Page 19 of Make Me Dream of You

Noah adjusts the drape over to expose my other hip. The fabric sweeps over my sensitive skin, gathering a bit between my legs and I stifle a whimper before he gets back to work.

Part of me wants to close my eyes, go away to another place in my mind, think about anything other than the needle. But the other part doesn’t want to miss a second of watching him. The way his tattoos ripple with each arm movement. How that little piece of dark hair has fallen over his forehead. The way his thick brows are furrowed in concentration, his mouth almost in a scowl. The hint of his cologne as he swivels back and forth between me and the tray. And how, every couple of minutes, he glances up at me, his serious expression softening for a split second before he looks back down.

“You’re sitting so good,” he says low as he wipes ink away, his hand gentle over my hip, barely brushing my upper thigh in the process.

My inner thighs tingle. An unbidden ache between my legs begs me to squeeze them together to relieve it, but I don’t dare move.

“So good,” he whispers again, soothing.

And the thought of him calling me a good girl wedges its way into my brain. No, his good girl. And now the ache is worse. Fuck.

“Are you okay? You’ve been sitting really still and now you’re squirming a bit.”

Jesus Fuck.

My face has never erupted into flames faster.

CHAPTER 4

NOAH

“I’m fine,” Livvy says, even though her breathing is ragged, and her entire chest, neck, and cheeks are flushed.

I’m done outlining so I cover her with the sheet and insist we take a little break. We share a snack and drink some water and she tells me about how she started working at the bar but she’s afraid she’s terrible at it. I kind of want to just keep talking, but it’s getting late.

“Ready?” I ask.

She nods, taking a deep breath and lies back down.

I adjust the fabric to expose her skin, trying not to graze her hip or thigh any more than necessary, hating that the thought of doing so makes my dick twitch.

Her breath catches when I pick up the tattoo gun and I have the overwhelming desire to comfort her. I want to hold her hand, rub her side. It’s odd, especially since she’s been sitting so well and not acting overly stressed.

Something about her is getting to me. I can usually zone out a bit when I tattoo, get in a rhythm, block everything else out and just concentrate on the tattoo, but I’m distracted.

I’ve tattooed women in more intimate spots than this, so it’s not that.

There’s something about the way she breathes and her little whimpers every time the needle touches her. The way tiny goosebumps form on her skin. Even the way she smells—like fresh strawberries, dripping with sweetness—it’s all getting to me.

I can’t keep my eyes off her face.

That sweet, angelic face.

Angel wings are fitting for her. The feathers are pretty and delicate. They’re sweet. Innocent.

I’m attracted to her—can’t deny that. But it’s more than that.

I want to protect her. The thought of hurting her is stressing me out. Everything inside me is screaming to be gentle with her. Be careful. Give her extra assurance and praise.

I take longer with the shading than normal. I want the tattoos to be perfect. And she’s sitting like a champ. An hour goes by. Then two. Everything about her laying here on my table, getting her virgin skin marked by me, is perfect.

I wipe away some ink then gently squeeze her calf. “Almost done. You’re doing so good, sitting so perfectly for me. Such a good girl.”

A sharp little gasp of air whistles through her lips when I say it.

The sound makes my cock immediately react. Fuck, I didn’t mean to say that out loud. But I did. And she liked it. That fact isn’t encouraging my dick to soften.

Ignoring it, I finish up the shading and add a few white highlights.

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