Page 11 of London Inked Boys: The Complete Trilogy
8
TESS
Back at the tattoo shop, Art parks the bike around the side of the building.
Nerves flit around my stomach. Tentative bridges have been built between us over the last few hours, and I’m worried I’m about to blow them up, but I don’t have any choice. I need to talk to him.
I climb off the bike and hand him the helmet. “Thanks for the ride, Art. I hate to take up any more of your time, but do you have ten minutes?”
“Yeah, I’ve not got my next client for another hour.”
“Oh, good. Umm, ‘cause the thing is, that meeting wasn’t just with my solicitor. I had a financial advisor there, too.”
He stares at me, daring me to continue, so I do.
“I know I mentioned increasing the rent on the shop, but the financial advisor said the sum I suggested was still way under what’s normally charged to rent a property in this location. He also says I’m going to have a fair chunk of tax which is going to need to be paid, and I’m not going to be able to afford to do it on the rent you currently pay.”
Art continues to stare at me, the helmet dangling from one hand. His eyebrows draw together in a frown. “What are you saying?”
I bite my lower lip, already sensing this isn’t going to go in the right direction. “That I may need to put the rent up on the shop more than I previously said.”
“What the fuck, Theresa?” He spits out my full name. “Are you trying to screw my life over?”
I reel back. “No, of course not. I’m just telling you what the financial advisor said—that you’re getting this place for a price far lower than anywhere else in this neighbourhood.”
“So you’re gonna put me out of business?”
“No, I didn’t say that?—”
“Are you trying to take everything from me? Just see me out on the streets? I bet that would suit you, wouldn’t it? You probably think that’s what someone as rough as me deserves. Don’t they have real men wherever the hell you come from?”
The mention of men back home feels like a knife to my heart. It hurts and I want to hurt him in return.
“Real men?” I snap. “I knew a real man, and he wasn’t someone who had to prove how tough he was by covering himself in ink.”
Art steps forward, reducing the space between us. I swallow, hard, my breath catching. He’s twice my bodyweight, and he could easily overpower me. The wall of the building is directly behind my back, and from this position down the side of the property, no one passing by can see us. Art moves in so close, I can feel his breath against my cheek and throat.
He growls in my ear. “My ink has nothing to do with what makes me a man. My ink is what makes me human. It’s my passion. It’s art.”
He lifts his hand and takes hold of my jaw, tilting my face to the side. My breath catches in my chest. The atmospheresuddenly changes. The anger morphs to something else, simmering between us.
“What about your skin, Tess? What does it say about you? That you’re clean, and pure? Or does it say you’re bland and boring?”
My heart thumps, my blood fizzing in my veins. “You have no idea what my skin says about me.”
“No? I guess I haven’t seen enough of it yet.” With one rough movement, he yanks the collar of my shirt to one side, exposing my shoulder. My top button pings off and the next two pop free. “What about here?” His thumb runs over my collarbone. “Unblemished. Perfect.”
Where his thumb traces my skin, a trail of goose bumps erupt in its wake. I take a tremulous breath, my nipples crinkling, a thrill of excitement racing down, between my thighs. I should be pushing him away—this man I barely know—but I can’t bring myself to do it.
“I think I’d like to taste this skin.”
My breath catches. “Art, please, no.”
“I don’t think you mean that, Tess. I can see your nipples are so fucking hard through your shirt, they’re begging for it all by themselves. I’d like to find that out for myself.”
He moves closer again, pinning my body with his bulked frame. I wouldn’t be able to get away, even if I wanted to, which I don’t. He finishes tracing the collarbone on my left side, and moves to the right, slipping the shirt from my shoulders, so it now hangs half off my body. I use my fingers to pin the sleeves to my wrists, not wanting to let him see me completely naked. He said my skin is unblemished, but he has no idea what he’s talking about.
This time, instead of using his thumb to stroke across my skin, he lowers his mouth and lightly uses his tongue to trace a line. I can’t help but give a little whimper, feeling like I’m goingto melt in his grasp. His tongue is hot and wet, but the trail grows cold in the air as his mouth makes its way to my throat and his lips meet the tender skin there. He kisses the sensitive spot where my neck meets my shoulder and then nips my skin, making me gasp. One hand reaches up to lace in my hair at my nape, while the other slips inside the front of my shirt and cups my breast through my bra. His thumb grazes over one hardened bud and he takes a breath of satisfaction.
