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There it is. It’s clear she doesn’t intend to say anything further about it—that she doesn’t want to badmouth her boss, which is admirable. Good business, that’s for certain, especially when he’s still meant to do my future appointments. But I can also hear the hint of resentment in her tone. She’s clearly not thrilled about the arrangement.
“Keeps the good ones for himself, hm?” I add a bit of levity to my tone, but Emma just shrugs, standing up from the couch. She’s wearing light-wash jeans and a black ribbed tank top with a black-and-blue loose checked button-down over it, the sleeves rolled up to her elbows. I can see tattoos on both arms—a finely detailed snake winding around one arm, interspersed with crystals in the spaces between the coils, and a veritable garden of flowers on the other. Her clothes look well-worn and soft, as if she goes back to the same outfits time and again—or maybe she doesn’t have the funds to spare to go shopping for new ones.
“He’s the boss. He makes the rules.” She undoes the outer shirt, shrugging it off just as I look up from the portfolio that I’d started to peruse again, and I’m momentarily taken aback.
Emma is beautiful, but not in the way I’m used to. I date models and actresses more often than not, women with multi-thousand-dollar wardrobes and expensive weekly beauty regimens, hair extensions, boob jobs, and lips made fuller and softer by the miracles of modern science. Emma is—entirely different.
She’s naturally beautiful, in a way that stands out in a city where artifice is largely worshiped. Her hair is thick and dark, with a natural texture to it, pulled up in a high ponytail that makes me itch to tug the band holding it loose and see how it would fall around her face. Her eyes are wide and dark in her deeply tanned face, which is bare of any makeup. I can make out a smattering of freckles across her nose, her lips lightly chapped from the dry heat, but still soft-looking and full and pink. I can imagine the soft indent in her bottom lip, if I pressed my finger against it. And her body—
She’s a fucking knockout. I feel my cock twitch the moment she shrugs off the shirt, revealing lean shoulders and taut arms in the black tank top, which rides up just enough to show off a strip of tanned skin between the edge of it and the waist of her jeans. Her arm tattoos wind around her upper arms and across her shoulders, the tail of the snake on one side angling beneath her collarbone. I can see the hint of a geometric tattoo in her cleavage, and I feel my cock twitch with interest again, swelling against my thigh as I imagine stripping away the tank top and discovering the rest of the tattoo between her breasts.
Her ears and nose are pierced, and I catch my gaze wandering back to her breasts, wondering if her nipples are, too. Another throb, the ache in my groin spreading, and I grit my teeth. A few more minutes of this, and I’m going to have a painful hard-on for my tattoo session. But it feels impossible to distract myself. She’s unlike any girl I’ve ever dated.
Or ever will date.The logical side of my brain clicks on just in time as Emma is setting up her equipment at the bar counter, reminding mewhythat is. She might be beautiful, attractive in a number of ways, even beyond the physical, but she’s entirely unsuited to me and my lifestyle. She’s not the kind of girl I could ever actually consider a relationship with—if I were even the relationship type, which historically I haven’t been.
A woman like Emma might as well be from a different planet; she and I are so unalike.
Besides,I remind myself as Emma motions me over, and I stand up,she’s here for business. Try to be professional.
My cock has softened enough that I can at least walk across the room without wondering if I’ll embarrass myself if Emma looks below my belt. Still, it’s an effort to keep my mind clear of the sort of thoughts that might change that. Emma is standing next to one of the bar stools, and she gives me a pleasant smile as I approach.
“You’ll have to forgive me,” she says as I sit down. “I brought the file with the stencils with me, but Rico didn’t fill me in much beyond that. Where are you getting this done?”
“My back.” I sit on the stool facing the counter, reaching for the top buttons of my shirt. “A full back piece, if you look at the drawings.”
“And you know that will take multiple sessions, right?” Emma looks at me curiously. “Rico will be doing the others. You’re comfortable with having two separate artists working on you?”
“Your style is very similar to his.” I shrug off my shirt, and I don’t miss the way Emma pauses ever-so-briefly, her gaze flicking to my bare chest as if she can’t quite help herself. “I don’t see any issue with both of you working on it.”
“Alright, then.” Emma reaches for the stencils, looking them over. “This is a lovely design. Did you come up with it together?”
“I had the idea. He just brought it together.” I pause, glancing over at her. “If you want to add anything to it—”
Emma’s eyes narrow as she looks at the design. “Maybe some additional flowers, just up here—” Her fingers brush over the edge of my shoulder, light against my skin, and my traitorous cock twitches against my thigh once more.
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 an ache 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 and 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 in 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 Rico’s stead.
