“That I'll leave up to you, both are beautiful, either one I would love to touch.”
Her face flushed pink, lashes fluttering as her eyes darted around the room.
“What, did I embarrass you? I have that affect sometimes.”
Digging her fingers into the arm of the chair, her chest lifted and lowered with control. “No. A little full of yourself, aren't you?” Her words had the weight of a feather. They fumbled out, drifting in the air, and floating to her lap.
I had to stop my hand from lifting up to her lower belly and brushing the fallen remark from its resting place.
She wanted to be in control of herself, but she couldn't hide the heat steaming off her body. The way her fingers tightened, the intense breath she pulled in when I looked at her. It was all there, spilling from her movements, washing my ego with confirmation.
She's feeling something, that I know.
“A little insecure, aren't you?” Flashing her a heavy smile, I filled the small caps by my side.
“What the hell's that supposed to mean?” Willow's head cocked to the side, lips turning down.
“Ignore him, Willow. He's obviously a prick, but at least he's good at what he does.” Beth stayed static in the mirror, eyes glued to the flower in the dip of her spine.
I'm good at more than just tattoos. Let me show you, Willow.
Smiling to myself, I didn't answer, setting up my tattoo gun with a new needle and grabbing a fresh pair of gloves. The image of peeling her clothes slowly off her skin hung in my brain, a soundless movie that played in the background.
“What are you smiling about?” Willow's hair flopped over her shoulder, fingers clenching the chair as if it was about to jerk upward, and toss her off like a raging bull.
“Did you decide on a thigh yet?”
Don't say it. Don't say it.
You'll only ruffle her.
“Don't change the subject. You tell me I'm insecure, then you sit there with a shit eating grin on your face. What's wrong, don't have the balls to say what's on your mind?”
What's on my mind... The thought of fucking you, the idea of grabbing your ponytail and yanking your neck back as I screw you from behind.
Did she really want me to tell her that I'm picturing her naked, and that if we were alone I'd have her sitting on my cock by the time I was done?
Probably not.
That would just get me slapped, but with this spitfire... That's everything I wanted, everything that was trampling through my brain.
I wanted her for myself, I wanted her alone and eager. I wanted to taste her, dip a finger in her pussy and paint my lips with her juice.
“I didn't call you insecure, I only asked you if you were.”
“And the difference is?”
Willow looked sexy even when she was getting pissed. The thin lines streaking her forehead were cute, the small dimples resting at the corner of her cheeks only screamed for me to touch her face.
But I couldn't.
Why is she affecting me like this? Why?
“The difference is,” I said, turning my chair to face her head on. “You don't know how to accept a compliment, instead you forced it away. I told you your thighs are beautiful, you turned red and wouldn't even look at me. Your chest tightened, your breathing slowed, and your tongue dragged across your bottom lip. But you brushed off the compliment and told me I was full of myself.”
“No, you said you have that affect, that's why I asked if you were full of yourself. Most people don't announce how attractive they are, only conceded people do.”
“So you find me attractive? Is that what you're saying?”
“Wait... What?” Shaking her head, Willow waved her hand. “No, no, no. Don't twist my words.”
Throwing my hands up, I shrugged my shoulders. “Hey, you said it, not me.”
Pressing her fingers to her temples, she closed her eyes. “Okay, this is going to go nowhere. Can we just start with my tattoo already?”
Chuckling, I wheeled my stool closer. “Which thigh is it then, Princess?”
“Left, let's do the left, and get this over with. And stop calling me Princess.”
“I just call it as I see it. You're going to need to pull your skirt up higher.”
“Really? That's not high enough?”
The black fabric was barely inches above her knee. I wanted more; more palette to work with, more skin for my eyes to take in. “No, I need more space. May I?” Gripping the hem of her skirt, my fingers pinched the seam.
Nodding reluctantly, Willow took in a deep breath. “Fine.”
Slowly, I peeled the material up, raising it to the crease of her hip. Goosebumps broke across her flesh, a subtle tremor radiated over her leg.
And instantly my cock came to life. The bulge in my jeans pressed up, angrily pinning itself to the zipper.
Fuck, how is she doing this?
I didn't like it. The reaction my body gave to that small taste of supple hidden skin surprised me.
Yes I wanted to fuck her, yes I wanted to taste her on my dick...
But this?
The instant hard-on that popped up uninvited, the fire growing in my core; it was all so unexpected and unwelcome.
I was always in control, always able to keep my emotions suppressed and tamed. Emotions had been left in my past, forgotten and barricaded behind years of regret.
Yet Willow had me rolling in wistful aspiration to make her more than just another photo in my portfolio.
I wanted her to be mine.
No, she just seems out of reach because she's shy. That's all it is.
Willow had pulled a veil down, she corded herself off when she first walked in. And that challenge, that resistance to give in and show vulnerability, it only enticed me more.
Her friend was obviously easy, eager to put out to anyone who gave her a hint of attention.
But not Willow, she backed off with attention. She held her arms out to keep me at bay.
Unfortunately for her, she didn't know me. That little move only roped me harder, and now I wanted what I decided was already mine.
I always get what I want. And I'll make sure I get her too. She won't be able to resist for long.
No one ever could.
My wandering eye walked over her thigh, up her stomach, and to her tits. She was definitely nervous. Her chest lifted and fell hard, breasts peeking out behind the buttons when they reached the surface, only to be torn away with each exhale.
Catching my stare, she tugged her shirt closed. Hugging her ribs to keep her chest from giving me a little peep show, thinning her lids with annoyance.
Damn. That show's over.
Footing the pedal, I dipped my needle and prepared to lay the first line. Staring at the stencil, it really did fit her perfectly. The roots splayed towards her knee, gripping her thigh just like I wanted it to.
Because those were my fingers.
The trunk followed the curve of her muscle, expanding at the leaves and kissing her inner thigh.
Because those were my lips.
“Ready?” I asked, touching my fingers to her skin. The feel of her warm flesh electrified my hand, raking my spine.
I was planning on taking advantage of my work tonight. I was going to touch her, caress her, feel her heart beat through her leg. I wanted to watch her squirm, but not from the pain of the needle.
Pain from wanting what she was trying to deny herself of having.