by Ophelia Bell
He strips while I watch, wincing only a little as he peels off his shirt. His erection isn’t the least bit affected by how sore his back must be, and my core heats and floods from the very sight of him in all his glory. How the hell did I get so lucky?
Once he kicks his jeans aside, he climbs onto the end of the big bed on his knees and prowls up between my thighs. I’m breathless when he settles on his belly, face level with my hips, and presses a gentle kiss to the inside of my thigh where he marked me last night. He kisses and licks and nibbles at that spot as if to ensure it doesn’t fade too soon. My heart kicks at the idea of this weekend ever being over, but soon enough he makes me forget every last worry when he spreads me open and goes to work on my pussy with his tongue.
I come in a bucking frenzy mere moments later, then smile lazily at him when he rises and hovers over me with a smug expression. But his cocky look dissipates when he looks down at me, an almost desperate hunger in his eyes now.
His thick, hard cock juts between us, inches from my pelvis, but he makes no move to try to fuck me. I’m not sure I’d be able to turn him down if he did; feeling that glorious hard length pushing into me would be heaven. But I also don’t think I’m ready to accept the consequences of such a profoundly intimate act.
I’m pretty sure Sam would argue. I don’t think he sees the difference between oral sex and fucking. Maybe he’s right, but I’m afraid that if I go that far with him there will be no going back. Everything else is good, dirty fun.
I reach between us and cup his balls, watching his lashes flutter and his mouth drop open as I stroke and fondle, then grab his shaft and run my palm up his entire length. He shudders from the pleasure, which empowers me to give him more.
“Come here,” I urge, tugging gently on his shaft.
He opens his eyes and stares down at me, feverish with need. I release his cock and grip both my breasts, squeezing them together, then look down my body where his cock hovers over my belly.
“Fuck my tits, Sam.”
My recent orgasm makes my voice even huskier than usual, and the effect works like a charm. His gaze is hot on my upper body as he moves to straddle my chest. He’s magnificent, looming over me like a giant from this angle. He lowers himself just enough to rest his balls on my sternum, then pauses with a finger raised.
He leans over to the nightstand and grabs the body lotion I left after getting ready this morning, then squeezes a liberal dollop of it between my breasts, gripping them, smoothing the lotion over them, and stroking my nipples into stiff peaks. Lowering himself again and nestling his cock between both soft mounds, he pushes forward with a grunt, and when his cockhead brushes my chin, I dart out my tongue to lick, tasting his flavor mixed with the cocoa butter of the lotion.
“Fucking hell,” he groans.
“I want you to come on my tits. Fuck them, then spill your load all over them. Can you do that for me?”
“God, you’re killing me, Toni.”
I take over holding my breasts and he releases them, leaning over to grab the top of the headboard. He begins to move his hips faster, jacking his lotion-slick shaft between my breasts.
“Play with your nipples,” he demands, and I obey, already worked up as much as I was before the orgasm he just gave me. I reflexively begin to writhe even though I’m getting no relief.
“This gets you hot, doesn’t it?” he rasps. “That’s such a fucking turn-on. After I come, I’m going to lick your pussy until I can’t feel my tongue. I want you to scream my name tonight.”
His expression tightens and he bucks his hips faster. It’s a challenge to catch his tip with my tongue every time, but I manage, tasting more and more of his salty pre-cum until he finally unloads completely.
The first spurt hits my lips, then he pulls back and spills the rest across my sternum. I tease my fingers through the small puddle and rub the sticky liquid over my nipples.
Sam descends between my thighs again with abandon, shoving his palms beneath my ass and lifting me up to devour me a second time. This time he shoves his tongue deep, and I yell from the surprising invasion. He replaces his tongue with three fingers and fucks me hard while he licks me.
I’m already rocketing straight to another peak when he pushes his pinky into my ass. The tight friction sends me over, and I lose all sense of up and down as I scream his name and grasp at his head in desperation.
