His face was one of those easily frowned ones, all the lines there for him to appear angry if lost in thought, but the wonder and delight in his palest blue eyes made something shiver down his spine in a familiar way, like flashes, like silver… Dray couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Still, Dray kept up as he cleaned the last lines up and bandaged Tripp up with protective cream. Had he not just tattooed the guy’s chest, he’d be massaging those firm pectorals like he owned them. And when the final bandage lay in place, Tripp leaned forward, hand catching his with a hard swallow. He peeled the glove away and traced Dray’s slender fingers with his own, soft from computer work. Still, he was looking for something and missing it.
He’d fallen in love with someone else, and Dray immediately knew that look—a pipe dream of a long-lost love, someone that probably had a little edgy alt vibe to them that was easy to frame in Dray’s face. And then would come that question, a proposition to bend Dray over and fuck him, using his ass for nothing more than pretend.
Dray didn’t want to be that other person. Didn’t want to be a surrogate for his wet dream. “Tripp?”
“Can I—” Tripp started the question.
Fuck you?
Eat your ass?
Bring you home—to also fuck you?
“Kiss you?” Tripp surprised Dray, not an invitation for sex, to stand in for someone else, those eyes met his own dark ones, coal black and ringed with gold. The way they mirrored back in Tripp’s eyes made something hypnotic pass between them. “I don’t have to worry with you.”
Fuck it. Dray pushed forward and locked their mouths together. Twin split tongues flickered back and forth, piercings traversing the straight-edge’d alpha’s mouth. Tripp suckled and moaned, hands roving as he moved up, leading Dray between his legs on the edge of the table. Right there with Dray’s own eyes staring back at him from the tattoo he’d started. And for a moment, Dray felt like he wasn’t someone’s stand in.
Fang grazed Dray’s tongue, his lip, not pricking but careful, nonetheless. The honeyed taste of venom burned like horseradish and a nine-volt battery stuck to his tongue. “Fuuuck.”
Something in Dray’s body told his snake to respond, the attraction between them undeniable. Dray’s cock rose to full mast, fighting against his zipper like a pit bull eyeing a steak across a chain-link fence. He could just imagine his dick chomping at his zipper, ready to be fondled, sucked, stroked, and finished while his ass soaked in the touch.
Dray dropped a hand to Tripp’s groin, fingertips exploring his bulge until the alpha stopped his touch and let his fingertips trail up his arm. “Wh-what’s wrong?”
“Fuck, I want to. I do, so bad.” Tripp shuddered.
“The pregnant thing. Right.” Dray stepped back, but Tripp pulled him in, bodies touching as that familiar hand rested over the dome of his little belly, fingers exploring.
“Not at all. You’re so fucking—” Tripp’s cheeks burned as he whispered the last word. “Beautiful.”
It sent shivers down his spine. “So?”
“Schedule me for that next appointment.” Shifters didn’t need so much time to heal, so Dray flipped his phone open and tapped in a date and time a few days out, trading numbers to send to the alpha. Dray did so with much disappointment. He wanted to fuck the alpha.
“I’m going to take my time with you. Someone did you dirty, and I won’t be that alpha.” Tripp leaned in for another kiss and pressed something into Dray’s hand before hopping down with his shirt and leaving.
Dray swayed in place, cock hard, ass slick, breathless, and desperate to fuck anything. So, when the bell chimed that Tripp had left, Dray checked his hand and found three crisp hundred-dollar bills. “Asshole.”
Dray touched his lips with a brush of fingers, treasuring that venomous aftertaste.
A tiny voice hissed in the back of his mind.Our mate tastes delicious. If he curls tail well, we shall not eat him.
Snake sex was weird.
Chapter Five
Tripp
Another day, another grueling trudge through the ditches of data. He remembered a day when he used to love his work. Or did he like work more than coming home to Shelby? He tapped his pen on his keyboard before making a note amid little doodles and questions he wanted to ask Dray. A sketch of those scaled tattoos. He desperately wanted to ask Dray if he knew anyone that did tattoos like that. The pleasant tightness on his chest reminded him of somewhere he’d much rather be. Getting tattooed.
He rubbed at his chest through his shirt and jumped when a coworker opened the door with a grin. “Am I interrupting?”
“N-no! I was just. Uh.” He scattered papers around on his desk, throwing something over the besotted notes. Half in love with his tattoo artist, half pining for an omega he tasted only once.
“Hey, what’s that on your…” His coworker, a tree snake from college, Dustin, marched up and tugged at his neckline, popping a button on his polo open. Like Tripp, the male was only interested in omegas for the most part, but had no compunctions with any male as long as he was single and in the mood. They’d messed around on one drunken night in college and left it in the past, but having him tugging his shirt sent a flare of defensiveness he’d have never shown if he were still with Shelby.
“Oh, my goddess!” Dustin covered his mouth and stared down Tripp’s shirt at the huge outline of the snake—the species ambiguous at that stage. “No.”
“Stop it!” Tripp buttoned his shirt back up and pulled away, not wanting to meet the guy’s eyes. Dustin was a stakeholder,technically, at 5 percent of the company. Back in those early days, they’d had shit pay save for shares. But he’d stuck around.
