Chapter 37 Willow #2
“I…” My mouth is suddenly dry, but we both know the answer to his question is a resounding yes.
“Fuck,” he groans. “You’re getting worked up just from this, aren’t you?
Just from the tattoo. No one touching you, nothing inside you.
Just the needle on your skin. That’s so fucking hot.
” He shakes his head. “I bet if you didn’t have to stay still right now, you’d be humping the couch like a desperate little slut, wouldn’t you?
Or you’d have a hand between your legs, trying to get your fingers deep inside your wet pussy.
Even after that fucking Vic gave you earlier, you’re still not satisfied. ”
I whimper again, his words going straight to my head and to my core. I clench around nothing, and I really do wish I could work one hand down there and touch myself.
“Be still,” Malice commands, as if he can sense where my thoughts are going. “I’m doing a more intricate design this time, and I don’t wanna fuck up your tattoo.”
He shades in something on my shoulder, the needle dragging over the same place for so long that it starts to ache. But instead of tamping down my arousal, the slow burn of pain just makes me wetter.
And Malice notices that too.
I whine softly, my inner walls clenching as my clit throbs. He doesn’t stop tattooing, and I lose myself in the buzz of the gun, trying to be still as he keeps etching the design onto my skin.
He goes over a line, and the pain rises, almost more than I can stand. The need in my body rises with it, tightening and tensing, and just when I think I might be able to come like this, Malice pulls the gun back.
He wipes ink away, and I don’t have to look at him to know that he’s probably grinning, amused at teasing me this way.
Before I have time to catch my breath, he’s back at it, going in with the gun again.
He repeats that process over and over again, bringing me higher and higher and then leaving me there on the edge. He’s basically edging me, working me up more and more and not giving me any relief.
My body burns from the pain and from the arousal, and my heart is slamming against my ribs by now. I’m on the verge of begging, so close to release that I can almost taste it.
“Do you want to come, Solnyshka?” Malice asks mildly, his voice a low rumble.
“Yes!” I gasp.
“Then be a good girl and wait for it.”
The needle digs into my skin again, and I bite down hard on my lower lip. He keeps working, and I can’t even tell which part of my shoulder the needle is dragging across anymore. It’s all one endless wash of sensation, punctuated by my shuddering breaths and Malice’s occasional grunts.
“That’s it,” he murmurs. “Just a bit longer now.”
The next several minutes pass in a haze of pain and arousal, and when he wipes the tattoo down one last time, he presses a bit harder than necessary, making me moan out loud.
“Such a good fucking girl,” he praises. “Come for me. Now.”
Before he even finishes speaking, my hand delves between my legs. I rub my clit furiously, grinding against my hand, and it only takes a second for the pleasure to spill over. My orgasm hits me hard, and I trap my lip between my teeth, trying not to wake up Ransom and Vic with my moan.
“Oh my god,” I finally murmur, my head still spinning.
Malice pats my ass possessively, then spreads a little ointment on my shoulder. “Is that your new nickname for me?”
That makes me smile into the couch cushion, and I twist my head to look at him. “It would be if I didn’t think it would go to your head.”
He smirks, his harsh features looking even more angular in the lamplight. “Do you wanna see the tattoo?”
I nod eagerly, pushing myself up enough that I can swing my legs over the side of the couch. There’s a mirror on the opposite wall, near what’s probably a closet door, and I walk over on unsteady legs to see what Malice has put on me this time.
I have no idea what to expect, really, but what I see makes me stop in my tracks.
The design is much different than the first two things he put on me, but it’s so fucking beautiful.
Clusters of wildflowers twine around a knife, the tip of which points down my arm.
The flowers seem to pop, each petal rendered in beautiful shades of gray.
“Oh,” I breathe, almost reaching up to touch the fresh ink before thinking better of it. “It’s gorgeous, Malice.”
I meet his eyes in the mirror and realize that he’s come to stand behind me.
“It represents you,” he tells me. “Soft and beautiful, but with a spine of fucking steel.”
He leads me back to the couch and makes me sit down while he puts a gauze pad over the tattoo, his touch careful and almost tender. Then he scoops me up, making me yelp in surprise.
“Alright. Enough of this shit. It’s bedtime,” he grunts. “We’ve got a lot to do tomorrow.”
I laugh, because it’s very like him to have a sweet moment and then get all bossy.
But I don’t complain as he carries me to the bedroom where Vic is still sleeping.
He settles me into bed next to his brother, and I slip under the covers, curling up with a yawn.
Either the sex or the tattoo endorphins—or both—are wearing off now, and I can feel how tired I am all over again.
The bed shifts, and when I look up, Malice is getting in with us, sandwiching me between him and his brother.
“Sweet dreams, Solnyshka,” he murmurs gruffly.
And despite everything, I think maybe they will be for once.