Page 80 of Cruel Heir

What the hell is going on with me tonight?It’s not as if I’m starved for pleasure–I had a date’s lips wrapped around me two nights ago, just before I came down her throat. But somehow, Emma’s featherlight touch as she traces where she’d like to add details to the tattoo is sparking a heated desire throughout my body that feels different from the usual lust that I’m accustomed to.

There’s a gentleness to her touch that’s unfamiliar. It sends anache through me that makes me uncomfortable, because I’m not sure I’ve ever felt it before. And if I were going to feel it, it shouldn’t be with someone like her.

Someone entirely unsuited not only to me, but to anything I might want.

“I’m going to start applying the stencils.” Emma’s hand drops, and I find myself instantly missing her touch, “Even though I’m only going to be outlining part of it tonight, I’m still going to apply the whole design, so I can see how it will all flow. Rico has plenty of extra stencils drawn up, so don’t worry about that.”

“Whatever you think is best.” I mean it, too. If nothing else, I feel confident that she knows what she’s doing. Her earlier uncertainty has melted away entirely, and I find myself fascinated as I watch her beginning to go through the motions of prepping me for the session. Her hands especially–they’re long-fingered and delicate-looking, and I find myself replaying how they felt tracing along the tops of my shoulders before I can catch myself. I lean forward against the counter as she squeezes the ink into small caps, plugging in her tattoo machine, testing it before she pulls on a pair of gloves and comes around behind me to start applying the stencils.

Even with the layer of latex between her skin and mine, I still have to stop myself from shivering at her touch. I don’t think I entirely manage it, because I hear her laugh softly behind me as she presses the first stencil to my shoulder, smoothing it against my skin.

“Cold?” she asks teasingly. “It’s your house, you know. It can be as warm or as cold as you like.”

“I didn’t think I’d need to warm it up.” The truth is, I’m not actually cold. My skin feels heated everywhere she touches me, sending a flush of warmth through my body that’s at odds with the cool sensation of her applying the tattoo stencil.

“California nights can be chilly.” Her voice has the casual tone of someone making small talk, but I can’t help but think I hear an undercurrent of something else–unless I’m imagining it. Her hand smooths over the other side of my shoulder. “I like it, though. I love walking down the beach behind my condo on nights like this.”

“Is that what I’m keeping you from right now? My apologies.” I feel my jaw tighten as her hand smooths down the center of my back. I’ve gotten plenty of tattoos before–my arms are inked all the way down to my hands, as well as the top of my chest–but I’ve never found the application process sensual before. Nothing about this should be remotely sexual, and yet with every pass of her hand against my skin, I feel my cock rising with interest, swelling along my thigh until I wonder if I’d be able to stand up at all.

“No, I’d be at work right now otherwise.” There’s a tinge of humor to her voice. “I did have other clients tonight. Buttheywere willing to reschedule.”

I don’t miss the pointed way she says it. I, of course,wasn’twilling to reschedule, which led to her being here in Axton’s stead.

“I’m a busy man. I can’t just shuffle things around as I please. Besides, you’re being well-compensated for tonight–I can’t imagine that it’sthatmuch of a detriment–”

Emma snorts, smoothing the last of the stencil against my lower back. “I’m not getting paid for this,” she says crisply. “My boss is. Now go look in the mirror,” she adds, as she peels the stencils away. “Let me know if you want anything changed or moved. I’ll have to reapply if so. But better to know now than before it’s permanently on your body.”

Shit. Somewhere in the midst of the conversation and her touching me, my cock has risen to full mast. I can’t think of any way that I can stand up without her noticing. I’m not exactly lacking in that department, and I can feel it straining against my fly.

“I trust you.” The words come out more quickly than they should have, and I grit my teeth, hoping she doesn’t notice. “I’m sure it looks perfect.”

“Better if you check.” That humor is back in her voice, but there’s a note of insistence too, a clear message that she’s not going to take no for an answer. The bossiness does nothing to abate my arousal–if anything, it makes it worse.

I spend all of my time with either sycophants and clingers, peers who are only my allies so long as it serves us both, enemies, or mybrothers. I can’t say I’ve ever encountered a woman before who would talk back to me, or who didn’t behave as if sheneededmy attention. But Emma neither needs nor wants it. She’s confident and forthright, and if I had to guess, would actually prefer to be anywhereotherthan in my penthouse tonight.

And for some reason–perhaps out of sheer novelty if nothing else–that fact is making me almost painfully erect.

“If something is wrong with it, and it ends up on you permanently, I don’t want that coming back to bite me.” Emma takes a step back, motioning for me to get up. “This is my job. So please, go check it, and let me know if you want anything different.”

It’s clear she’s not going to give me much of a choice. I honestly think she might refuse to go through with the appointment if I didn’t. So I stand up, trying to angle myself away from her as I walk to the staircase. “I’ll be back down in a moment,” I tell her, glancing back to see her leaning against the bar, her gaze carefully blank. I can’t tell if she’s noticed the state I’m in or not–Emma clearly has an excellent poker face.

She shrugs. “Go ahead.”

Once in my bathroom, I look at the stencil. Everything looks impeccably placed, just as I expected–I can’t think of anything I would change. I reach down, pressing the heel of my hand against my cock in an effort to get it to soften, letting out a long breath as I once again wonder what the hell is wrong with me. It’s been a long time since a woman has gotten me so worked up, and never this easily.

My cock throbs under my hand, and I consider, just for a moment, quickly rubbing one out while I’m alone up here. It would relieve some of the tension, if nothing else–and the appointment ahead of me is a long one. But something about the idea of jerking off while Emma waits for me downstairs stops me.

There’s an appeal to it, certainly–the slight chance of getting caught is more than a little exciting. Jerking off in the privacy of my own home isn’t usually a furtive thing–it’smypenthouse, and if a woman is here, she’s always involved. But even that flicker of added arousal isn’t enough to push me over that line.

I’d think about her while I did it–I wouldn’t be able to stop myself. And I can’t help but feel that she deserves better than that, than unknowingly being the subject of my fantasies while she waits downstairs to do her job.

It’s a ridiculous feeling, honestly. I don’t even know her. But it’s enough to make me shake off the urge, and head back towards the stairs.

I’m a grown man with a healthy sex life. Surely I can manage one evening with an attractive woman without being overcome with lust.

Surely.