He refuses to release me until my spasms subside and I fall limp to the bed. There’s only the barest hint of disappointment in his eyes when he crawls up beside me and pulls me tight against him. I’m afraid to draw attention to what we didn’t do again, though, because I’m sure that’s what’s on his mind right now.
For the third night in a row, I fall asleep in his arms, but for the first time I worry that I may have already passed the point of no return for him.
20
Sam
Even though I sleep like a baby, I feel like an ass when I wake up because I didn’t come clean with Toni about anything I hoped to share with her last night. I took the lyrics of the song to heart, thinking I really shouldn’t lie. She deserves to know the truth, not just about herself, but about how I feel. I guess I just kept hoping it would be obvious enough that I wouldn’t have to actually say any of it out loud.
But I blew it. By the time we got back to her room, she was all over me, and I wasn’t in the frame of mind to stop her for a chat. She’s still oblivious, and I’m too busy kicking myself to find a moment to pull her aside to say anything when Sunday morning rolls around.
It’s our last full day here. Our last day to make sure Tendrils stands out. I resolve to let go of my itch to confess my undying love until we get home, and instead kick ass for the next few hours on tattoos so I can legitimately have a contest win or two under my belt.
At breakfast Mako informs us that two of our tattoos did win prizes the evening before. The judging was going on while we were at the concert, so we missed the final results. The clients who bought the tattoos snag us on the way into the convention hall, and we spend the first fifteen minutes collecting our trophies and taking photos with them. Toni’s won best of day for Saturday, and mine best large black and gray. I’m giddy when I pose for the camera with the guy I tattooed. My first contest win, hell yeah!
“Totally dig your style, man. I’ll look you up again for sure,” the client says after the photos are finished and we shake hands. Toni hugs the young woman who received her tattoo, and we head back toward our booth.
“Let’s dive in and get this beauty finished!” Mako says, rolling his shoulders and cracking his neck like he’s about to jump into the ring.
The three of them waste no time setting up their stations and I lie down. Chelsea’s cameraman is back like clockwork with his camera trained on my back, and I’m in the zone again with three sets of needles digging into me. They banter with each other over my back, about everything from the shop to Vic’s other projects outside of tattoos, to Mako’s plans for a surf trip later this summer. I get needled into admitting that there is nothing I’d rather do than spend my days tattooing. I leave out the small detail that pretty much anywhere Toni is is where I want to be.
We have a bigger audience today, with more people clustering around the front of the booth. When they start to dissipate after about an hour, I ask, “Did you guys scare them off? What happened?”
“Nah, man. You’re on the jumbotron,” Vic says.
The three of them stop tattooing for a second so I can twist around. I look up at the far end of the enormous room, where a giant screen now shows a swath of my back in all its freshly tattooed glory. I can’t stop staring at it, because it looks amazing.
Then Toni taps my shoulder and her hand appears on the screen. That’s when I realize it’s a fucking livestream.
“Well, shit. I guess I’d better be still and shut up, huh?” I chuckle and lie back down.
With my head turned and resting on my arms, I can still see about half the screen.
It’s the half that shows Toni’s hands gracefully inking lines and color around the contours of the woman’s face.
It’s you, I want to blurt. It’s always been you.
I shift my gaze to the actual Toni at my side, her sweet scent still lingering in my nose from the brief shower we shared this morning. She didn’t want me to get the tattoo wet, so she insisted on having me stand just so within the shower spray so she could wash all the “important bits”—which basically amounted to giving me another soapy hand-job, then letting me carefully bend over and wash my hair with a towel draped over my shoulders to keep the water off my back.
I let my mind wander a little too long on that memory and feel the pressure of my dick hardening beneath me.
“Fuck,” I mutter.
Toni gives me a sidelong look. “You okay, honey? Need a bathroom break?”
I make a disgruntled noise and shake my head. “Maybe in a little bit. I’m good now.”
