Page 126 of Single Mom's Bikers

The placement will curve perfectly along her hip, intimate enough to stay private but visible enough to appreciate.

“Strip.” My voice comes rough with anticipation. “Let’s see our canvas.”

She makes a show of it, knowing what it does to us. Her dress falls to the floor, a soft rustle that seems louder in the stillness of the gallery. The light catches her skin, warm and inviting, a masterpiece in itself.

She stands before us, nearly bare, save for the delicate scrap of lace that clings to her hips. Her breathing quickens, shallow and teasing, drawing my attention to the rise and fall of her chest.

I take her in—every curve, every detail, every inch that belongs to us. My brothers and I exchange a silent understanding. Zane’s eyes smolder with hunger, his jaw tight.

Chase’s focus is sharp, his artist’s mind already mapping the design onto her skin. And me? I’m consumed, not just by desire but by the overwhelming need to love her like never before.

“You’ve always been beautiful,” I murmur, my voice rasping with the weight of everything I feel for her. “But tonight, we make it eternal.”

Her lips part, her breath hitching at my words. I guide her to the chair, my hand firm yet tender on her lower back.

Zane’s hands steady her hips, his touch lingering, and Chase brushes his fingertips along her arm in that quiet, reassuring way of his.

She trusts us completely, and the knowledge of that trust humbles me as much as it ignites me.

The machine hums to life under my hand, a low vibration that thrums through the air. I lean in close, close enough to breathe her in. She smells like lavender and something uniquely hers—something I could lose myself in every day and never tire of.

The first touch of the needle draws a sharp gasp from her lips, and it’s like music to my ears. Her body tenses, then softens under our collective attention.

I glance up to see her eyes fluttering shut, her lips trembling with the mix of pleasure and pain.

“Breathe,” Chase whispers, his lips grazing the shell of her ear. His voice is low and soothing, yet it holds a promise—a promise we all intend to keep. “We’ve got you.”

Zane dips his head to her neck, his lips skimming the sensitive skin there. He’s slow, planting kisses that make her shiver beneath us.

His hands glide over her skin, mapping her body like he’s trying to memorize her all over again.

My focus remains steady, each line of the tattoo flowing seamlessly under my hand. The tree begins to take shape, its roots anchoring her to us, its branches a testament to everything we’ve built together.

But even as I work, I’m aware of every sound she makes, every movement she tries to suppress.

Zane’s hands shift, slipping under the lace that’s barely hanging on. The scrap of fabric joins her dress on the floor, leaving her completely bare to us. My cock hardens at the sight, but I push the raw hunger aside. For now.

“Perfect,” I murmur, more to myself than anyone else.

Her body is art—ours to admire, cherish, and mark. My hand moves with precision, but my mind races with anticipation. The thought of what comes after this nearly undoes me.

Zane’s hands slide lower, parting her thighs, and her breath stutters. She tries to stay still, obedient, but her body betrays her, hips shifting as she seeks more.

“Patience,” I say, my voice rough, but it’s not a reprimand. It’s a promise. “We’re not done yet.”

Chase’s lips curl into a small smile as he watches her squirm under Zane’s touch. He leans down, capturing her mouth in a deep, unhurried kiss that has her melting further into the chair.

I switch places with Zane, and he begins to work on the shading. I lean down to kiss her as my fingers find her core, and she lets out a soft, keening sound that makes me ache.

Her head falls back against Chase’s chest, her lips parting as Zane fills in the lines I made on her skin. I work her slowly, teasing her to the edge but never letting her fall.

“Stay still,” I remind her, though my own control is fraying. Zane pauses, wiping the area clean, his free hand brushing her other hip, feeling the heat of her skin.

“Rick,” she breathes, her voice trembling. She reaches for me, her fingers curling in my shirt, tugging me closer. “Please…”

I press a kiss to her temple, my lips lingering there. “Not yet, sweetheart. Let us finish.”

Chase takes over with the machine, his hands steady as he adds the intricate details. I strip off my shirt, the tension in my body almost unbearable as I watch her writhe beneath the pain and pleasure my brothers are giving her.

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