Tattooed Love - Gay Erotic Romance Box Set (5 Books in 1 Collection)

by Snyder, J. M.

  Most of the preprinted tattoo art consisted of pin-up girls. Half-naked chicks cavorting in seductive poses weren’t exactly what I wanted on my body—how would I explain a buxom brunette to the next guy I fucked? I wasn’t bi, wasn’t even interested in the fairer sex. The panels that weren’t nude girls were demons, skeletons, or the like. It was sex or death, all geared toward the straight man. I wanted to ask where the happy queer section might be, but I suspected there wasn’t one.

  “Find something?”

  Rist’s voice startled me. He stood so close behind me, I could feel his breath on the nape of my neck and the warmth of his chest against my arm where mere inches separated us. When I moved back, his hand touched my waist for a brief second before falling away. Suddenly my mind was blank, my cock raging in my pants, my blood surging in my veins, and my mouth unable to work. “Um…”

  This close his eyes were mesmerizing. His gaze dropped to a spot on my neck and a hint of a smile flickered across his lips, showing me those pointy cuspids again. “See anything you like?”

  Would you be the wrong response?

  When I didn’t answer right away, Rist leaned past me and flipped to the next panel. The sexy she-devil was replaced by a giant crucifix; he flipped again, quickly, never taking his eyes off me. The next panel was covered with scrolls and hearts. “How about someone’s name, maybe? Your lover?”

  “God, no.” I shook my head for emphasis. “I’m doing this to forget about him. The dick.”

  Rist moved closer—I felt his chest against my back, a barely there touch I wanted to step into, but I didn’t dare. Though we were alone in the tattoo parlor, I was well aware of the bright lights overhead and the full-length windows facing out onto Broad Street. Anyone driving by could glance in and see us easily. Two men looking through tattoo designs, standing a little too close to leave much else to the imagination. The breath on my neck was soft and ticklish, and when I shifted from one foot to the other, I felt something hard and uncompromising against my ass for a brief second before Rist moved back.

  So I wasn’t the only one turned on by this. In my pocket, my hand pressed my dick flush against my body and I had to bite my lower lip to stifle the moan that wanted to escape.

  “How about one of these?” Rist purred in my ear.

  He had stopped on a panel of dark images—jagged gravestones like crooked teeth, bats rose below full moons, black cats arched and hissing. Twin holes mimicking fang bites dripping with blood. Vultures in cemetery trees, and ghosts holding decaying banners on which were written sayings like Death Before Dishonor and Only the Good Die Young.

  I turned the panel before Rist could. “I want something a little more real,” I told him.

  With a breathy chuckle, he asked, “You don’t think this stuff is real?”

  He was pointing at the next set of tattoos, which showed cartoonish horror monsters like werewolves and vampires. I threw a sardonic look over my shoulder and found him close enough to kiss. I could see the exact spot where the peroxide stopped just above his ear and the dark brown of his natural hair color took over. What were we talking about again? “Please.”

  From the corner of his eye, he glanced at me. Then he smirked and ducked his head, resting his chin on my shoulder a second before stepping back. “They’re out there, man,” he said, moving away and ruining the moment. He lifted the panels and started looking through them quickly, searching for something. “The books and movies have it all wrong, though. They aren’t scary creatures, you know? Aren’t out to kill everybody and shit. They don’t sparkle, for Christ’s sake.”

  I laughed. “Do they even drink blood?”

  His hands froze in mid-flip and he looked back at me, eyes wide. “Oh, yeah. They drink blood, all right. That part’s dead on.”

  So the guy was cute with a monster fetish. He worked in a tattoo parlor—it didn’t surprise me he liked strange things. I rocked back on my heels and glanced around, wondering if it was too late to call the whole thing off. I mean sure, it was nice of him to stay late and agree to give me a tat. But it’d been a spur of the moment decision and given the night I’d had, I couldn’t be blamed for calling it off now. Sleep on it, come back in the morning, see if I still wanted to go through with the ink. Chances were the answer would be no. Would Rist really get all that upset if I changed my mind?

  Before I could ask, he found the panel he’d been looking for and flipped to it. Standing aside, he asked, “What about any of these?”

