Chapter 5 Tucker
FIVE
TUCKER
“Fuck.” I ran a hand through my hair, trying to get my body under control.
I hadn’t reacted to anyone the way I was reacting to Misha, and it was unnerving at best. And the fact that he was reacting to me too was definitely not helping.
The scent of his arousal stuck in my nose, making my dick hard and my head swim.
I could smell his slick even from here, even through the closed door of my office and it called to me like a siren song, making me want to run out to my workstation and bend him over the padded bench.
The image of my fingers digging into the creamy skin of his hips as I buried myself inside his wet heat did nothing to help the erection threatening to break my zipper, but I couldn’t blink the image away either.
I didn’t want to. I was violently craving the feel of Misha’s body, and I knew no matter what I did that until I had him under me, until I was buried balls deep inside him the feeling wouldn’t go away.
Deep in the back of my mind, a small voice whispered that Misha was mine.
And I think I’d known it since that day in the bakery.
But Misha wasn’t there to take my cock. He was there to have my art permanently inked into his skin.
A groan slid past my lips, and I pressed a hand to my cock.
Thinking about Misha wearing my art on his skin forever was almost as arousing as the smell of his slick that still circled around me.
The thought of marking him as mine in such a visible and obvious way made my heart turn over in my chest. Hundreds, maybe even thousands at this point, of people had my art on their skin, but there was something different about Misha letting me tattoo him.
It meant more to me and not just because I knew what the tattoo meant to him.
I pulled in another deep breath, the scent of him still slipping in under the office door as I tried, and failed, to get myself under control.
I’d already left him for too long, and I couldn’t leave him waiting indefinitely.
I was a professional, I had been tattooing people I’d found attractive for years.
Misha is different. He’s mine.
The small voice in my head was getting louder, and I couldn’t disagree.
I paced around my desk, my fingers still tunneling through my hair, no doubt making it stick up in every direction.
For a second, I thought about calling Paige and asking her to do Misha’s tattoo, but the thought of it being Paige’s art on Misha’s skin instead of mine made me feel sick. It had to be my art done by my hand.
One more deep breath, and I pulled myself together.
I could handle the feel of Misha’s warm, smooth skin under my fingers for the three hours it would take to finish the design.
I could handle having his scent all around me.
I could handle the intimacy of etching my art into Misha’s skin.
And maybe, when I was done, I would ask him if he wanted to go for coffee or dinner.
Steeling my spine, I left my office and returned to where I’d left Misha waiting.
He was seated on the black leather tattoo chair, eyes closed, his head thrown back, exposing the long column of his throat.
His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, and I couldn’t tear my eyes from him.
I wanted to kiss and lick over every inch of his neck.
I wanted to feel his pulse point throb under my tongue as I tasted his skin.
I wanted to kiss him until the scent of his slick was thick around us, and then I wanted to bury myself inside him and never let him go.
I must have made a sound because Misha’s eyes popped open, and his gaze flew to me.
His icy blue irises were a thin ring around wide pupils.
He looked away quickly, his cheeks turning a beautiful shade of pink, and I knew he wasn’t immune to the pull between us.
Somehow knowing that for sure, seeing the heat in his eyes, made it easier to close the distance between us.
“Are you ready?”
Misha lifted his head to look at me again, and I gave him my very best smile. His cheeks darkened another shade, and I clenched my hands into fists to keep from reaching out to stroke my fingers over the sweet pinkened skin. “I’m ready.”
Snapping on a pair of black nitrile gloves, I retrieved a blue plastic razor from the top drawer of my toolbox. I reached for Misha’s arm, and a thrill shot through me as he trembled under my touch. “Gotta shave the area first, love.”
The endearment slipped out, but I didn’t regret it. What I regretted was that I couldn’t feel the silky texture of Misha’s skin through my gloves. I wouldn’t take them off, but I felt my face slip into a scowl.
I ran the razor over Misha’s skin, and he didn’t flinch but when I was done, I looked up to see him staring at me.
“What did I do?” His question was quiet, like he expected me to tell him he’d done something wrong.
“Nothing.” Looking away, I grabbed the stencil cream and started smoothing it over his skin.
“Why are you scowling again, then?”
I worked to relax my face. “I’m not.”
“You totally were.”
A smile tipped the corner of my mouth. “Sorry. It’s my default expression when I don’t like something.”
“What don’t you like?”
I blew out a sigh but kept my fingers wrapped around his arm, my thumb pressed over the pulse point in his wrist. “I don’t like that I can’t feel your skin through these damn gloves.”
Misha drew in a sharp breath. “Oh.”
There wasn’t anything to say, so I didn’t.
