I pull off my shirt, leaving me in a cami. He has one of those tables that part of it elevates, and he has it raised with a block waiting to place my arm on. I sit down on it, swinging my legs onto the table and lean back while maneuvering my arm into place on the block, since the tattoo is going on the inside of my right forearm. One of the few blank spots on my arm with enough room for the new addition.
His eyes heat with desire as his gaze moves up my body, my nipples pebbling under his scrutiny. Crossing my legs, I try toease the ache building in my core. Luke looms over me, a smirk on his face as he places a hand on the edge of the table, close to my body, caging me in on one side.
“Stay still,” he commands, keeping his voice low. His free hand trails down my side, fingers digging in just enough to make me shiver. I nod, breath catching, as he hooks into the waistband of my jeans, yanking the button open with a sharp tug. The zipper slides down, exposing the tiny bits of fabric covering my pussy.
“Lift your hips.”
I do as he says, and he pushes my jeans down to my knees, leaving my thighs bare. He places his hand on my knees. “Spread them open.” Just the tone of his voice has my body begging for him. I let my legs fall apart, exposing the damp patch on my panties.
My breath hitches and I let out a gasp.
“Your brother’s right out there,” he murmurs as his thumb strokes along the edge of my panties, teasing the fabric aside. “One sound, and he’ll know exactly what a needy little thing you are. So be good and keep that mouth shut.”
The warning sends a thrill straight to my clit, my pussy clenching. He rips the underwear down roughly, exposing my slick folds to the cool air, and I bite my lip hard to keep from making a sound.
He parts my lips with his fingers, sliding them through my seam. He circles my entrance once, twice, before plunging his middle finger deep inside. I buck my hips upward, but he pins me down with his other hand.
“No moving,” he orders, adding a second finger, scissoring them, stretching me wider..
His thumb finds my clit, pressing firm circles against it that has a delicious pressure coiling low in my gut. “That's it,” he whispers harshly, leaning closer, his breath hot on my neck. “Take it quietly. Show me how desperate your cunt gets for this.”I nod frantically, thighs quivering as he curls his fingers, hitting that sensitive ridge inside me, over and over.
He fucks me harder with his hand, palm grinding against my mound, pushing me right to the edge. “Come now,” he demands. “But be quiet, or I'll make you beg for more later.”
I shatter as my orgasm hits me. My pussy pulses around his fingers. My juices soak his hand and the table, but I clamp my jaw shut. He keeps pumping his fingers as my orgasm washes over me, turning me into a limp mess on the table. Only then does he pull free, sucking his fingers clean with a satisfied grunt, his gaze still holding mine captive.
He takes hold of my panties and jeans and pulls them up and then it’s down to work on my tattoo. Luke gets busy prepping my arm so he can put the stencil on. If it wasn’t for his the thick outline of his dick, I would think what we just did, didn’t happen. We’re both silent as he works, but when he blows his warm breath across my skin to dry the alcohol, I let out a soft moan.
God, I want this man so badly. Here in the shop’s back room, Luke and I have just enough privacy for the conversation I’m desperate to have with him. Only question is when and how do I start it?
"Easy, Pussycat. If we hand more time and your brother wasn’t in the other room I’d have my cock buried deep inside your tight little hole," he whispers, leaning close to my ear, before sticking out his tongue and licking along the rim of my lobe.
He hands me the perfect opening to ask what he wants from us, and I don't take it. Instead, I sit here in silence as he places the stencil on my arm. Fear of rejection runs rampant through me, keeping me quiet.
The humming of the gun pulls me back to the present from the deep recesses of my brain, where I continue to fight my emotions. I want three men, and one of them has already toldme he doesn't plan to share. Would finding out Luke wants me change the outcome? Especially if he was okay with sharing?
Is there a chance that Hank would change his mind?
My body thrums with excitement at the first prickle of the needle as Luke gets busy doing the outline. It's going to be a simple tattoo, no color, only some shading. The plan is for him to finish it in one sitting. I'll just be sore as hell; thank God I'm not working at the club tonight.
"You're quiet." His words break the silence between us.
"Yeah, got some stuff on my mind." This is it, my chance to ask. He’s given me the opening and doesn’t even know it.
"You know, they say tattoo artists are the same as bartenders: great listeners, and cheap therapy." I can't help but laugh at his analogy.
“Cheap therapy. I don’t think anyone would call a good tattoo cheap.” I wink at him.
“True, but drinkin’ can become expensive too.”
Deciding I need to put on my big girl panties and talk to him, I open my mouth. "It kind of involves you."
"Does it? Now I'm really interested." He adds some more ink and gets back to work. The needle causes me to giggle as it tickles a little.
"You know, I've been taking care of Hank since the shooting." Time to rip off the band-aid and get right to it.
"Yeah, Pussycat. The club appreciates that. It allowed us to handle the aftermath when shit hit the fan."
"It also kept us from spending more time together. Well, Hank and I got closer. And umm, well, we developed feelings for each other." The calm buzzing of the gun stops, and he looks dead at me.
