by Nikki Sloane
For a long moment there was only the buzz of the machine. “Yeah.”
That was all he was going to answer with, after what I’d shared? I opened my mouth to protest—
“I did an apprenticeship at a tattoo place out in the suburbs and took construction jobs when the work was slow. I started doing freelance photography about five years ago, and that helped me save up to lease gallery space.”
“And it’s going well for you? You said you don’t do tattoos anymore.”
“Only for favors.” His tone was . . . coy.
“What kind of favor does Joseph owe you?”
A strange look developed in his eyes. The faintest hint of amusement? “Not Joseph. You’ll owe me the favor.”
I drew in a breath to push the irritation back, but it was barely contained. I didn’t like owing people. “The kind of favor where I pay you in cash as soon as we’re done?”
“Nope.”
“I’m not fucking you.” Wait a minute, no need to send mixed signals. “I mean, not in exchange for tattoo work.”
“But you’ll fuck me in exchange for something else?”
His grin was impossibly wide and the irritation turned inward. Well, I painted myself into that corner, didn’t I? No point dancing around it. “Yeah. The exchange is you get to have sex with me and I get to have a hard dick.”
Silas’s grin froze. It looked like his brain stopped working—everything behind his eyes was blank.
I pushed forward, goading him. “Are you up for that transaction?”
“Yeah, sure am.” He answered quickly, like he didn’t want to miss out on a limited time opportunity.
“Great. Then finish your art so you can take me back to your place and we can . . . transact.”
His tone was playful. “You don’t beat around the bush.”
“When I see something I want, I take it.”
“Yeah?” His needle dug in, reminding me where we were. Everything in my focus had gone blurry except for him. “I’m the same,” he said. “It’s why I wasn’t about to let you bail on getting in my chair.”
Good God, he needed to hurry up. Fucking him in this tattoo shop, a curtain the only thing keeping us out of sight, sounded more appealing each passing second. My gaze followed the needle as it traveled over my uneven skin, and I silently urged him to finish.
“So, what’s the favor?” I asked.
“I’m hosting a show at my gallery next Tuesday for a new artist. Come with me.”
I turned my head away and sighed. “Like a date?” It made this hard to be a one-time thing if I went out with him after the sex.
“Could be.” His voice was strange, as if the thought had only just occurred to him. “After the showing, I want your help photographing the pieces.”
“My help,” I said, dubious. “How would I do that?”
“You’d display it. Model beside it.”
My focus snapped back to him. “I’d do what?”
“You’re a beautiful woman, and his artwork is predominantly green. Your red hair is the perfect complement to it—”
I was currently undercover. Too risky. “No thanks.”
“—and I’d like to shoot nudes.”
Was he fucking with me? I searched his expression, but he looked entirely serious.
“It’d be tasteful and sexy, I promise,” Silas continued. “I won’t show your face, and I can Photoshop out the tat. No one will know it’s you, except for us.”
I laughed incredulously. “Seriously, no.”
He wiped the towel once more, swiping the drops of blood from my skin, and shut off the needle. “You can trust me, Regan.” His gaze swept over me appreciatively. “I bet you look fucking amazing naked, and I can’t imagine a woman who worked for Joseph would be shy. You don’t seem shy at all.”
Fuck no, I wasn’t shy, and the strange thing was I sort of believed him when he said I could trust him. But too much was at stake. Several high profile cases could go bust if my cover was blown. “Let’s go back to me fucking you for the tattoo.”
The gleam in his eyes was smug. “Pretty sure we already decided what that transaction’s going to be about.”
“Chose a different favor then. I can pick you up from the airport sometime.”
His busy hands went to work cleaning the irritated skin, applying a salve to the dark ink. He must have noticed me staring at the design.
“Happy with it?”
“It’s beautiful.”
The corner of his mouth lifted into a half-smile. “And there was no little bitch crying.”
Clear plastic bandage was set on the skin. It felt like I had a sunburn, which, being a redhead, I was plenty familiar with.
