"Today?"
"Well, if it's going to take a long time, why not get started right away?" I smiled.
He took me to his workroom, where I lay on my belly, trying not to cry out from the pain as he worked on my back piece. We talked, just like that first night—about anything and everything. Hours passed, and we grew closer. When we made love that evening, I rode his lap, craving closeness. Each day that week, we had breakfast before getting to work, taking breaks to stretch and eat. Gatsby was gentle, but my skin was sore, and I bit my lip, tasting blood whenever he worked near bone. I kept reminding myself it would be worth it, refusing to look until he was done.
He took care of me, making sure I was fed, watered, and not near going unconscious. We stopped whenever I asked, and he was always the first to remind me that I wasn't a machine, and needed to let my body heal some before continuing.
By the end of the week, when he put the machine down and sat back, declaring he was finished, mybody was so near exhaustion I almost wept. He cleaned me carefully and then helped me up to look at what his hand had done to my skin.
"It's beautiful," I gasped, staring at my reflection in the mirror, enamored. It was so much more spectacular than the original sketch. I'd been in his chair for almost sixty hours this week, and it was worth every second. I turned back to Gatsby; he was staring intently at me, his green eyes cautious.
"How do you feel?" he asked.
"Perfect." Tears streamed down my face. I had so much adrenaline pumping through my veins, I was sure there was pain to follow, but for now, I felt better than I'd ever felt before. I hugged him, and he kept his arms firmly at his sides so as not to touch my tattoo.
"Thank you so much, Gatsby. I know you were hesitant about this, but I feel beautiful."
"You were always beautiful, Daisy, but you do look sexy as hell all inked up."
Blushing, I sniffled and eyed myself once more, taking stock of all the changes I'd made in my body this week. These were my decisions, not anyone else's. Max was going to go berserk when he saw me, but it didn't matter. He was quickly becoming irrelevant to my life. I didn't need him or anything on the other side of the lake. I just needed my Gatsby.
I let him sanitize my back and put the second skin on, and I slipped my dress back over my body. I was ready to go when a thought came to me.
"Gatsby, I have one last request."
"Daisy, my hands hurt." He chuckled. "What is it?"
"If you could give me any tattoo, what would it be?"
He laughed. "That's not really how this works."
"It does right now," I insisted. I stepped over to the tattoo chair and hopped on. I was grateful for the secondskin, as I was able to lean back carefully, without screaming. I still winced, as my skin was incredibly sensitive, but it was tolerable. I looked at him.
"You choose something."
Gatsby sighed and came back over. He re-gloved and sat back down, picking up his machine. "Okay..."
I closed my eyes and waited. I trembled, my skin rising in goose pimples as he gently pushed up my dress.
"Lift your hips," he said softly, and I did as told. I heard him set the machine down and stand. A chill of excitement slithered down my spine as his other hand went to my hips and he dragged my panties down and off me completely. He picked up his machine again. My breathing hitched in anticipation, and I winced when the machine made contact with my skin.
I kept my eyes closed and focused on the pain as he dragged the needles across my hip bone. Right on the panty-line, where if I were wearing them, it'd be covered, but naked, you'd see it plain as day. His work was over pretty quickly and the moment he put his machine down, he ripped his gloves off and pushed the table away. I opened my eyes just as he was grabbing for me. He spun me to face him and dropped the seat so that he was eye level with my bottom. He shoved my legs apart and dove between them.
I gasped at the suddenness of his desire. I'd grown wet as he tattooed my hip, and he seemed to know it. He lapped at my body at a feverish pace, sucking on my clit and shoving two fingers inside of me. I gripped his hair and pulled him deeper into me as he ate me out on his chair.
"God, you're so fucking incredible, Daisy." He lifted his head. "I've sat with a hard-on for days, I can't take it anymore." He returned to me, licking and stroking my pussy until I came. He then moved away and stood, quickly pulling the belt from his jeans and shoving them down.
"Come here," he ordered. I dropped off the chair and fell to my knees. He pushed my hair aside and looked into the mirror. "I want to stare at your gorgeous inked back as you inhale my cock."
I grinned and pulled him toward me, taking a grip of his thick, hard length. I glanced at him as I slowly brought my mouth to him, licking him up and down his shaft slowly, teasing him.
"I thought you said if I was a good boy, you'd reward me," he groaned, pushing my head gently into him. I wrapped my lips around his cock and inhaled him deep into my throat, and then pulled away again.
"I guess you have been good, haven't you?" I teased, and then finally began to blow him, taking him all the way to his base.
"Some would say great." He chuckled, fisting my hair. "There we go," he muttered as I licked and sucked his cock.
I loved the feel of him inside me, whether it was my pussy or my mouth. His cock was perfect in length and girth, and it felt like in those moments, it was mine and mine alone. I knew he'd had other lovers. He'd confessed to me our first time that he wasn't a virgin. But I was confident, in those moments where I had his cock in my possession, that none of his previous partners made him feel like I did.
