“From here on out, I decide what you can and can’t do.” He shot me a reckless look, squeezing a hand at my waist. “Now let’s get you bandaged up, and I’ll show you around.”
“Can't wait.”
“For the bandage or the tour?”
“Both.” And his hands on my skin again.
That was the part I was the most anxious for.
“I like your enthusiasm.” His smile deepened, his hand catching my wrist and raising it above my head. His other fingers darted across the tender flesh of my new tattoo as he rubbed ointment into it. His other hand trailed down the underside of my arm, sending a riot of pleasure through my bloodstream. Sliding his hand across my belly, he held me still as he bandaged me tenderly, sliding tape across the covering until it was secure.
His hands lingered on my body for extra-long beats, the wide expanse of his fingers making me feel impossibly small against him. I struggled to calm my raging heartbeat when his palm slid up my chest cavity, fingers dancing across every one of my ribs slowly, and sending my head into full-blown meltdown mode.
He caught my shirt in his finger and gently snagged it from its position in my bra, putting it back into place before leaning in.
I sucked in one slow breath, savoring the woodsy scent of his soap when his nose hovered at the shell of my ear. “Ready for that tour?”
“So ready,” I breathed without thinking.
His soft chuckle was the only reply before he hooked my hand in his and turned to the front desk. “Lucky for you, ink is free for employees. Got anything else in mind?”
“So many things.”
His eyebrows arched when we reached the desk. “I believe it. Live wire, doll face. Gonna be fun having you workin’ here.”
“What about you? Anything else you want?” I gestured to the tattoos across his forearms, another peeking out of the neckline of his T-shirt.
“Got a few special ones planned for someday.”
“Someday?”
“Space is at a premium on my body.” He lifted his shirt, revealing eight rock-solid slabs of abdominal muscle covered in the wings of an eagle. The feathers were so detailed it must have taken hours for one wing alone.
“That’s fucking incredible.” I stepped closer, fingers itching to trace the ridges.
“Thanks.” He nodded, lowering his shirt. “More across my back. Comes a time you start filling up, so the shit I add now has to mean something.”
“Didn’t it all mean something at one time?”
“Sure.” He shrugged. “Older you get, the more shit means, though.”
“You’re not even that old, like, twenty-five? Six?”
“Might be surprised what a man can survive in twenty-nine years.”
I nodded. “Women too.”
“Yeah,” he finished, eyes lingering on mine before turning to the computer. “Ever used a program to make appointments before?”
“Never.”
“Great, so we’ll start at square one, then.”
“Told you, I’m not qualified.”
His grin turned sideways, hand catching my chin and lifting my gaze to meet his. “Strike number one. Get to three, and there will be punishment.”
“Which rule did I break?”
“The rule where I say what you're qualified for, and you don’t ever talk down to one of my employees.”
“And what happens at strike three?”
His eyes slid up and down my body, lingering for a long time on the swell of my tits before catching mine again. “You get pierced.”
THREE
River
“She had the hugest fucking tits you’ve ever seen, and I don’t give a shit if they were fake or not, I’d take them for a spin.”
“Jericho,” I bit out. “Got a woman in the studio now. Shut the fuck up.”
“Um, there was always a woman here, you assholes,” Dev piped up as she sauntered out of the back hallway, sipping a Frappuccino and thrusting another at Sienna.
“Thanks.” Sienna smiled, pursing her lips around the little green straw and making my cock ache.
“These guys are fucking heathens, Sienna. Block them out if you can. Headphones should come with the job.”
“My stories are better than anything you’ve seen in those smut books you read.” Jericho whipped a towel at Dev’s ass and threw her a randy wink.
“Jesus. I should fire you all and just start over.”
“Helped you build the place, man. Got a feeling you won’t abandon ship now.” Jericho smacked my arm then slapped on a thousand-watt fake smile when his next client walked in, a woman in her thirties who already had a full sleeve on one arm.
“I didn't come here for the fancy talk. I get enough of that at home.” I said.