Page 33 of Inked Daddies

He laughs. “I’d say she picked me to be her first of other, more important things.”

If she were not around right now, I’d sock him for that. Reminding me what he had with her only spurs me on, though. I want what he had.

A show.

Marie laughs nervously, glancing between him and Sam, her hands gripping the edge of the chair like it’s the only thing keeping her grounded now that Trick has backed off.

“So, Marie,” I say as politely as possible, “about that show?—”

She tenses up, but stays still under Sam’s needle. “What, um…what about it?”

“You’re putting on a good one now.”

Her laugh is nervous. Of course it is. She’s never done anything like this before, and she’s got all three of us here, watching her like she’s the main event, because she is.

In my youth, I found myself the center of attention a few times, and while intoxicating, the novelty of it died after I found Samand Trick. As much as having three or four women on me at a time was a delight, nothing was ever as satisfying as sharing a woman or two with them.

The trouble is the math. A man can do only so much with multiple women before they must take care of each other. But a woman has multiple holes for multiple men. To truly pleasure a woman, to bring her to ecstatic heights of pleasure, there should be several men for her, not one man distracted by other women. A numbers game, really.

Sam’s all business as he works, his jaw tight, his focus absolute. But I see the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands flex a little too tightly when he adjusts the position of her leg. He’s not as good at hiding it as he thinks. And this tattoo is small. It should not take this long, but he’s being extra careful with her.

And Trick? Well, Trick is Trick. He’s always been the charmer, the one who makes them laugh and blush and feel at ease. But even Trick is a little sharper than usual tonight, his banter coming faster, his grin a little wider.

And me? I’m just sitting here, watching. Like I always do.

I’ve always been the watcher, the one who hangs back until it’s undeniably time to step in. The three of us have been doing this for years, and it works because we all know our roles. Trick opens the door, Sam closes it behind us, and I wait for the moment that feels right, the moment when everything falls into place.

But this time feels different. This time, I don’t want to wait. I want to pounce.

“She’s doing great, isn’t she, Hugo?” Trick says, glancing over at me with a grin.

“Looks like it,” I say, my voice calm, even as my pulse ticks up a notch.

Marie glances at me, her eyes wide, and I can see the way her blush deepens when she realizes I’m watching her.

“Don’t let him distract you,” Sam mutters, his tone sharp.

“Distract her?” I say, raising an eyebrow. “I’m not the one making her laugh mid-tattoo. That is all Trick.”

“Hey,” Trick says, holding up his hands. “I’m just doing my part. You know me—I’m a team player.”

Marie laughs again, the sound soft and nervous, and something about it makes my heart pound. I feel her energy as much as my own. “You’re nervous.”

She glances at me, her lips parting slightly, but she doesn’t deny it.

“That’s normal,” I add, leaning forward slightly. “First tattoo’s always the hardest. After that, it’s easy. Addictive, even. Just breathe, Marie.”

She nods, her eyes locked on mine, and for a moment it feels like the rest of the room goes away. Just me, Marie, Trick, and Sam. The hum of the tattoo gun is our only music. If I could just?—

“You know what would help?” Trick says suddenly, breaking the tension.

Marie glances at him, her brow furrowing. “What?”

“A kiss.”

She freezes, her eyes going wide before she laughs. “Another?”

“I’m just saying,” Trick says, his grin widening. “It worked before, didn’t it?”

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