Chapter Three
Tripp
Something about the omega smelled lonely.
No alpha scent touched him, not even a kind brush of fingertips over a shoulder, a lingering hug, nothing.
Tripp could confidently say there was no father in the picture for the little one, so when Dray reached out to touch his lip near his teasing fang, it was all instinct and protective nature to lay a warning on Dray.
Immune to his venom? It made sense. Dray had no fear when he touched him.
Not like Shelby, who had to ask before they kissed, despite knowing Tripp was careful.
Tripp wanted to bite Dray so badly, put a mark on him like he could with another rattler.
And in a blink, their banter died and Dray focused on his work, starting right on the boopable snoot.
Once Tripp accustomed himself to the sting of the needle buzzing over his flesh, he found the sensation almost relaxing.
Sure, it hurt, but like Dray had told him, that was the point.
He watched as Dray focused, unsure of where to put his hands but deciding they did well with his thumbs hooked in his chino pockets. “Mind if I take my shoes off?”
“Do your feet reek?” Dray glanced over and raised a beautiful, pierced brow. Tripp wanted to lick it.
“I don’t believe so, but if they do, I’ll put them right back on.” Tripp hooked the toe of one shoe under the heel of the other, ready to toss them.
“Go for it.” Dray shrugged before leaning his head back down, focusing closely on his work. With each pass of the gun, he wiped the surface clean to track the lines of his work so carefully. With his head down, working over his chest, Tripp could almost imagine the omega going down on him.
“Fuck.” Tripp closed his eyes and Dray halted.
The gun turned off, and his mouth opened, a smack of lips and tongue barely audible. Dray’s breath sucked in, and before a word could come out, the breath halted.
Cloth rustled, Dray’s scent flushing around him as a soft, warm weight went across Tripp’s lap. Dray stifled a huff of laughter and went back to work. The soft scent of interest, almost sexual, floated between them. The gentle weight there made Tripp realize he was hard. “Sorry.”
“Not uncommon.” Dray went back to work, gun buzzing away.
“No, it’s wrong of me.” Tripp willed his erection away, breathing deeply to think cold thoughts.
“I’m flattered. Especially since you’re being polite about it. But if it gets in the way, it’s getting a piercing.” Dray’s chuckle of a voice halted Tripp’s libido like a car crash.
But then again…the thought of Dray leaned over his cock, needle in hand—no, instant boner kill. Then again, his gloved hand on Tripp’s cock—the thought made his cock swell then shrink again. Dray halted his work once more.
Tripp opened one eye tentatively and caught Dray’s gaze going that direction. “What?”
“That is the most confused erection I have ever witnessed.” Dray shook his head and bowed back down, silence occupying the space between them.
It stretched on that way for almost an hour before a grumble rose above the tattoo gun and Tripp eyed the clock. “Haven’t eaten dinner yet?”
“Nah.” Dray continued on with his inking.
“Want to stop here for the night oooorrrr?” Tripp pulled out his phone and thumbed through the map application to see what was nearby. “Fiesta Panda Palace?”
“They have these cream cheese fried things with jalapenos that are amazing.” Dray sucked on a lick of drool pooling under his tongue. “But I need to finish the outline in one sitting at least.”
Tripp nodded. “So, taking a break it is. Wontons and what else for you? My treat.”
“I can pay for my own.” Dray rolled his eyes.
“If I thought twenty bucks’ worth of Chinese food would buy you, you wouldn’t be worth it.” Tripp raised a brow. “Now, tell me what’s good and I’ll order a little of everything to try. Family style.”
“Chinese-Mexican fusion. The wontons. I always say you can judge a place by its General Tso’s, but the secret for really good Chinese food is the egg foo young.” Dray daubed at Tripp’s chest a little and set things up to take a break.
“Fusion? And what’s their egg foo young like?” Tripp scrunched his face up.
“Oh, it’s awful. It’s like egg foo young, but they swapped the bean sprouts for nopales…”
Tripp barely contained a laugh. “I’m game for anything once. Tell me what to order.”
“Okay, order the General Ts’acos, the juan-tons, the taquito eggrolls, and…” Dray tapped his lower lip, thinking. “You like spicy?”
“Love it.”
“The Kung Paulo chicken nachos.” Dray gave him a wink, and Tripp ordered through an app.
“I need to go grab it in ten minutes.”
“Let me do it. I don’t want you to move or risk messing up the work.” Dray waved him off as he tidied up a little and disposed of some trash. Blood and ink mingled over paper towels, mostly.
The way Dray held himself was confident and perky, like he had fun and hope for life, but the loneliness underneath it all made Tripp’s heart ache.
Snakes weren’t exactly common shifters, and in a way, Dray was one of his own.
Pregnant, tattooed, and pierced all to heaven—Tripp’s father would blow.
A. Gasket. His father was all determined to keep the family line going.
Tripp thought back to his drunken lust-fueled rampage through the club, the omega with the tattooed scales, the way his body writhed.
Snakes were often alt-styled, so it wasn’t an uncommon aesthetic, but Tripp had been trained from birth to uphold Standards?.
Tack on the little trademark symbol there because those standards pretty much meant hot, straight, well-connected, reptile, and classy. Dray was two of those things.
He wasn’t that omega that got away, though. Tripp’s thoughts scattered the moment the text came through saying the food was ready, and he returned with the most ethnically questionable food in existence.
And it wasn’t bad.
So, when Dray’s bifurcated tongue slid from the corner of his mouth to lap away an errant drop of sauce, the rattlesnake was done for.