  My resolve crumbled when I saw the page of rainbow flags, pink triangles, and lambda designs. One in particular caught my attention, a small pride flag that looked as if it had been painted on with jagged strokes of a small brush. “That one,” I said, pointing it out. “That’s it. That’s what I want.”

  Rist gave me that semi-smile of his that lit up his eyes more than his lips. “Cool. I’ll set up my station and we’ll be good to go.”

  “How’d you know?” I asked. When his gaze dropped to the front of my pants, I pushed down my erection and hoped he didn’t think the hand in my pocket was doing just that. “I’m usually a pretty good judge with guys but you’re hard to read. When I first came in here, I would’ve sworn you were straight.”

  His smile cranked up a notch. “Sometimes, but not tonight.”

  That sounded like a promise.

  * * * *

  His station was near the back of the tattoo parlor, out of sight from anyone passing by on the street. Not that there was much traffic at this hour. This late in the year, the sun went down a little after seven and by now it was almost ten, dark out beyond Tattoo 804’s windows. Here and there street lamps cast small cones of yellow light on the sidewalk, and the traffic stop in front of the parlor flickered from red to green and back again as if winking into the night. But anyone still out was downtown at the clubs, or just driving this stretch of road heading home. I wondered why Rist didn’t just throw me out with the rest of the garbage. He had to have someplace to go for the night, something better to do.

  As I stared out the window at my car parked at the curb, I watched the reflection behind me in the glass and waited to see Rist motion me over. I wouldn’t be able to hear him over the music blaring through the speakers—he hadn’t bothered to turn it down, and every so often I’d swear it cranked up another notch, if that was possible. Why it needed to be so damn loud, I didn’t know. I felt like I was in one of those clubs down on the Slip…all I needed was a drink in my hand, a few hard bodies grinding against mine, and I’d be good to go.

  A hand fell to my shoulder and startled me. “You ready?”

  I jumped to find Rist beside me. “Jesus,” I swore, my heart stuttering in my chest. His sudden nearness did little to alleviate the throbbing in my dick. “I didn’t see you come up, man.” So much for watching out for him in the window.

  With a nod, he indicated I should follow him back to his station. A black tattooist’s chair had been set up facing the wall. Next to it was a moveable arm rest and a tall stool where Rist would sit. By the stool was a tray on wheels, the kind dentists use, where wrapped packages of needles and bottles of ink were already set out. “Shirt off.”

  I glanced around at his station as I obeyed. Lurid posters from B-grade movies covered the walls, screaming odd titles like Plan 9 from Outer Space and Amazon Women from the Avocado Jungle of Death. Rist seemed to have a thing for monsters—action figures of Dracula, Frankenstein, and the Wolfman were lined up along a table behind his stool or leered from wire baskets hanging from the wall, where his inks were stored. A plastic cabinet of drawers was covered in stickers for bands I had never heard of before, with names like Satan’s Death Candy and Screaming Monkey Stick. I shrugged off my shirt, tossed it to the floor, and did a slow pirouette to try and see everything at once. Strange place, Rist’s corner of the shop. Then again, I probably would’ve been disappointed if it wasn’t a little freaky.

  He fiddled with the tattoo guns and glanced over at me, hands on my hips, eyes
wide as I took it all in. Again his gaze dropped to my waist, and this time I didn’t have a shirt to pull down over my erection. With a nod at the chair, he told me, “Sit. I can re-do the ink on your arm if you want.”

  I had to climb up into the chair, using foot rests a good twelve inches off the ground. As I settled in, I took a critical look at my college tattoo and grimaced. The once bright blue had faded to a sickly hue, the yellow almost the same tone as my skin. Once it had been my school’s logo, a golden lion’s head mascot circled with my college colors and the name of the school underneath. Now, if I squinted right, I could just make it out. But it was a fairly large design—much bigger than the inch and a half Rist had shown me earlier—and I wasn’t up for spending more on tonight’s adventure. “What’ll that cost?”

