Stone takes the sleeve of my T-shirt and gently rolls it up to my shoulder. My breath catches as he draws his hands down my bicep, inspecting me. He squirts some liquid onto a paper towel and cleans my skin, softly rubbing it, and the touch ignites a warmth deep inside of me.
He chuckles and lays a printout of the Mixie illustration on my arm. “Like I said, we’ll only be able to get the start of the tattoo done in this session, but how does this spot look?”
I glance at the illustration he made specially for me. It captures Mixie’s spirit perfectly, so much that it’s like he knew her. It’s not until that moment, though, that I realize the commitment I’m making.
It’s not only that I’ll have a tattoo Stone inked onto me for the rest of my life. I’m going to have some of his artwork permanently attached to my body. It’s too late to really grapple with the implications of that, but weirdly, it doesn’t exactly freak me out.
I trust Stone. Even with all the fears swirling inside of me, insisting that I can’t trust a man like him, I actually do.
This tattoo isn’t just about Mixie. It’s about the era of my life when she was the only safety and companionship I had. All of that has changed now, and getting this tattoo from a guy I truly, deeply like is a good way to mark the beginning of something different.
It’s a way to remind myself that I’m strong.
“Ready to start?” Stone asks, a tattoo machine poised in his hand like a pen.
“Just one more kiss.”
He chuckles and leans over the long chair, his body hovering as he brushes his lips across mine. Like how he cleans my arm, his touch is so soft, it’s like a whisper.
A moan slips between my lips, and my hole clenches. Just that touch is enough to light my senses.
Stone chuckles and pulls his lips away. “All right, babe,” he says. “Remember to breathe and just let me know if you need a break.”
I close my eyes and take a few deep, slow breaths. A moment later, Stone starts.
The pain jolts through me, and I almost jump. When his free hand lands on my bicep, steadying me, I release my breath and steady myself again. It hurts, but not in the way I expected. It’s not sharp and jabbing and sudden.
Instead, the pain is like the humming of the machine, steady and even. There’s heat and the edge of sharp pain, but much louder is the thrumming ache. My body seems to numb in response to it, like right after I slap my arm to kill a mosquito.
I open my eyes and look up to Stone. His eyes are narrowed as he works, his brow knitted. His bottom lip is curled back beneath his front teeth, and his breath is as steady as the motion of the needle.
He’s beautiful. Maybe the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. The light of his dark eyes shines brightly, and under the hanging lamp, stubble casts the hint of a shadow across his chin.
“How you doing there, babe?” he asks.
I nod quickly. “I’m good,” I say, my voice tight.
Stone releases another slow breath, and I match him. “That’s right,” he encourages me, then pulls the machine back and wipes a cloth across my arm.
I glance down quickly and see the work. There’s the faint outline of the tattoo, transferred to my arm to guide him, and a couple of dark lines already inked in.
I blink. “Cool,” I say, my anxiety spiking over to excitement.
I’m going to have a tattoo, and it’s going to look amazing because Stone did it.
Stone nods. “Glad you think so,” he says, then returns to work, the pain prickling down my skin again.
I slip into the rhythm of his work, which is weirdly meditative. My whole body quivers alive with the sensation, my nerves singing out. The combination of Stone’s gentle caress and the burn of the tattoo needle are intoxicating together. It makes me think of the swat of his hand across my ass, and heat floods my cock with the memory.
I’m so lost in the moment I don’t register the sound of someone moving around in the back of the shop until Stone pauses and switches the machine off. “Someone there?” he calls out.
I sit up, my arm still in the rest where Stone has positioned it. There’s no answer except for heavy footsteps, but a moment later, Caesar steps into the room.
I recognize him immediately. He’s a massive dude with a serious glare. He’d stick out in any crowd, but it’s the brilliance of his work that most jumps to mind.
This guy is a legend in Stone’s world, and even dazed on the chair with blood and ink dripping down my arm, I recognize how special it is to be in his shop.
“Uh, Caesar,” Stone says, standing. “I didn’t know you were coming in tonight.”
