Page 120 of Lyric & the Heartbeats

Henry’s ass was planted on the couch, and he stared up at none other than Lyric.

“This isn’t something that will rub off. It’ll be there forever.”

“You’re making me nervous. Just do it,” she growled.

Arching a brow at her, he searched her expression for any unsurety, but instead he only found nerves.

Normal for someone getting their first tattoo.

After Emerson had stolen the others off the bus, it left just him and Lyric alone.

Sure, maybe he could’ve found something to fuck around with in the venue, something to supervise, but…

A small part of him wanted Lyric all to himself. Okay, fine. A big part. All of him.

“Here’s what it will feel like, ready?” he asked.

He leaned over her thigh, laying his latex covered palm on her smooth, warm skin, and tattooed a single dot of ink on the creamy canvas.

Beneath his touch, her muscles tensed, and he lifted the needle from her skin to stare up at her. “Good?”

“That’s not the word I’d use, but I can handle it,” she said, speaking loudly over the buzz of the gun. Her teeth were clenched, and her whitened knuckles were wrapped around the edge of the table.

“If at any point it gets to be too much, just tell me, okay?”

She nodded, and he leaned back over her to trace ink into her skin over the design. They’d arrived at the venue hours early, and the others had fucked off without giving them a heads-up.

Left alone, of course they’d end up right where they were—her foot planted precariously on the edge of the couch between his spread legs, his hands all over her smooth skin, depositing ink into the canvas of her velvety soft flesh.

It was the hardest job he’d ever tattooed. And not because of the art, though Adra had done a beautiful job on the design.

No, what made the situation difficult was the potent scent of Lyric surrounding him. It lapped at him like waves on a shore he’d washed up on.

He was hard, and he inched his hips back a bit so she didn’t accidentally touch him.

How embarrassing.

He was an alpha, he had complete control over every damned aspect of his life, yet he couldn’t give Lyric a simple tattoo without wanting to bend her over the table.

The buzz of the gun was loud in the room, but it was the buzz of his blood that distracted him the most.

Her fingers would tighten and release against the edge of the table every few minutes, just like she’d likely be doing if he were inside her.

Stop that.

The tattoo wasn’t painless. Thigh pieces were popular, but not always the least painful.

At least she didn’t take you seriously about getting it on her ass.

Henry almost groaned at the thought.

What a nightmare that would be.

Or a dream.

He blocked the images threatening to manifest from his mind, focusing on the task at hand.

Glancing up, he caught her gaze and found something totally unexpected.