  Rist dropped onto the stool and wheeled up beside my chair. He fiddled with a control somewhere out of sight and I dropped down a little, until we were eye-level. For a moment he set his elbow on the arm rest as his fingers played across the skin on my shoulder, feeling the outline of the tattoo. His touch was cool, sending a shiver down my spine that jolted my already stiff dick. I shifted in the chair uncomfortably, pulling at the front of my jeans just a little, hoping I played it off without him noticing. This close, how could he not?

  Then his hand trailed down, fingertips like ice as they played over the hairs on my forearm. Goosebumps rose in his wake. I watched his movements, slow, deliberate, my gaze glued to his tattooed hand. At my wrist, he rubbed a tender spot just above my thumb and I turned my hand over, laying it open for his. When I looked up, I found him staring at my face with something akin to desire. My voice croaked when I tried to speak and I had to clear my throat to be heard over the music. “How much?”

  “Tommy.” The way he said my name sounded like a purr, low and soft. I didn’t hear it so much as feel it echo through me, the same way I felt the beat of the music reverberate through my spine. “We’re both adults here. Alone. I’m sure we can come to some kind of mutual agreement.”

  Still thinking money, I started, “I don’t want to spend too much…”

  His hand closed over mine, his palm cool against my heated fingers. With a gentle squeeze he released me and moved lower—down my leg, along my thigh now, angling toward my crotch. A second before his fingers brushed over my sheathed cock, I realized what he was suggesting. He confirmed it when he said, “I was sort of thinking something else.”

  For a long moment, I was too stunned to speak. My dick throbbed in his grip, eager to take him up on his offer. I’d been propositioned before—hell, many times, and probably would be again before the week was out. But I hadn’t seen this one coming. Could I possibly get a free tattoo out of it?

  Shit, for a blowjob, or something more? I’d fucked guys for less.

  Rist must have thought I was unsure because he tugged on my zipper a little, pressing it into my dick as he did so. “Come on, man,” he cajoled. “Either you’re hard for me or you’ve got some sort of medical condition that gives you elephant balls. This place is dead. So we can take care of each other and you get a tattoo for your trouble, what do you say?”

  I laughed. “What do you get from it?”

  His smile turned enigmatic. “I get off. What more can I ask for? I’m a little…”

  He said something then that I didn’t quite catch. Horny, I thought, but the music seemed to swell and drown him out, or maybe he just dropped his voice a little. I watched the shape his lips made around those pointed teeth of his and what might have been horny could just as easily have been hungry, as well. Either way, the message was clear. He wanted me as much as I wanted him.

  I’d be a fool to turn him down.

  Bringing my hand up, I covered his where it rested on my crotch. At his slight grin, I dipped my fingers under his and plucked the zipper from him. I eased it down and almost sighed with relief as my dick protruded through the open fly, released at last. The tight prison of my jeans disappeared, swelling my already erect cock. Rist rubbed my length through my underwear, tracing the outline of my dick from thick base to damp tip. I leaned back in the tattooist’s chair and let my hands fall to the sides, gripping the plastic leather as I bit my lower lip in ecstasy. A guttural sound escaped my throat, something primal and raw, that rumbled through my body like the music. “Yes.”

  With his fingers kneading my dick, Rist leaned down and stuck out his tongue to lick along the tattoo on my arm. From the edge of my vision I watched—he trailed around the outline with the tip of his tongue, his breath feathery and light, his touch wet, maddening. He licked his way around my bicep, into the spot where my arm and body met, and up my clavicle to the hollow of my throat. The wisps of bleached curls peeking from under his cap tickled my chin. I arched my back slightly to get a better look at him only to find him staring back, pinked tongue stuck between perfectly white teeth that seemed to have lengthened since the last time I noticed. Maybe the movie posters and action figures surrounding us had something to do with it, but this close to my neck, his teeth looked wicked.

  Free tattoo or not, suddenly I wasn’t too sure. “Hey,” I whispered, the word lost in the music.

