“Really,” I say, half-heartedly trying to pry his hand out. “Not here.” My voice is barely a whisper.
“You want it,” he tells me. He turns me slightly, makes me look at him. I stare into his light, ashy eyes. They’re determined, full of lust, full of wanting.
I go to shake my head, try to say ‘no’, but as I part my lips he claims them in his, and he kisses me with crushing force. His tongue is in my mouth, and he’s taking from me what he wants. His finger dips into my folds, and I moan softly at the fleeting hints of pleasure.
“You do want me,” he says as he breaks the kiss. He presses his forehead against my own, pulls his finger up to my clit. It’s already a hard stub. “I can feel it.”
I open my mouth again, let him kiss me, let him bite my lower lip, let him send his tongue inside to dance with my own.
“Oh,” I breathe, turning in his arms, wrapping my own around his neck. He lifts me off the floor easily, pushes me up against the wall. Photographs of tattoos previously pinned to the corkboard scatter onto the floor. His arms aren’t shaking, and his hands are groping my ass.
The press of his bulge is against my inner thigh, and I look down his body to see it, prominent through his jeans. I send a hand down, cup him, feel his hardness, rigid as steel. Longing, lust, it blooms inside me.
No, more like it booms inside me, a firework going off. Oh, God, I want to pull him out, wrap my fingers around him.
No! I can’t believe I’m letting this happen. I can’t believe I’m unraveling like this. At my place of work! This is so unprofessional.
That’s when it clicks. He’s no good for me. I’m supposed to be here trying to make a name for myself, trying to start my career as an artist, and I’m being derailed by him. He’s already gotten me into enough trouble!
Jesus, we both almost lost our lives!
But fuck if he isn’t sexy. Fuck if I don’t want him, every inch of his hot-as-hell body. Fuck if he doesn’t make me feel like the most beautiful, most desired girl on this planet, the way he devours me, plays me like an instrument. He knows my every button, and he wants to push them all. He wants to pluck every single string.
Somehow, he knows how to uncage my desire. He only needs to draw me close to him, promise me the pleasure I know he’s good for, to pick that lock.
I hate that, to him, I’m so seemingly easy to conquer. I hate that it seems like I have no defenses, no walls or barricades. He melts through them all, sees straight through me.
Why do I always let him get what he wants?
Pierce sets me down, spins me around, and holds my hips and pulls them into his own. I feel his hardness on my ass, and his other hand goes to my breast and squeezes hard.
In a flash he’s undoing the button to my jeans, and he pulls down the zip before I can stop him, and his whole hand is inside my underwear, and I’m throwing my head back against his shoulder while he kisses the top of mine.
I feel his fingers slide down my sex, and my whole body buzzes with anticipation, a heady thrum, and I know in my heart that I’m ready to give in, to let him take from me every single thing he wants… right here and right now.
He plays with my pearl, rubs it in circles, teases me. He pulls strands of bliss from my core. He winds up my spring, tighter and tighter, and that ball of energy inside me keeps expanding, a pressure in my abdomen.
My heart races faster, my breaths draw quicker, and our bodies writhe together synchronously as one. He pushes a thick finger inside me, and I clench my jaw to stop from moaning. He rubs my front wall, turns my legs to jelly, and then his lips are at my ear again.
“I need you,” he tells me.
I press my ear into his lips, want him to kiss it, want to feel the bite of his teeth on my lobe.
He’s guiding me to the chair, the one my client was just seated in. He pushes me into it, I flop down into the cotton cushioning, and hear the crackle of the sterile wrap that gets replaced for each customer.
My eyes go toward the doorway that adjoins the tattooing room to the waiting room. It’s just a curtain, a sheet of fabric that hangs down from wooden rings set into the frame.
“Wait,” I gargle, trying to push him off me, but his hungry hands are having their way with me. I realize that he’s in control. I realize this is all about him today.
He pulls up my tank, rolls it over my breasts, and with one finger tugs my bra cup to one side.
“Pierce,” I whimper, but I find myself lifting my breasts to meet his lips. He sucks on my nipple, gives me a small bite, and then grins playfully up at me, my hardened bud in between his teeth.
Anticipation… urgency… longing… it’s all coursing through me, all egging me on, all telling me that I have to let him do this to me, here, now, because I can’t possibly resist.