Page 62 of Devilish Ink

He turned to switch the sign from Open to Closed.

The intensity of it all frightened me. His boldness, his swiftness. It was terrifying to have everything you’d wanted all at once.

With a voice I hoped didn’t quiver, I said, “W-what do you want?”

“You,” came his husky reply.

“I’m still on the clock. I only have time for customers right now.”

“Then I’m a customer,” he said, completely unaffected as he stalked slowly toward me.

I was struck again by how tall and imposing his figure was as he drew dangerously closer. Of course a man like that wouldn’t need to play games. He was in a league of his own. Games were for lesser men.

Gods took what they wanted. Whenever they wanted.

“I have to work,” I said weakly.

“You will beworking,” Lee said in a low tone. “I’m here for a private session.”

Painfully arousing images of being “worked” around the tattoo parlour flooded my mind: my ass rolling hypnotically on his cock on top of the leather table, my lips swollen from sucking him off till he came in my mouth, supporting myself with shaking arms against the storage rack in the back as I tried to keep my ankles from coming unlocked behind his sweating back.

He chuckled, “A privatetattoosession, Ry.”

My cheeks warmed. Maybe Lee didn’t mind a little game or two, after all.

I turned around and began to prepare my tools.

As professionally as I could manage, I asked, “Where were you thinking?”

“Whatever you want,” he replied. “On my thigh.”

I had to squeeze my eyes shut. He’d spoken so coolly, but he knew damn well the heat his words would send between my legs.

“Is that alright?” he asked from right behind me.

“Sure,” I croaked.

I swore I heard a soft chuckle behind me. But my body was already buzzing with such anticipation that I couldn’t be sure.

I’d insisted so long that I wasn’t interested, that I didn’t wanthim. This was my punishment. Lee was intent on showing me just how wrong I’d been.

I heard the rustle of clothes behind me and I tried to keep my fingers from shaking over the small metal work tray. As each item of clothing hit the floor, crumpled jeans, a plaid sleeve and belt falling into view at my feet, I lost more control of myself.

My nipples were poking through my white shirt. I was so wet under my black pleated miniskirt that I worried I might drip right down my leg to my patent leather knee-high boots.

When I turned around to face him, Lee was stretched out on my tattoo table in nothing more than grey Calvin Klein briefs. He had his hands behind his head, elbows wide, biceps bulging as he gave me a mischievous smirk.

Fuck. My pussy ached as I imagined straddling him and sinking down onto his hard cock. I tried to pretend I was unaffected as I rolled my stool toward him.

But I could feel how hot my cheeks were, how dry my throat was, how soaked my panties were.

My throat was constricted as I asked, “Can you show me where?”

Lee made ahmmsound as he circled his finger between his thighs as if he was still deciding. He wanted me to notice how hard his cock already was, as if I hadn’t already. I mean, how could I not? He was big even when he was soft. And he certainly wasn’t anywhere near soft just then.

“This one,” Lee said at last, tapping his left thigh.

The one I would have to lean over him to reach. The one with his erection like a fucking mountain range between me and it. The one I knew the bastard would pick even as he made a show of not knowing.

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