  Rist closed the distance between us, moving so quickly I didn’t have time to turn away. He pressed his mouth to mine in a fierce kiss that left me breathless, his tongue delving between my lips with a possessiveness that piqued my already sore cock, causing it to jerk in his hand. For someone with such a slight build, he was quite powerful—he held me back to the chair with the weight of his kiss alone, the fingers at my groin rubbing into my underwear. As our kiss deepened, he got up under my dick and guided it out, pulling down the underwear until the elastic waistband bit below my balls. The cool, air conditioned air hit my heated member and pricked it harder. Rist laid it flat against my body, tip pointing toward my navel, and drew concentric circles in the sensitive skin between my dick and balls as I whimpered beneath him.

  Lust roiled through me. I grasped at the seat beneath me, then at his shirt to pull him closer, then his pants because I wanted them gone. “Please,” I murmured into him. My tongue glanced over his sharp teeth and danced away, preferring the smooth surface on the front of his incisors or the impossibly soft places on the inside of his cheeks. My hips bucked off the seat, rubbing my cock against his arm as he toyed with me. “Rist, please. Yes. Fuck, yes.”

  Pulling back slightly, he kissed the corner of my mouth and asked, “You have a condom?”

  Shit. I better. If I didn’t, we were cutting off a finger from one of his disposable latex gloves and using that, I didn’t care. I needed in him, now. As I reached for my wallet in the back pocket of my jeans, Rist stood and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. His lips were swollen, red, too red, almost bloody, but I ran my tongue over my teeth and couldn’t feel any cuts on it. Hell, I couldn’t feel much of anything, to be honest—his kisses had left me numb. My whole mouth tingled like it did after I had gone to the dentist to fill a cavity and the Novocain started to wear off. Then I licked my lip and tasted a strange spot on it. A small wound, as if I had accidentally bitten myself while eating. “Did you bite me?”

  When I raised a hand to touch it, Rist was there in my face again. “You’re fine,” he said, kissing the corner of my mouth again—the spot I had found. “Are we good with the rubber or do I have to run down the street to the 7-11?”

  Since my lip didn’t hurt, I ignored it and concentrated on more pressing matters, like praying the condom I usually keep tucked in the back of my wallet hadn’t fallen out or otherwise disappeared since the last time I checked. It hadn’t—it was still there, the package wrinkled but unopened, hidden inside a carefully folded twenty I kept on hand for emergencies. I held it up and started to say something witty, but whatever that might have been dried when I saw Rist shrug off his shirt.

  Silver hoops pierced both nipples. A dark cloud covered his torso, tiny black spots that swept up from the waistband of his pants to billow out across his abdomen into a clou
d of bats. They looked almost real, bursting from him in search of food. As they rose up his chest, they grew larger, more distinct; I saw eyes and sharp teeth cut out of the shapes, and each wing ended in a long claw. The cloud rose before him, washing his pale skin with color, before tapering to one large bat at the head of the pack. It flew directly under Rist’s left nipple as if aiming for the ring above it.

  As he shucked off his pants, the bats seemed to burst from the black curls at his crotch. With each move he made, the cloud seemed to flutter and flex against his skin as if in flight. He turned as he stepped out of the pants and I saw an articulated spine tattooed down his back. Leathery wings graced his shoulder blades, more demon than angel. They arched across his back, each extending out onto his arm before ending in claws similar to those on the bats’ wings. My gaze dropped to his round ass, where the spine tattoo disappeared between his fleshy buttocks. On his left cheek was a tattooed bite mark, two deep puncture wounds dripping with blood, as if some sex-crazed vampire mistakenly sank his fangs into Rist’s ass instead of his neck.

  He kicked the pants aside and turned toward me again. I asked, “Let me guess—vampire bats?”

  With a grin, he ran his hand down his chest in what appeared to be a familiar gesture, starting from the first bat down through the cloud, until his fingers delved into his pubes. An erect cock jutted toward me, the skin ruddy and veined. It arched up at the end, just enough to show me the piercing underneath the tip. “You fuck with that thing in?” I asked, pointing.

  When he thumbed over the ring, my stomach gave a queasy little flip. “You wouldn’t feel it through the rubber. Bareback, though…I’m told it tickles.”

  My stomach clenched at the thought of being pierced there, but my balls throbbed at his near nakedness and when he brushed his hand across the top of my thigh, my cock jerked toward him. “My condom, my call. Sit up on me already, will you? Let’s get going. You’ve got skin to ink.”