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Being able to spend time with him was a lot on its own. I had crushed on him so hard for so long that finally even being able to just talk to him one person to another was something I had wished for. The fact that we were being so flirty with each other, so intimate even in just passing conversation, was overwhelming. I felt myself driven to be bold, to be assertive.
Then I had him take me home, and I dragged him to bed. It was ridiculous how much of it I realized I’d planned without actively allowing my consciousness to know I was planning it. For one, I had worn intentionally easy-to-remove clothing, hoping to find myself in a situation where I could. Secondly, I had Gus come pick me up for my shift rather than driving my own car, just in case I found a way home.
I had certainly found that way, and as soon as he had opened the door of the passenger’s side of his truck to let me out, I was on him. His lips were soft and assertive when they pressed into mine, and I knew we weren’t just going to make out in the driveway. I was going to get him in my bed if I had to drag him by the belt.
He didn’t need me to drag him. He was very willing to join me.
Deacon’s body was incredible too. I knew if I closed my eyes, I could see it as I had the first time his shirt came off in every exquisite detail. The shape of his muscles and the deep ridges of his abs were a thrill to run my fingers through. And his thick, throbbing cock was a particular delight to wrap my fingers around.
No man my own age was like he was. He was chiseled and worldly and experienced. He was mysterious and assertive and confident. He completely ruined me for younger guys. He was a man. A full-grown man. And I needed that.
I needed him.
No, I had to stop thinking like that. I had work to do. But my body was still buzzing from his touch, and my core was warm, leaving me wondering when the next time that I could have him again would be.
I spent the entire shift floating on air. The shop was busy most of the day, some folks coming in for touch-ups, others coming in with drawings they made that they wanted to put on. Gus was good at modifying them to be a bit better than their handiwork, but on that day, I took it upon myself to freshen up some of the drawings, presenting them to the customers to their raving responses.
As the evening wore down, only one customer left inside, I pulled out my notebook and began doodling. Time seemed to pass without warning, and I zoned out, focusing solely on the drawing until I heard a cough behind me. I looked up to see Gus, eyes zoomed in on my notepad and his mouth pulled tight in an expression I couldn’t read.
“This is really good. You draw this today?”
“Yeah,” I said, “Thanks. I’ve been doodling for the last, gosh, hour or so.”
“You drew this in an hour?” He looked up at me with a confused expression on his face before looking back at the drawing.
“Yes,” I said uncertainly.
“And the drawings that kept coming back to me today. You drew them, didn’t you?”
My heart sped up, and I suddenly was very nervous. I felt like I was in trouble. Gus was going to be upset with me for modifying the customers’ work, or maybe someone complained about what I did to it and just didn’t tell me.
I nodded and winced.
“One of them told me you touched it up. I’ve worked on him before. The drawing that came back to me was a million times better than anything he ever put pen to paper with,” he said, and my shoulders dropped in relief.
“Oh, good,” I said. “I’m sorry. You were just so busy, and I thought it would help speed things up if you got a halfway decent version of what they wanted rather than what they were bringing in. They kept saying you usually fixed it, so it was better, and I just took a crack at them.”
“No, I’m very glad you did,” Gus said. “You are a very talented artist, Becky.”
“Thanks,” I said, trying to take the compliment and not correct my name.
“I think maybe it’s time to show you how to actually tattoo.” He grinned.
“Really?”
“Yes. Come on back with me. Vasara won’t mind you being back there with me while I touch her up.”
I nodded toward the customer sitting in the corner, a tall, leggy woman with black hair and sharp, severe facial features. She was one of those people who looked like a model but wasn’t exactly what you would call pretty. Interesting, sure but not “pretty.” She was also absolutely covered in ink.
