Page 10 of Ink Me Three Times
And it scares the hell out of me.
But I don’t stop.
I can’t stop.
Because for the first time in what feels like forever, I don’t feel numb or empty or half alive.
I feel wanted. Claimed. Unraveled.
This isn’t like me. Not even close.
But maybe that’s why it feels so fucking good.
CHAPTER THREE
Ivy
His fingers tighten slightlyagainst my jaw as he pulls back a little, like he’s waiting for me to come to my senses. Like he expects me to pull back, apologize, run.
But I don’t move.
Neither does he.
I’m still perched on the edge of the tattoo chair, warm leather beneath my thighs, pulse pounding between my legs. His eyes flick from the fresh ink to the edge of my bra strap, to the way my lips part like I might say something… or beg.
And then I move.
I reach up and pull my shirt the rest of the way off.
What the hell am I doing?
This isn’t like me. Not at all.
But it just feels so… right.
His gaze drags down my body like a physical touch, slow and possessive. Not a single word from him. Just that look, like he’s already stripping away the pieces of me I thought I’d buried.
I don’t know who closes the distance again. All I know is one second I’m sitting there, trembling and raw, and the next I’m wrapped in the heat of him, mouth crushed to mine in a kiss that feels like punishment and prayer all at once.
He tastes like smoke and whiskey. His hands are everywhere, sliding up my sides, gripping my thighs, tugging me closer until I feel the bulge of him pressing against me through his jeans.
"Fuck," I gasp against his mouth."This is stupid."
"Yeah," he growls. "Say stop."
I don’t.
Instead, I reach between us and drag his shirt up and over his head too. He’s inked everywhere… chest, shoulders, ribs. A body built like sin and sketched by gods. I press my palms to his chest, feel the heat of him, the thrum of his heart. His hand finds the back of my neck and tugs just hard enough to make my breath hitch.
I like it. Someone help me, I want more of it.
When he lifts me, I wrap my legs around his waist without hesitation. He sets me down straddling the tattoo chair, knees spread, leather creaking beneath me. The position forces me open, thighs wide, pelvis tilted. Exposed.
He steps back, just for a second, eyes dragging down my body like he owns it now.
"You want this?" he asks, voice hoarse. "You want to be fucked right here like a filthy little secret?"
A bolt of heat shoots through me so fast it makes me dizzy.
