Page 73 of The Tattoo Artist

“No, Ares,” I stammered.

His finger trailed down the side of my face, and I couldn’t help the involuntary shiver that ran through me.

“Good girl angel, now take off your shoes.”

Ares’ presence was commanding, and his unexpected actions left me slightly breathless. I slowly slid off my shoes, trying to maintain composure as he watched with a scrutinizing gaze.

“Very well,” he said, his voice low and authoritative. “Now, come with me.”

He released the pressure on the door, allowing me to step out into the corridor. Ares walks ahead, leading the way down the dimly lit hallway. I followed, my heart still racing, unsure of what was unfolding. As we reach a door at the end of the corridor, he turned the handle and walks inside. The room was dimly lit, with a faint glow emanating from a bedside lamp. The air was thick with tension as he closed the door behind us.

“Sit,” he commanded, pointing to a plush chair by a small table. I complied, feeling a mixture of vulnerability and curiosity. Ares paced the room for a moment before stopping in front of me.

“I don’t appreciate assumptions,” he states, his eyes locking onto mine. He walks over to me, a subtle intensity in his eyes as he lifted my chin, forcing our eyes to lock. “There are many things I can show you, angel, teach you about your body. About what you used to like…what used to make you feel pleasured.”

“So then teach me,” I whisper, my voice barely audible, but the request hung in the air with a newfound boldness. His eyes remained locked onto mine, and a small, almost imperceptible smile played on his lips. “Show me.”

He walks over to the corner of the bedroom, where a moving tray contained a bottle of an expensive whiskey. He pours himself a drink and continues settling down onto the edge of the bed. “Take off your skirt.”

The room seemed to shrink, the intensity between us palpable.

My fingers trembled slightly as I complied, gently removing my shorts while keeping my eyes locked onto his. I settle it down onto the chair, standing up. Why am I nervous? I was ready earlier on.

“Remove your shirt,” he orders, leaning onto his elbow with a casual air, taking a sip from the glass. My fingers found their way beneath the hem of my shirt, and I slid it over my body, allowing it to join my discarded skirt.

Now, in only my lingerie, his eyes traced down my form, his gaze lingering on my every curve just like earlier on. He stood up, taking another sip, and I could sense the subtle shift in the room’s energy. His finger trailed the lining of my underwear as he circled me, the quiet tension between us heightening.

As he slips his finger behind my bra strap and pulled it, a sharp snapping sound echoed through the room. I gasp at the unexpected sting, my eyes widening.

The bra suddenly loosened, the strap falling down my shoulder, and my instinctive reaction was to grab onto it before it could fully fall.

“Move your hand, angel,” he commands, his voice firm.

I hesitated for a moment, a mix of embarrassment and anticipation flooding my senses. Slowly, I complied, releasing my grip on the bra, and allowing it to fall, leaving me exposed in front of him.

His presence loomed behind me, a tangible force that sent shivers down my spine. I felt his finger tracing down my spine, a delicate touch that contrasted with the boldness of the situation. His smirk deepened, and he took another sip of his nearly finished whiskey, the glass making a soft clinking sound against the surface.

His silence stretched, creating a tension-filled pause in the air. When he finally spoke, his words held a hint of amusement.

“Turn around for me.” Without a second thought, my body responded to his command. It was as if an automatic switch in my brain flipped, and I found myself turning to face him. The subtle friction between my thighs heightened the awareness of every movement.

I’m wet.

My nipples harden, and his eyes drag down my body.

He takes a seat on the chair, “pick up your bra.” I bend down, grabbing my bra from the ground. Is he playing around with me? I straightened up, clutching the bra in my hand, and met his gaze. “Go to the bed and spread your legs angel.”

The butterflies haven’t stopped. I complied, making my way to the bed, and settling down. A sense of vulnerability settled over me as I slowly spread my legs, my gaze locked onto his. His eyes remained fixed on me, a silent observer in the unfolding scene.

“Have you touched yourself?” He asks, swirling the whiskey around in his glass.

“Once...”

He smirks, “did you cum angel?”

“No.”

“I’ll teach you.” He puts the glass to the side, walks over to me as he pushes me further up the bed. “Take your underwear off for me.” Slowly, I obeyed, sliding my underwear down and off, leaving me exposed and vulnerable under his watchful eyes.

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