“I’ll change your mind,” he said, “about the favor.” Off came his black gloves, tossed in the garbage.
“No, you won’t—”
His mouth was on mine, cutting me off.
Chapter
SIX
Hot. Greedy. Dominating.
These were words I could use to describe his mouth. My surprise kept me still as his hard kiss assaulted. His strong, skilled hands touched me, one grasping my chin between his thumb and forefinger, and the other was splayed out on my rib cage. The heat of his rough palm soaked in through my bare skin. It lit up every nerve ending in my body.
His kiss wasn’t exactly tame, but I sensed it was like the one I was giving back to him. Restrained. Neither one of us wanted to go one hundred percent here at the shop, but we were too impatient to wait any longer.
My lips parted as his tongue dipped into my mouth. The burn from it flashed a direct line down between my legs. A soft moan crept out of me. My hands were on him then. One slid around the back of his neck and ventured beneath the cotton of his shirt. And my left, it ducked under the bottom of his shirt and explored upward.
The muscles of his stomach and chest were carved of warm marble. Soft, yet hard. My hand chattered across his ridges, enjoying the sensation. Did it make sense that an artist’s body would be a work of art? Because, holy fuck, it was.
Without breaking the kiss, Silas moved over me. His hands gripped the back of the chair as he settled his weight on his knees between my legs, and pressed down into me. I could feel him everywhere except for the tattoo—he’d kept himself supported on his arm and off of the tender spot.
My hands dug into his skin at the same moment I wrapped my legs around his hips, and pulled our lower bodies tight against each other. I’d need to be on top when we started fucking in this chair, but I’d enjoy being beneath him until that happened.
His mouth was relentless. The restraint for me crumpled away. Was it the same for him? My heart raced as his lips left mine, trailed across my cheek, and to the edge of my ear. Warm, hurried breath ghosted over me and goosebumps lifted on my bare skin.
His thick bicep strained, and—
I gasped. He’d pulled himself against me, one hard thrust, his hard-on digging into the center between my legs. It felt so good, and we still had our clothes on. My fingernails scored down his chest and a quiet hiss came from him. He thrust into me again, this one harder than the last, and the chair made a groan that was just louder than mine.
What the hell was I doing? I knew I should care about where we were, but I didn’t. I was drunk off my lust.
Silas’s breath was hot and hurried in my ear, and I closed my eyes so I could enjoy the sensation better. I’d wanted this contact for so long, I trembled with anticipation and my body was a live wire, sparking with every touch. I arched beneath him, not caring that the raw skin of my shoulder was pressed against his chest. All that mattered was getting my bra off and his hands on my body.
I found the clasp and unhooked it, and when the tension went slack on the band, Silas lifted up on his arms. His expression was serious and his voice low. “Really shouldn’t be doing this.”
He shifted his weight onto one hand so he could fist my bra in his other and pull the lace down my arms, helping me along. He flu
ng the bra noiselessly to the floor, and his palm crushed my naked breast. Rough, and firm, and I cried out in relief, my hands returning to where they’d been.
His mouth sealed over mine, quieting my moans.
It was dizzying under his lips, his tongue swirling against mine. My hand gripped harder onto his waist, steadying myself. Or pushing him against me, I wasn’t sure. The ache between my legs was unbearable. His weight against my center only made me hotter and more desperate.
I kept my hand on his hip, but the other abandoned its home beneath his shirt, and left the smooth contours of his back. It slid up the length of his neck, until I could clench a tight fistful of his hair and start tugging him down.
He grunted, maybe with discomfort, as I increased my force. What else did I need to do to show him what I wanted? I was already yanking his face toward my chest and arching up to meet him. But he lingered with his lips at my collarbone, refusing to go farther.
“God, put your mouth on my tits.”
Silas’s hips drove into me and our moans mingled together. “Definitely shouldn’t do that,” he whispered.
