and something flashes in his eyes. “That’s the counterpart to the word Lord, isn’t it?” I walk over to him and look at the tattoo on the paper. “Right here. Under the crown.” His crown was atop a skull with the words ‘The Lord’ underneath. “Yeah. That’s what I want.” I toss my hair over my shoulder and step back, waiting to see what he does.
His jaw clenches, and he goes back to his drawing. And when he’s done and shows it to me, I suck in my own breath because it’s a duplicate of his. The same coloring. The same style. But now it has the words I asked for underneath in the same curly font.
“Lay down.”
I swallow and walk forward and climb onto his tattoo chair. It’s black at night and surprisingly comfortable.
“Open your legs. Put your heels up on the end of the chair.”
I do as he says. My legs are positioned as they would be if I were at a waxing appointment or a gynecological appointment, but nothing about this is clinical. This is sexier, naughtier. The only thing covering my pussy from his gaze is a thin layer of green cotton fabric. Fuck, I feel wet, but I hope I don’t have a massive stain on the seat.Don’t look at him, Camryn. Keep your eyes away from him.
He pushes my knees farther apart, literally flaying me open, startled, I look at him, and I suck in a breath. He is standing there, looking at my pussy. He raises his eyes and looks at me, and those dark eyes hold me captive.Jesus Christ.
He lays the template on my thigh, smoothing it out, just as he did before, and the sensation of his hands on my body gives me goose bumps.
“Relax.”
“I am relaxed,” I retort, hating that he’s noticing how unrelaxed I really am. He brings over a mirror and holds it up. I see the template, but more importantly, I see my underwear, and sure enough, there’s a wet stain right at my entrance. I look at him, but he’s looking at the spot as well.
“Is it where you want it?”
It takes me a moment to think about his words. I want to say no, it’s not where I want. It’s his cock that I want in a certain location. I want that cock in his pants inside me, but the man has already told me he’s not interested. Remembering that, I resolve to ignore him and my stupid attraction. Croaking out a hurried ‘yes,’ I focus on the ceiling.
Thick black tape comes out and he applies it to my skin, pulling it taut. I look down, watching the way he carefully adheres it to my skin without touching the tattoo.
“What’s it for?”
“To keep it tight.”
Fuck’s sake. I wish Stone hadn’t said that. The innuendo goes right to my pussy. I imagine what it would feel like for him to push inside me. But then again, he could have a small dick.Yeah, right, a voice chuckles. He turns on the gun, distracting me from the potential size of his cock. A buzzing sound begins, and I tense up, anticipating the pain I’m not sure I’m ready for. He picks up the gun and dips the tip into a thimble-sized cup of black ink. The first touch on my skin makes me jump a little, and it gets worse from there. It’s like the time I got stung by a bee, but worse. Shit. A sharp scratching sensation radiates up my thigh, and I bite my lip, refusing to cry out. He already thinks of me as some kid. I won’t give him the satisfaction of proving him right. I close my leg when he digs deep.
“Keep your legs open,” he demands gruffly, clearly irritated.
“You don’t have to be a jerk about it. It’s my first tattoo. Excuse the shit out of me for being in pain.” I narrow my eyesand try to focus on his sexy face and not the pain or the weird tingling from the vibration in my muscles.
He lifts his head and removes the tip from my skin, and relief comes. I exhale.
“Do you want me to stop?”
Do I? His words, the night he dropped me at Kingsley’s, come back to me.I like pain, and a willing woman who’s ready to be hurt when I fuck her.He didn’t think I could handle whatever he was into, then or now; my actions have probably reinforced that. I swallow and shake my head. “No, keep going. I’ll get used to the pain. Maybe one day I’ll enjoy how good it feels.”
His eyelids lower when I say it, only a tiny slit of dark pupil visible, but I feel that focus to the marrow of my bones.
He continues, and this time I swear he digs deeper. I breathe through it, focusing on his face, imagining him fucking me, asking me if it hurts when he pushes inside me. And thinking of sex with him helps. The pain starts to fade, and I feel euphoric, warm all over my body. I think about his fingers on my skin, the heavy weight of his wrist. And a new type of throbbing begins that has nothing to do with the tattoo needle adding ink to my skin. The throbbing starts to get stronger in my pussy. I shift a little and curl my toes in my sneakers because I feel like I do with that first touch of your fingers or vibrator on my clit.
I suck in a breath, hoping I don’t moan aloud. Stone stops the tattoo and looks at me. There’s something different in his look. “Sorry. Still getting used to pain,” I murmur, lying. I’m sweating thinking about him, his dick, and all the nasty things I want him to do to me. So yeah, I’m definitely fibbing, because the pain of my first ink is nothing compared to the agony of my arousal. I want to come. My fingers cramp as I hold onto the armrests. I want to put my hand in my panties and rub my clit.
“Show me where it hurts.”
