Page 63 of Devilish Ink

“And what do you want?” I asked. “Tattooed, I mean,” I added when he shot me a wicked grin.

His eyes were so filled with lust that I had to tear my gaze away from them, too.

He had me cornered. There was nowhere to run. And for the first time in years, Ilikedthat terrifying sensation.

“Something from your more recent history this time,” Lee answered. “Say, something you had forbreakfastthis morning, perhaps?”

Brazen. He had no shame.

As I outlined the tattoo on his upper thigh, I had a hard time not brushing my forearm against his more than obvious erection. It was all I could see. All I could think about. That thick ridge stretching toward the waistband of his boxer briefs.

I wanted to lick him through the soft cotton till it was wet, till the fabric clung to his long shaft, his pulsing veins, his tightened balls. Then I wanted to slowly peel his underwear down his length. I wanted to see the way the muscles of his lower stomach twitched as I blew cold air from my lips against his moist cockhead. To see how long he could resist grabbing me as I caught him in the searing heat of my mouth.

He made no such pretences at covering up his reactions.

He groaned and moaned and hissed with abandon as I brushed against him as I worked. First accidentally. Just a brush.

Then I did it on purpose, dragging my nipples against his thigh hairs, letting my breath billow hot over him.

I was making him crazy. I could see how his forearm muscles strained as he clutched the leather.

But he was driving me equally as mad. His debauched sounds over the steady hum of my machine, my thighs pressed together to try to soothe the ache until I couldn’t stand it much longer.

He broke first.

All of a sudden, he grabbed me by the hips and pulled me up to sit over his face. As his fingers urged aside my panties, I went for the waistband of his boxer briefs.

His fingers circled my wrist, holding me back.

“You’re still on the clock, sweetheart,” he said.

I let out a whimper.

“You said youhadto work,” Lee said, and I could feel his breath against my wet folds. “That I couldn’t be here unless I wasjusta customer.”

His cock was right there. I wanted it.

“Keep working.”

“But—” I protested.

“Keep. Working.”

I leaned over with the tattoo gun once more. Lee started to lick me. His tongue lapped at me and I could feel just how much of a wet mess I was down there for him.

I stopped tattooing and let out a moan.

“Keeping working,” he murmured against me.

“I can’t,” I panted. “I’m going to ruin your tattoo.”

“So ruin me.”

How was I supposed to focus when he was giving me that kind of pleasure? How was I supposed to command my shaking hands or my hazy vision when his goal was to drive me out of control? It was impossible.

“Keep working,” Lee repeated before nipping at the sensitive skin of my inner thigh, making me hiss with pain and pleasure.

I started tattooing again, but I hardly knew which direction was up and which was down when he thrust his tongue deep inside my pussy. I lifted the gun off his skin and pushed my hips down toward his face, yearning for even more.

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