It wasn’t cold in the space. He had my blood on fire, but my nipples sharpened into hard knots anyway. I squirmed in the chair, trying to move up. It was only a few more inches and he’d be there. His chin rubbed just at the swell of my breasts, making me tingle.
It was a tortured, breathless plea. “Silas.”
My lips pressed into a line to keep me silent and I bucked when he finally relented. His damp lips closed over the bud of my nipple and sucked, his hand holding my breast in place. The violent highs and lows of my emotions today had to be a factor in the experience, because I hadn’t ever felt so fucking turned on.
I was burning alive.
Teeth nipped at me, softly at first, and then more aggressive—enough to pull a whimper of pleasure from my throat. He took his time worshipping me. I floated in the moment, overwhelmed by the sensations, savoring his touch.
Yet my body was greedy and soon it wasn’t enough. My hand on his waist glided up until I could palm my other breast, and I jerked him by the hair, demanding attention on the one he was neglecting.
His bite there was far less playful this time, and I gasped in surprise. The sting was exciting, and I liked how he’d matched my level of intensity rather than backed off. Plus, this pain seemed to heighten my senses. I could feel every caress and swirl of his skilled tongue as it teased my distended nipple.
“What the fuck are we doing?” he muttered into my flesh, only pausing long enough to get the words out. His tone was as if he were talking to himself.
I said it through two short breaths. “You . . . started this.”
My eyes slammed shut when his hips ground against mine, stabbing his erection at the seam of my legs while he sucked at me. It had to be uncomfortable and yet pleasurable for him. The friction was certainly pleasurable for me, but I could do something he’d like better. I snaked my hand between our bodies and rubbed him below the belt.
“Shit.” It was a pleasure-soaked groan from him. He was impressively hard against the fly of his jeans.
“Should I not be doing this?” I mocked. My fingers fumbled over the snap of his pants, popping it open.
He blew out a long breath, and his body began to lift away from mine, taking his heat away. “No, we shouldn’t . . . Fuck—”
I sat up right along with him, not letting him escape. In my haste, I skipped over dropping the zipper and shoved my hand inside his pants, where it was a tight fucking fit, but I made it work. He was up on his knees and his eyelids dropped to half-closed while he shuddered in my grip. My touch seemed to instantly change his mind.
“Goddamnit.” His hand worked the zipper to give me more room. Then his thick fingers closed around mine, wrapping our hands together around his long cock, sheathed beneath his patterned boxers. He squeezed down, showing how much pressure he wanted.
It was so hot.
“Take off your shirt,” I ordered.
He gave me a dark look that was colored with sin. He didn’t move to do as I’d demanded. His only movement was to guide my hand to stroke harder.
“Take me out,” he commanded.
I continued to allow him to rub my hand along his thick length, but I lifted my eyebrow into an arch. “Why should I? You didn’t do what I asked.”
Oh shit, he could move fast. He was a blur as he whipped off the t-shirt and threw it aside as if pissed. My hand froze, distracted by the vibrant colors on his skin, spreading all across his chest and down his shoulders. There was so much to look at, it was overwhelming.
“Focus,” he ordered. I was sure he meant it teasing, but in his urgency, the truth spilled out.
I tucked my bottom lip between my teeth to stifle the grin. My hands dove under the waistband of his boxers and lowered the elastic until his cock leaped free.
My mouth went slack. “Oh, Christ.”
He.
Was.
Enormous. And pierced.
“You want to lodge a complaint?” His expression was smug.
“No, thanks.” But I would need to use both hands. I wrapped one at the base and the other on the head, and began to slide them together on him.
It drew a long, loud breath from his lungs. I studied his tattoos as my hands gripped and pumped. It was one large tattoo, sectioned into smaller parts. Like mini-scenes amongst a whole story, and a moving picture since he was breathing heavy. A steel ball gleamed at the tip of his cock, and a matching one at the head, right where the slit began.
“Regan.” His hands seized my wrists, stopping me. “Shit, let’s . . . put this on pause.”
I twisted my face into a dubious look. “You want me to stop?”
