“If you need a break, or it gets too much, just let me know.”
“Okay.”
“Try to relax, okay?”
“Easy for you to say, I’m not standing over you with a tattoo gun about to mark you permanently.”
“You’re in good hands. I promise. I’ll take good care of you.”
Fuck. I didn’t mean for that to sound so intimate. I can tell I’m going to say a lot of things I don’t mean to with Lo around. There’s something about her presence that’s like truth serum.I’ve been saying stupid shit around her since the second we met, and I don’t know how to stop it.
My station is wrapped and sterile, and I get to work sanitizing her inner thigh with an alcohol swab. Her skin is hot, even through the black nitrile gloves, and I smooth my hand over the temporary ink from the transfer paper. Lo jerks, her breath catches, and when I dart my gaze to hers, she screws up her nose and lets out a shaky laugh. “Sorry. I guess I’m going to have to get used to that.”
“Oh, Freckles. I’m gonna have you in so many different positions tonight you’ll lose all sense of modesty.”
“Oh.” Her throat bobs as she swallows.
I laugh. “Relax. We’re gonna need to tackle this from a few angles, and I’m probably gonna have you on your side, spreading your ass cheeks for me, but this tat is gonna be fucking glorious when it’s done.”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously. I could have had Mace hold your cheeks apart, but I wanted to leave you with a little dignity. Also, why should that bastard get to ogle you when I’m the one doing all the work?”
Lo covers her face. “Oh my god. What am I getting into?”
I waggle my brows and smirk. “Last chance to back out.”
Lo bites her lip and then shakes her head. “No. I want this.”
Fuck. Me too, Freckles. More than you know.
I clear my throat, wishing she’d look away so I could adjust my dick—which is growing far too hard to be inconspicuous right now. When a body is on my table, they’re just that, a body. Fat, tall, skinny, stretch-marked, pockmarked, scarred or smooth, they’re all just a fleshy canvas for me to sculpt, shade, and transform with my gun.
So why then am I hard as a fucking rock right now?
I pick up my gun, turn the thing on and let the gentle buzz reverberate through my hand, up my arms, and into my chest. And then I get to work on arguably the most fucking gorgeous canvas I’ve ever had the pleasure of inking.
Several hours into the outline and shading, I decide to go easy on her and take a break. I help her sit up, and she closes her eyes for a beat. I guess she’s waiting for her equilibrium to settle, and any dizziness to subside.
“You doing okay there? You’re not gonna faint on me, are you?”
“Oh, you’d love that, wouldn’t you? You could tell all the guys how I swooned and passed out the second I saw your big, scary gun.” She chuckles and stretches her arms above her head, the barely there T-shirt snaking up to reveal a tight and very tanned stomach.
I avert my eyes to avoid getting into trouble and stretch too. Rolling my neck from side to side, I cross my arms at the elbows to crack my spine. “Nah, you’re doing great. Better even than some of my boys.”
“Ah-huh. How many times a day do you think you say that?”
“Only a couple.” I wink. Like a fucking dick.Lord Jesus, save me. “So, you wanna get some dinner?”
“Like this?” She glances down at the paper over her lap and readjusts it, grinning sheepishly.
I don’t bother telling her that I saw more of her little lacy thong as I worked on her thigh, or that the position I’ll have her in next will give me the perfect view of her ass and everything else in that underwear. “Well, I was going to suggest we order in, but if you’re happy to go out like that—”
“You’re an ass.”
I smirk. “That’s what they tell me.”
CHAPTER FOUR