INKED 8: A Tattoo Shop Reverse Harem

Is that why he likes this? The sense of anticipation, of control.

It's so different from what I thought he'd be like in the bedroom.

Funny by day, I imagined him taking me to a comedy club and maybe engaging in some dress-up. Something that would make me giggle. But this also kind of makes sense.

People generally take on the role of the joker to cover up deeper feelings. They find attention and validation through being lighthearted, but there's always something darker beneath—feelings of inadequacy or somber thoughts they want to hide.

Noah seems that way.

I wonder what he's hiding beneath the humor. I wonder if he knows that people don't just like him for being a comedian. They like him because he's kind. He sees the humanity in everyone, and he uses his talent to make them feel at ease. It's what he did for me that first day, and he's never stopped.

It's what he does now with a stupid dad-joke while his fingers gently trail up the side of my ribs, soothing in the way you would a skittish horse.

When I laugh, I can almost feel his smile, and my fingers itch to reach out and touch his face, wanting to confirm that it's there.

"Now, the time for jokes is over, Kyla," he says, fingers trailing up the side of my breast and ghosting over the point of one nipple. My body reacts immediately, back arching, legs tugging at the binds.

There are many things Noah could do to me while I'm restrained this way. Things that I've never done before. Things that I'd never dare to ask for. I wonder how far he'll go, but I find that I don't really care. This is his night. This is his chance to take what he needs from me, and I'm happy to give him everything.

Well, everything is within reason.

"Do you like feeling powerless?" he whispers closer to my ear than I was expecting. Already my sense of where he is in the room is diminishing.

Do I? It's hard to be sure. I like the anticipation of his touch. I like not knowing what's coming next. Although I'm strung as tight as elastic, it's a relief that nothing is expected of me. All the control is with Noah, and with the control comes responsibility. It's his job to please me and to please himself. There are zero expectations from a person who cannot move more than a few inches in either direction. "Yes," I breathe because it's true and because I know he wants to hear it. This is his kink, after all.

And before I have a chance to prepare, the weight of him kneeling between my legs shifts the mattress. The cool ribbon is wrapped over my eyes and around the back of my head, fastening at the side in a secure knot. I test my sight, finding that the blindfold conceals absolutely everything. Now it's no longer my choice to see or not, I feel the loss of my sight.

I'm reduced to four senses: hearing, tasting, smelling, and touch.

I can hear Noah's breathing, feel the press of his knees between my thighs and smell the delicious scent of his cologne. It's something deep and spicy, sexy and dark. When he runs something across my lips, my tongue darts out to taste, it's his thumb. I can tell by the thickness of it and the ridges of his skin, hardened from holding the tattoo gun.

"You have such a pretty mouth," he says softly. "Such soft pink lips and a voice that's warm and smooth."

I shiver as his thumb moves to caress the line of my jaw and down the length of my neck, drifting across my clavicle. As he gets closer to my breasts, my arms strain at the restraints, instinct urging me to protect myself and cover up against his hungry gaze.

But I can't.

There's nothing to stop him from touching me where he wants. There's nothing to stop the press of his mouth between my breasts, or the trailing of his tongue over my nipple. There's no stopping him from licking and nipping and no way of preventing my own body from reacting.

Every touch is sharper. Every feel of his breath against my skin is more tingly: every anticipation builds and builds.

I want to press my thighs together and enjoy the friction. I want to beg him to stop and to ask for more all at the same time. My head is a confused muddle of sensation, desire, and fear.

Fear that I won't like what he does. Fear that I'll like it too much.

Fear that I'll never have this again.

My fingers flex in their binds again, wanting to know what it feels like to touch Noah. My eyes want to see his beautiful eyes, sculpted face, and ever-quirked lips. I want to kiss him and hold him and feel him move inside me. I want a connection with this man, who always seeks to bring people together with laughter.