“I said pause.” His voice was strained. “Jesus, I can’t think when you’re topless,” he whispered. “Or with your hands on me.”
“What about in my mouth?”
His face went blank, and I used the opportunity to lean forward, bringing my lips to the tip of his cock, running my tongue over the piece of jewelry. I put a hand on his hip so he wouldn’t back away, held him steady, and closed my mouth around the head.
A panicked noise crept out of him as I sank down, followed instantly by a sigh of pleasure. I couldn’t get him that far in, and it was awkward hunched over, but I cupped my hand into a C and slid it along with my lips.
Both of his hands were in my hair. The intent seemed to be to stop me, but it was already too late to refuse. His fingers curled into fists, tugging on the strands. Tugging me back, and then forward, picking up the pace. It was supposed to be my pace, not his, but I let it go. He hadn’t been on board with the blowjob until it’d started.
He was one million percent on board now. His hips thrust in time with my movements. My hair was pushed back so he could see what I was doing. It sounded like he was struggling to stay quiet, and losing the battle. A low moan rumbled from him.
Even while I was getting face-fucked, I was aware of my surroundings. The electronic chime sounded on the front door, and heavy footsteps pounded in.
“Hey,” a male voice said. “Did Silas come by?”
“Hey, Johnny. Yeah, he’s in the back stall with a customer.”
We both froze, Silas’s cock buried halfway down my throat. His hands tensed.
“Shit,” the voice muttered. “He’s got the curtain pulled. I was hoping to watch him work.”
Silas withdrew from my mouth, and tucked himself uncomfortably back in his pants. “Shit, that’s the owner,” he whispered.
I wanted to giggle. I was thirty years old, and felt like we’d just been caught by his parents. He climbed off the chair and retrieved his shirt, tossing my bra back at me. I didn’t put it on, choosing instead to watch his broad, muscle-bound back as he tugged his shirt over his head.
His gray eyes flared when he turned and saw I was still topless. “You need help?”
I shook my head and put the bra on, gingerly sliding the strap over t
he bandage. My shirt was in Silas’s hands, and when I reached for it, he pulled back.
“This is a pause.” His expression was deadly serious. “We’re picking up where we left off as soon as possible.”
I laughed softly. “You better believe it.”
When I was dressed, Silas pushed out a deep breath. He adjusted himself in his pants as if still uncomfortable. I felt the same unsatisfied ache he did, I was sure. I hoped his place was close by. Silas barely looked at me as he moved quickly through the space, putting the tools back and trashing what needed to go.
The owner was waiting up front for us, curious to see Silas’s work. They chatted briefly and I thanked him for letting us use his shop. It was immediately clear how much this man respected Silas’s craft, and there was something charming about an inked-up, large, bearded man who was essentially an art groupie.
When we were outside and beside the bike, he didn’t ask if I wanted his jacket. Silas held it out, wordlessly demanding I put the enormous leather coat on.
“No, thank you. It’d be huge on me.”
His jaw set, increasing the hard, beautiful angles of his face. “I’m going to be driving a lot faster this time.”
“Oh, yeah? Why’s that?” I played dumb.
“Because we didn’t get to find out if I can think while I’m in your mouth.”
I smiled and sharpened my gaze. “I bet you can’t.”
“Let’s find out. Put on the coat.”
My smile faded to one that was strained. “I already said no, and hey, here’s some friendly advice . . . Don’t tell me what to do.”
He reluctantly pulled his arms into the jacket, his gaze not leaving mine until he reached for the helmet. “All right, thanks for the tip. Put on your helmet. Please.”
Chapter
SEVEN
The ride back was torturous, but my pride wouldn’t allow me to be cold. It was exhilarating to get close to the edge with Silas, and then pull back, but kind of cruel, too. I clung as tightly to him as my freshly tattooed skin would allow. I had one hand beneath his shirt, my fingers fanned out on his defined abdomen, and the cold wind whipped my hair. Beneath my legs, the throaty engine growled and vibrated.
