Page 79 of Sugar Rush
“Yeah, but… I want you to like it,” he said, peering up at me through his long lashes, looking impossibly beautiful and eager to please. So much for not getting turned on. “You’ll like it, right?”
“Yeah,” I answered quietly, stroking my thumb over his skin. I was going to fucking love it.
My angel, so smooth and pale and perfectly unmarred, with this secret little stamp that I only knew about, a stampthat symbolized his devotion to me, and how much he loved belonging to me. It was almost too much to take, like something I couldn’t have conjured up in even my most pathetic, lovesick fantasies about him.
Wiping down the spot with an alcohol wipe before applying the stencil solution, I ordered him to be still while I carefully positioned the stencil on him, pressing down long enough for the ink to transfer onto his skin. Gently peeling it off, I blotted it a bit before glancing back up into his face.
“Now we have to let it dry.”
“Is that going to take long?” He wondered, and the light nerves in his voice had my alpha instincts jumping to life inside me, urging me to make sure he was comfortable.
“Just a few minutes,” I promised. “Be patient.”
Leaning forward a few inches, I gently blew a stream of cool air onto the damp patch of skin, making him squirm on the table.
“Kieran,” he whined, giving me a pouty look.
“Just trying to speed it up,” I murmured, grinning a little at his expression. Not exactly my most professional moment, but at least he didn’t look nervous anymore.
When the stencil dried and I was hovering over him with my tattoo machine, I gave his thigh a quick squeeze to calm his nerves, but also mine. I hadn’t been nervous about doing a tattoo for a long time, but with Jordy it was a completely different experience.
When I dipped the needle into my black ink pot and it touched down into his skin the first time, he winced, but nothing so extreme that I wanted to die of guilt for hurting him. Hurting his feelings was one thing, but the idea of actually causing him physical pain was agonizing for me. To my extreme relief, he took in a deep breath, slowly letting it out before giving me a tiny nod.
“It’s okay,” he assured me, his gorgeous eyes radiating absolute trust and love and adoration for me. Fuck. He was so fucking good at that.
Pressing down on the pedal and wiping off the excess ink as I made my way around the simple outline, it started to take form. Glancing up at Jordy periodically to make sure he was okay, the slavishly devoted look on his face assured me that he was my omega, and as far as he was concerned, there was nothing I could do to him that he wouldn’t allow. It was ridiculous and insane and embarrassing, but I was aching with need for him, yearning to take him somewhere private and worship his body so he knew how much I cherished him.
Luckily, my stiff cock straining against my zipper didn’t distract me so much as it kept me hyper-focused on him as I switched to a bigger needle, moving it in tiny circles over his skin to fill in the outline with shading and color.
“So people get addicted to how this feels?” He finally asked, after a long stretch of silence, as I finished up the details and little highlights.
“That’s what they say.”
“Do you feel that way?” He wondered. “Do you like the pain part of it?”
“No,” I said immediately, shaking my head. “I like the finished product, and having the art on me forever. But I…” I stopped, and hesitated.
The words that wanted to come out weren’t casual, like the way he’d asked the question. I had the sudden urge to be vulnerable with him, like the way he was vulnerable to me now, bare and at my mercy.
“I don’t like the pain,” I finished. “I’ve kind of had enough of that, from when I was a kid.”
There, I’d said it, and the urge was gone, leaving me with an itchy, nervous anticipation of his response. I was aware healready knew about what my childhood had been like before we’d ever met, but we’d never exactly had a conversation about it.
He waited for me to lift the tattoo machine off him before he reached out, laying his fingers on the back of my gloved hand, the light touch sending warmth and comfort spiraling through me, even through the barrier.
“And you turned out so thoughtful and generous and caring, even with all that you went through. I’m so lucky.”
“You’relucky?” I asked incredulously, the words tumbling out before I had a chance to consider them. His assessment of me was humbling and thrilling and made me feel like the fucking king of the world. He nodded, keeping his eyes locked on mine, keeping his fingers resting on me. “I’m the lucky one.”
He looked pleased by my response, turning just a bit pink as he fluttered his lashes at me. It was like he had a superpower, looking as alluring as possible all the time, no matter what was going on.
When I finished, just a minute or two later, I put down my machine and cleaned it up, admiring my work as I did. It was perfect for him. Pretty and bright with crisp, clean lines, a colorful little sticker on his sexy hipbone. And no one would ever even know it was there except us.
When I helped him up off the table and let him stand in front of the mirror to look at it, his eyes lit up like a fireworks show, and he grasped at my arm.
“Oh my gosh, Kieran!” He sounded breathless and in awe, delighted with what I’d done for him. “I love it. I really, really love it.”
“Yeah,” I answered, only because I was afraid to say all the sappy, disgusting shit I really wanted to say. He hadn’t noticed my throbbing boner yet, or I’d be in real trouble. “It looks good.”
