Page 122 of Lyric & the Heartbeats

Lyric never responded to his comment, and maybe that was for the best. Her cheeks were flushed red, and she kept her gaze locked on the streaks of ink staining her skin.

“It looks good so far,” she murmured.

“Thank you. Adra did an amazing job designing it.”

Small talk. Safe. Boring.

“It’ll look even better when it’s done. Especially if it turns out anything like the ones you have.” Her gaze raked over his arms.

Not safe. Not boring.

“Yours will look even better than mine.”

Partly because his resolve was iron strong, and he was forcing all of his concentration into making sure he didn’t fuck up. And also because this was Lyric. He wouldn’t dare mark her perfect skin with a flaw.

“The blending is what’s going to hurt the worst. Do you need water or anything?” he asked first.

“Actually, a water would be great right now,” she answered with a soft smile.

Great. Henry could get a water. He ignored the blood rushing to his face as he stood and slid out from behind the table, avoiding her knees as he moved.

As soon as he could, he turned his back to her and adjusted himself, trying to make the bulge in his pants less obnoxious.

He grabbed two waters and returned, noticing her cheeks were even pinker, and her gaze was determinedly sticking north.

After taking his seat, he drew in a slow, deep breath, but quickly realized what a mistake that was. Lyric’s scent filled him, honey and lavender and her. Aroused.

It took everything in him not to say anything, so he regloved and got back to work.

For the most part, Lyric remained quiet. She winced every now and then, but the buzz of the needle stroking back and forth over her skin was lulling.

“Ass hurt?” he asked her when he switched colors again. “You’ve been sitting for a while.”

Her cheeks bloomed with color, but she nodded and then stood to walk around a bit.

A bad idea came to mind, but he opened his mouth to speak before he could talk himself out of it. “Do you wanna lie down? It’ll be more comfortable.”

She shrugged, tugging the hem of her shorts up a bit more. “Sure. Where at?”

“Just lie along the table,” he directed, and grabbed her a pillow.

So what if it was one of the ones he slept on every night? It wasn’t on purpose, it was just the closest one he grabbed.

Sure, keep telling yourself that.

He put the pillow on the table and left it for her to adjust as he grabbed a folding chair. He placed it at the end of the table, spread his legs, and placed her foot on the edge of the chair.

“Comfortable?” he checked.

This was the final stretch. Just maybe fifteen, twenty more minutes, and he could barricade himself in the shower to stroke one out.

“Yeah, I’m good,” she replied.

He glanced up the length of her, her hands placed casually over her stomach, clenching each other almost as tightly as she had the edge of the table.

Henry was right, having her lie on the table was the worst idea ever. It was far too easy to imagine himself dipping down to place a kiss on her thigh, moving north, tasting her…

Henry shifted on the chair, the damned thing squeaking in protest as he placed his palm on her thigh again to steady her.