Page 99 of Look, Don't Touch

“Let me get a blanket for your lower half.” Hard shoves off with powerful legs and wheels to the farthest cabinet in his special room. Most of the other artists have stations with no walls. Very few even have privacy curtains. But Hard is known for tatting and piercing the most sensitive areas of the human body. Areas you don’t want on full display, even in the gnarliest tattoo studios.

The material of my sweater is thick. Something I’m just now thinking about as I play with the hem, while not thinking about sucking Arlo’s cock. It’s going to bunch up around my shoulders and make an already uncomfortable experience irritating as hell.

“Take it off.”

My head jerks up. Hard’s does too. We both look at Arlo as though he’s lost his mind.

“Take it off. Lie on the table. Face me. When you’re situated, he can cover your beautiful ass.”

The thump of my heart is in my throat. This could be disastrous. Without looking at Hard, I strip my dress, toss it at Arlo, and then lie on the chair facing the man who’s shredding all of my hard limits one at a time.

“All right.” Hard sighs. “That’s all fine, but I need you to stand so I can place the stencil.”

Arlo is ripping up my limits and my focus. This is far from my first tattoo. You wouldn’t know it from my behavior. I hop up, stand straight and lift my arms to shoulder height, while maintaining eye contact with my destroyer.

Hard situates the stencil, applies it, and then scoots back. “What do you think?”

“Arlo?” I challenge without looking at the outline of my newest beast.

His head cants. A moment later, it repositions. “Perfect.”

“Then let’s get to it.” I smile.

Hard stalls. “You’re really not going to look?”

“I trust Arlo.”

“What about me?” Hard scoffs.

“More than most.” I smile at Arlo. “Not near as much as him.”

“Okay.” He pats the seat. “Let’s get going.”

After I reposition on the table, he covers my hips and legs. The leather is cold, but Arlo’s gaze is warm. It holds me through the buzzing and scraping, the burning and pain. It’s a strange kind of euphoria. Not physical, as much as it is emotional. There’s a vulnerability here that I’ve never allowed.

Seems like the MO with him. Only him.

The final swipes tug at my sensitive skin. Hard hands me a mirror. “What do you think?”

I examine the beast. Its fine lines. Its sharp edges. Its fierce beauty.

“Perfect.” I offer Hard a soft smile. He covers the area with ointment and a second skin.

His gaze shoots to Arlo. Something is communicated without words. I miss it, but I can’t miss my tattoo artist’s gentle pat on my shoulder. “Until next time.” Then he makes a hasty exit.

“Did you threaten to punch him?” I eye Arlo.

“No.” He stands, tosses my dress onto the chair, and stalks forward. “I paid him, tipped him, and told him to get lost.”

My body tingles head to toe. Warmth gathers between my legs. “You did all that with a look?” I prop myself onto my elbow. “I know your looks are powerful. I didn’t know they were ATM and email included.”

He holds up a finger. “Remember your sass on the plane?”

I wiggle my toes to keep from shrieking. “Yes.”

“You owe me one. If you keep on, you’ll owe me two.” He extends another finger.

“Maybe I want to owe you.” I smirk. “Maybe you owe me.”

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