Page 97 of Inked Desires
ARÈS
I’m completely lost.
Andrew has shattered every ounce of self-control I had, to the point that I can no longer tell right from wrong. Pulling away from him has become impossible—and besides, it’s already too late. He’s embedded himself in me like a stubborn parasite I can’t shake off.
Slowly, I peel myself away from his burning body. His arms slip from my shoulders with reluctant ease. When I look into his eyes, I find no guilt there. Only the lingering flush of his cheeks.
“You okay?” I ask, just to be sure.
He gives me a shy, charming smile.
“Yeah,” he says, rising from the couch and reaching for his clothes.
I regret moving away immediately. His perfect ass disappears beneath a pair of black boxers, depriving me of a truly divine view.
“Have you thought about the tattoo?” I ask, pulling my T-shirt back on.
He shrugs, hesitation flickering in his eyes. Gently, I take his cold hands in mine.
“Pain is different for everyone,” I add, hoping to ease his doubts.“I won’t lie—it hurts. Some people can’t take it. But you… you already faced my machine, and you didn’t flinch. You didn’t cry out. You stayed incredibly calm.”
“Really?” he asks, eyebrows furrowed, his little nose scrunching slightly.
“Yes. Don’t let that asshole ruin this for you,” I say firmly.
If he wants to move on, he has to face his fears. He pulls one hand free to rub his forehead.
“Okay,” he finally says.
“Take off your shirt. I’ll prep the stencil.”
He can’t change his mind. This design is his. It was always meant for him. On anyone else, it wouldn’t mean a damn thing.
When I return, Andrew is already lying down, shirtless. I ready his skin before applying the stencil.
“It’s kind of weird being shaved by someone else,” he mutters.
“I can shave other areas too, if you want to get used to it,” I reply with a laugh.
His grimace makes me burst out laughing.
“No thanks.”
“The offer stands if you change your mind,” I tease, peeling off the stencil.
I pick up my tattoo machine and power it on. Just before I begin, I glance at Andrew one last time. He’s gone a little pale, which isn’t surprising. The last tattoo he remembers ended in disaster. If only he could recall the good ones...
“Ready?”
He nods, and I touch the needle to his skin. His body tenses, fingers digging into the leather. The first few minutes are always the worst—pain must be tamed before it becomes manageable.
He breathes deep—first through his nose, then his mouth. Silence falls between us, broken only by the hum of the machine. For the first time, I’m not solely focused on my work. I’m watching him too, ready to stop at the slightest sign he wants out.
But he doesn’t.
Gradually, his body relaxes.
“You okay?” I murmur.
