“I had a cancellation. What is it you’re after?”
Scott shot a panicked look at Thomas and blurted, “A snake.”
“Okay, we’ve got plenty of options for a snake,” the tattooist replied, reaching beneath the counter and grabbing a book of designs. “And where do you want this ink?”
“His ribs,” Russell called. “A nice big tatt on his ribs.”
“Scott…” Thomas murmured.
“Ribs.” Scott nodded. He pointed to the outline of a cobra with its mouth open and fangs out. “This one.”
“Let’s go straight through to the back room then,” the tattooist said, lifting the hinged part of the counter.
Scott strolled through with Thomas hot on his heels.
“Enough,” Thomas hissed.
“Later,” Scott replied with a flirty wink.
“For Christ’s sake, Scott.”
“I’m looking for the ideal time to back out,” Scott whispered to him.
“It was ten minutes ago when we were outside on the street,” Thomas hissed.
“Hoodie and T-shirt off, then on the bed,” the tattooist ordered.
Scott gripped the bottom of his hoodie and T-shirt and pulled them off in one fluid motion.
“Scott…” Thomas said.
Scott nodded, but when he turned, he saw that Russell and his friends had followed them into the back room.
“On the bed,” the tattooist said again.
Scott swallowed and lay down. Thomas shook his head.
“Does it hurt?” Scott asked.
“Yes,” Thomas replied. “Especially on the ribs.”
Scott eased out a slow breath. “Did you at least like the design?”
“No.”
“I’m going to clean the area,” the tattooist explained. “Stencil the design on, then I’ll get the tattoo gun and needle ink into your skin, how does that sound?”
Russell sniggered by the door.
“Sounds great,” Scott replied. He curled his hands to hide the fact they were trembling. He stared up at the ceiling, wondering how his plan had backfired so spectacularly.
“Enough,” Thomas growled. He pulled Scott off the bed and held him close. Scott gasped at being pressed up against him. Scott didn’t argue. The sniggering stopped. The tattooist backed off, eyeing Thomas warily because Thomas vibrated with rage.
“Touch him, with so much as a cleaning wipe, and we’re going to have problems.”
“He wanted it,” the tattooist whispered.
“Well, I’m goddamn stopping it.”