She narrows her eyes at me when I shift my hips to ease some of the pressure. Then she smirks and nods. “You just say the word.”
After another hour, Mako heaves a sigh and announces, “I think you guys got it from here. I need a smoke. I’ll bring food when I come back.” His gloves snap as he pulls them off and tosses them in the trash bin, and he disappears into the crowd.
It takes Vic and Toni another half hour, most of the work an agonizing stripe up my spine as they work in the last few details. Then Vic rolls back and I feel the soft, soothing swipe of wet paper towels as Toni carefully cleans the fresh tattoo.
Neither of them says a word. Vic just sits and watches for a few, then stands and moves to the tripod holding the camera. The image on the huge screen zooms out enough to capture my entire back. The sound of the room shifts in pitch when the full design is visible and in vibrant, super-saturated color. Some people whistle and clap, and a wave of noise cascades through the enormous space. I wish like hell I could stand up and see the whole image, but it’s partially blocked, and I don’t dare move and ruin the experience for everyone else.
“Well, honey, I think we did it,” Toni says in a low voice beside my ear. “This might be the best one I’ve ever done.”
The image on the screen finally shifts away to the convention’s logo, which looks like a Mayan god. I’m finally safe moving again, so I roll onto my side to look at her, my heart in my throat.
“You have a lot more skin to go, you know. There’s always a chance you’ll one-up yourself.”
She holds my gaze, a slightly befuddled look crossing her face before she bends down and kisses me, one gloved hand resting lightly on my cheek. My heart thrums with the tenderness of it, because this is what I want from her, what I want to give her—this sense of pure, unadulterated adoration. I see it again in her eyes when she pulls away and rests her forehead against mine.
“You’re not going to make this easy on me, are you?” she asks, then emits a helpless chuckle.
I wrap my fingers around one of her wrists and drop my lips to the patch of exposed skin just above her glove—a patch that I know carries scars beneath her ink. “Nothing good comes easy, Toni. We have to work for the things we love most.”
My heart pounds harder as I lift my gaze to hers, hoping what I said wasn’t overkill, even if it’s the God’s honest truth. She almost smiles, but I can’t read more into her expression beyond a slight flush in her cheeks before she turns away and pulls off her gloves, then focuses on cleaning up her station.
“We’ve got time for lunch before our afternoon sessions. You hungry?” Her voice is abnormally light and a little forced. She’s also talking to her hands instead of me, and I sit up straighter, reaching for my shirt.
“Are you okay? You’re not spooked, are you?”
Her jaw tightens, her movements becoming jerky as she carefully sets out fresh ink cups and arranges all the bottles of ink on the tray alongside fresh, sealed packs of needles. Her shoulders rise and fall with a big breath.
“I . . .” she starts, then shakes her head and emits a helpless laugh. “Goddamn you, Sam Santos. What the fuck are you doing to me?” She huffs and rolls back on her stool, letting her hands fall to her sides. She’s still holding a bottle of ink in each hand as she just stares at me.
I glance around, but Vic and Mako are conspicuously absent and there’s no one else hanging around our booth. Returning my gaze to her, I cross my arms. “You tell me. Because this goes both ways.”
“Sam . . .” Again she trails off and sighs. “You’re supposed to be safe. Uncomplicated. Someone I can let go with because I trust you to respect my boundaries.”
“Tell me when I haven’t done that.”
“You have. I think that’s the problem, because despite you being fucking perfect, you breached the one barrier I wasn’t ready to let down, and I don’t know how to deal with that.” She sighs again sets the ink bottles aside, then rubs her palms on her thighs. “I need to know I can trust you.”
“Why would you ever think you can’t?” I ask, grimacing inwardly. I can’t fucking lie to her, but now is definitely not the time or place to tell her the truth.
“I don’t know!” she throws up her hands. “And I’m sorry I’m so fucking high-maintenance, but I need promises. I need assurances.”
