Page 11 of Ink Me Three Times
"Yes," I whisper. "Please."
That’s all it takes.
As he drops to his knees, and the shift in position sends a jolt through me. The sudden snap of fabric being torn away leaves a rush of cold air, sharp against my skin. It’s like the room’s temperature drops, a contrast to the heat pooling between my legs. The chill feels almost cruel, naked, exposed, and my body responds with a shudder, instinctively seeking warmth.
And then, his mouth. It's a shock, hot and urgent, as if he’s starved for me, claiming every inch with an almost brutal intensity. His lips are soft at first, but the pressure buildsquickly, demanding, possessive. His tongue moves against me, the wet warmth of it slick and deep, making me gasp as it swirls, teasing, then plunging.
There’s a hunger to the way he touches me. Rough, but in a way that makes my skin burn and my muscles tighten in a delicious, aching pull.
His breath is hot against my skin, the rhythm of it syncing with the pounding of my heart. I can feel every vibration when he groans against me, low and guttural, like it’s a part of him I’m tasting too, and it only makes me ache for more.
My body trembles, caught between the burn of desire and the sweetness of relief. The world narrows to the slick drag of his mouth, the steady rhythm of his tongue, the pulse of the air against my flushed skin. Everything else—everything outside of him, outside of this… feels like it’s disappearing.
I cry out, hands flying to his shoulders for balance as he eats me like a manstarving. Tongue thrusting, lips sealing around my clit, sucking in time with the curl of his fingers sliding deep inside me. I’m already so wet, slick and aching, and the obscene sounds only make it worse.
"Fuck, yes, don’t stop…"
He moans against me, and the vibration shatters something deep inside. My head tips back, spine arching, hips grinding shamelessly against his face. I can’t stop. My body’s out of my control, chasing that edge like a junkie, riding his mouth like it’s the only truth left in the world.
I break apart with a scream I barely recognize as my own.
The sound tears from my throat, raw, involuntary, like my body’s the one speaking now, not me.
My vision blurs. My thighs are trembling so hard I can't keep them steady on the leather. My fingers dig into the armrests like they’re the only thing anchoring me to the earth. My core pulses around his mouth, muscles clenching in tight, uncontrollablewaves as pleasure ricochets through me, relentless and bright and brutal.
It’s too much. Too fast. Toodeep.
My breath hitches in my chest, then shatters out in a broken sob of shock and ecstasy. I didn’t know I could come like that… from someone’s mouth. From someone’smouthI met less than an hour ago.
I don’t even know his name.
The thought crashes into me like cold water, but it doesn’t make me stop. It makes me burn hotter.
I feel split open, like he’s reached into something I didn’t know was locked and ripped it wide with nothing but his tongue and the kind of ruthless focus that says he’s done this before. A man who knows how to make someone come undone.
My hands slide up to my chest, fingers trembling as I try to catch my breath. I can still feel him between my thighs, licking me through it, groaning like he’s savoring every last wave I give him.
He doesn’t stop until I jerk from the overstimulation, a strangled sound escaping my throat. Only then does he pull back, breath hot against my skin, mouth wet with me.
I’m gasping. Floating. Disoriented.
What the fuck was that?
My pulse is a drum beat in my ears. My skin is flushed, sweat slick. My knees threaten to give out entirely. My underwear is somewhere on the floor. And I’m sitting here in a stranger’s tattoo shop, skin still stinging with fresh ink, thighs still open, completely wrecked by a man whose name I don’t even know.
And I’ve never felt more alive.
His hands are still on me. One on my thigh, firm and steady. The other slides up my spine, callused fingers tracing the edge of the bandage covering my new tattoo like he’s sealing it with a promise.
I shudder, still riding the aftershocks, and finally manage to lift my head, eyes glassy, lips parted.
I stare at him like he’s something unreal.
Like all of this is just a dream.
Becausethis isn’t me. I don’t come in strangers’ chairs. I don’t let men touch me like they already know what I sound like when I fall apart. I don’t melt just because someone smells like leather and ink and sin.
But here I am. Boneless. Wrecked.Wanting more.
