His shoulders lifted as if he chuckled. “Oh, yeah?” He shifted on the bike, adjusting. “Message received.”

The light flipped to green.

Arriving at the tattoo shop was a cold shower. Most of the lust for Silas washed away and was replaced with anxiety. My hands retreated from him as he shut off the bike and straightened in the seat, then pulled the helmet from his head.

I did the same and stared at the thick cord of neck before me. He turned to the side, giving me a view of his perfect profile, and the lingering desire flared.

“I can’t get off until you do,” he said.

He clearly hadn’t meant it sexually, but my dirty mind went there. “I hope that’s true,” I said.

There was a sharp intake of breath from him. Was I coming on strong? Yeah. But I didn’t fucking care. I was tired of not getting what I wanted. When I stepped off the bike, he peered at me, and time slowed to a halt.

Holy shit. Holy fuck.

The look of pure desire, of total want, the one I hadn’t seen from a man in months, was etched on every inch of Silas’s face. Lust . . . for me. My breath lodged in my chest as he rose up off the motorcycle until he loomed overhead.

“Come on.” His deep voice was quiet, but strong. “This won’t take that long. Then I can give you a ride . . . back.”

It dripped with innuendo and had me grinning.

The exterior of the tattoo shop mimicked a retro pump station. Hand lettering in the windows boasted ink and piercings, and the OPEN neon sign glowed in the building’s late afternoon shadows. Silas held the door for me and I went through.

The large room was partitioned off with half walls. Like Silas’s bike, it was mostly black and chrome, but here there were a few red accents. Open velvet curtains, the shade of blood, hung from the ceiling, and I assumed they would allow each tattoo bay privacy when needed.

“We’re at the back, on the left,” Silas said.

The place was mostly empty. An artist who seemed to be covered with tattoos worked on a woman’s calf, and the needle hummed quietly. It could just be heard over the rock music playing in the background. The artist nodded to Silas, but didn’t stop his work.

Cold dread lined my stomach, and I marched toward my doom at the back of the space. A black chair waited there and looked like a modified version of what you’d find at a dentist’s office. My feet refused to move. My stop was so abrupt, Silas slammed into me and almost knocked me over.

“Whoa, you okay?” His large hand clamped on my bicep, steadying me as much as he was himself.

“I don’t think I can do this.” The chair, the buzzing from two stalls over . . . the word nope looped over and over again in my head.

The hand on my arm was surprisingly firm. “Sure you can.”

His eyes were pale blue, almost a silver color, and I was too disoriented by them to realize he was guiding me into the stall until the backs of my knees hit the side of the chair.

And his hand was still on me, his palm touching the bare skin where the sleeve of my t-shirt stopped. Goddamnit. The hair on my arm lifted in goosebumps. I fractured in two. Nerves made me want to bolt, desire made me want to stay. Then his hand was gone.

Rings rattled on the line as Silas drew the wraparound curtain closed. The overhead lights were still bright, but it felt secluded. Intimate. When we were completely hidden, his hands rested on his hips.

“You’ll have to take off your shirt.” His voice sounded different. Tight.

I swallowed thickly. I’d known this was coming. I’d hoped the tattoo artist wasn’t too skeevy, but now I almost wished for it. Skeevy I could handle. My discomfort at a leering look could distract from my discomfort while ink was layered into my skin.

Fuck it. I would not let fear rule me, and besides—other than the scar, I didn’t have anything to be ashamed of. I worked hard at the gym to keep both my athleticism and aesthetics up to par for my job. My fingers grabbed the hem of my t-shirt and stretched it overhead, then folded it and tossed it on the side table.

I’d worn a simple black bra for the occasion. His gaze traveled the curves of my chest, and quickly shifted away like he wanted to be a gentleman.

“Have a seat,” he mumbled, turning his attention to a cabinet. It creaked as he opened it and began pulling out supplies. My heart beat in my throat when I slid into the chair, and the vinyl was cold against my bare skin. The anticipation was agony. Every subtle noise from him as he prepared was louder than gunfire in my ears.

I watched Silas

dig the drawing out of his back pocket, examine it, and uncap a marker. He sketched on a piece of transfer paper until he seemed satisfied, then resumed his other prep.

“How bad is it going to hurt?” I asked.

Tags: Nikki Sloane Blindfold Club Erotic
Source: readsnovelonline.net