I’d already tipped my hand more than I’d intended to, but I also wanted Misha to know that I wasn’t unaffected by the weird electric current arcing between us.
For a heartbeat, we stared at each other, and I saw desire swirl in the depths of Misha’s beautiful eyes.
Blinking, I broke the tension between us and turned away to grab the bottle of stencil cream. “Sorry, this is going to be a little cold.”
Misha watched as I smoothed the cream over his freshly shaved skin. “It’s okay. I like the cold.”
This time instead of a scowl, I felt my face relax into a half smile.
When his skin was covered in a thin layer of the cream, I grabbed the stencil and positioned it, wrapping it around his forearm and pressing it onto his skin.
I held up his arm and twisted it from side to side, making sure it was straight and that I liked the placement, then I slowly pulled the stencil paper away.
“Oh my god. It’s gorgeous.” Misha’s voice was full of delight as he stared down at the purple design on his arm.
“Take a look in the mirror and make sure you like where we have it.” I pointed to the full-length mirror on the wall, and Misha turned to study the design.
“I love it, Tucker. It’s perfect.”
My half smile pulled into a full smile as I watched Misha study the ink on his arm.
If he loved the stencil this much, he was going to love the full color version even more.
“Good.” I sat back and whipped off the gloves I’d used with the stencil cream.
“We just have to let the stencil dry for about ten minutes, then we can get started.”
Misha continued to study his arm as he spoke to me. “Thank you for this. You don’t know how much this means to me.”
“I do.”
He turned his gaze to me, his face soft and a sheen of tears in his eyes, and I couldn’t resist. I reached out and brushed my thumb over his cheek. “I also know how brave you are, Misha.”
His cheeks went pink again, and I felt the heat under my fingers. Having my hands on him for the next few hours was going to be the sweetest type of torture.
After an hour, I couldn’t take it anymore.
My cock was so painfully hard that it was almost all I could think about.
Well, that and the sweet sounds Misha made as my tattoo gun buzzed along his skin.
As I pierced his skin over and over his scent had gotten stronger, and I wasn’t sure if he was as aroused having my hands on him as I was or if it was the small amount of blood I kept wiping away that was amplifying his scent until I couldn’t take it anymore.
For his part, Misha had barely flinched as I worked on the base lines, but as I moved into the area on the inside of his wrist, he’d started humming softly under his breath, and I wondered if that was what he was doing to distract himself from the pain.
“You’re sitting so well for me, love.” I couldn’t keep myself from using the endearment because I liked the way Misha’s cheeks turned the prettiest shade of pink every time I used it. Selfishly, I also really liked the way it sounded.
Misha beamed up at me from under his lashes.
“But I think we should take a break.” I was going to use the break to jerk off in my office. Hopefully, that would help take the edge off enough that I would be able to finish the tattoo without bending Misha over the tattoo chair and fucking him until he couldn’t see straight.
“I’m okay if you want to keep going.”
Whipping off my gloves, I smiled then gave Misha’s calf a squeeze. “I know. You’re doing great, but I need to stretch my back.”
“Oh, right. I didn’t think of that. I’m sorry.”
“No problem and no need to apologize.” I stood and quickly turned around so Misha wouldn’t see my hard-on, then I made a show of stretching out my back. “Bathroom is down the hall if you need it.”
“Great. Thanks.”
I hustled into my office and shut the door, leaning against it and fumbling with the zipper on my pants.
The second I had them undone, I pushed my jeans and boxers down just enough to free my cock which was rock hard, the tip wet with precum.
I spit into my palm and wrapped a hand around my length, moaning at the contact and the pressure of my grip.
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been this turned on, and I knew it had nothing to do with my current sexual dry spell and everything to do with the sweet omega sitting in my chair, taking the pain of his first tattoo like a champ.
Another moan slid from my lips, and I felt my balls start to draw up as I pictured everything I wanted to do to sweet Misha.
I closed my eyes and a vision of his pale fingers wrapped around my cock, his new tattoo—my art on his skin—flashing as he worked his hand over my aching cock played in high definition behind my eyelids.
Falling into the fantasy, I could almost make myself believe it was Misha’s hand on my dick, his nimble fingers toying with the frenum piercing on the underside of my cock and making me see stars.
My other hand cupped my balls, rolling them and gently tugging them.
My head fell back against the door as the small nubs along the length of my shaft that I had instead of a knot erupted.
They’d never come out when I was jerking off before, and once again, I knew it had something to do with Misha.
I ran my hand over the bumps, squeezing tight around the hypersensitive flesh, unable to hold back another tortured groan.
A few more strokes, and cum coated my hand as I tried to keep Misha’s name from falling from my lips.
I failed spectacularly.