I have a pretty good idea what she’s asking, but I need her to say it to be sure. I slide off the table and sit on my rolling stool, then crab-walk over to her and take her hands. There’s a desperate, pleading look in her eyes that I’d do anything to wipe away.
“Assurances of what exactly? And why?”
She clenches her eyes shut and shakes her head. “It’s stupid.”
“Bullshit. If it’s got you this tied up in knots, it’s perfectly legitimate. Start with the why. Why do you need promises and assurances?”
After a deep breath, she finally opens her eyes. “Because I want you. I don’t want to leave this in Cancún. Doing this tattoo was the best time I’ve had in forever. And I mean that. I have never enjoyed myself so much. I don’t want this to end.”
My heart does a somersault, but I manage to contain my elation. I squeeze her hands. “Neither do I. So how do we make sure it doesn’t?”
Tears well in her eyes as she reclaims one hand, instantly reaching for her bandaged wrist and scratching at it. Normally I might think it’s just an idle itch, but after her confession yesterday, I see it for what it is.
I impulsively grab her hand again and raise it to my mouth, sinking my teeth into the flesh at the base of her thumb and sucking. She inhales sharply and snatches her hand away, wipes it off, then stares at the teeth marks I left.
“Jesus, Sam. What is it with you and giving me hickeys?”
“Just trying to keep you with me. Wherever that dark place is that you go, it’s clear a little pain shuts the door and brings you back.”
“It only works when I do it to myself.”
“Does it?” I raise an eyebrow.
Her nostrils flare and she huffs. “Fine. It works when you do that too, but I’d prefer a tattoo to a hickey.”
“That can be arranged.”
Her eyelids fall and she shakes her head, exasperated. But when she opens her eyes again, they’re filled with a depth of gravity I’ve never seen before, at least not directed at me.
“Sam, I need you to promise you won’t die on me.”
I sit back, not quite sure how to process that demand. “I don’t plan to.”
“No one does. Manny sure didn’t.”
Taking a deep breath, I nod slowly to give myself time to respond. I always knew loving her would come with some baggage, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t starting to get frustrated by the ghost of Manny Reyes lurking around us. I don’t expect to ever banish him, though; my only worry is whether I’ll ever be able to measure up to his memory enough that she decides I’m the love of her life. After this weekend, I think we have a good start, so I just need to not blow it by coming off as a jealous asshole.
“Manny wasn’t oblivious to the risks he took. But I’m not him. All I want in life is to do tattoos by your side. I think together we can make fucking beautiful art. This piece on my back right now is a testament to that. So I will promise you, with every ounce of certainty that I can, that I’m not going to do deliberately do anything that would risk my life.”
The transformation in her is subtle, but evident, as if some of the darkness clears and she can see light. Her eyes brighten just a little and she offers a hopeful smile. Then she tilts her head and a devious glint enters her expression.
“Tonight I think we should . . .”
She doesn’t get to finish the thought, because at that moment both Mako and Vic return in a chorus of hearty laughter over some shared joke. With them comes the delicious aroma of fresh street tacos and tortilla chips.
When I raise my eyebrows at Toni, she just shakes her head and doesn’t fill in the enormous blank she left at the end of our conversation.
But I’m not quite optimistic enough to fill it in myself.
21
Toni
After lunch we’re inundated with clients for the rest of the day, so I don’t have time to finish my conversation with Sam. But the sense of rightness never abates as long as he’s within a few feet of me, the buzz of his machine a constant, comforting drone in sync with mine.
I don’t think I could ever admit it out loud, but I wasn’t exaggerating when I told him I’d never enjoyed myself so much. Even in all the trips I took to this convention with Manny at my side, the convention was always more about work than fun, at least for me. For him, it was always about fun. I love what I do, but over the last three years—and even longer, if I’m being honest—my celebrity status has felt more like a chain around my neck than any sort of bonus.
