14. Hugo
14
HUGO
Some small voice in the back of my head—a voice that sounds an awful lot like Sam—says we should not be doing this. These kinds of games are dangerous and will only lead to trouble down the road. No good will come of this.
But I’ve always heard you shouldn’t pay too much attention to the voices in your head. The voices might be crazy.
Still, though, she’s good. Pure. Sweet in a way that makes you want to pull her close and ruin her, just to see if you can. And that’s the problem, isn’t it? Because she’s not just some woman we picked up in a bar or met at a party.
She’s Marie. Preacher’s daughter.
I’ve been circling her like a moth to a flame ever since she came back to town, but ever since I had a sample earlier today, I am obsessed. The taste of her is in my mouth, my brain. I need more. I wanted her before that forbidden taste of her tiny earlobe in the library earlier.
But now? Now, I must have her.
It started innocently enough. A few excuses to stop by the library—“research” for tattoos, hunting for books on this or that. She always looked surprised to see me, her eyes widening just slightly before her lips curved into that polite little smile she always gives when she’s trying not to show too much. Her mask.
At first, I told myself it was nothing. I just liked the way she blushed when I teased her, the way her voice got soft and breathy when she answered my questions. But then it became a bad habit, and I am a man who is made of bad habits.
I’d catch myself timing my days around her shifts, finding excuses to swing by the library just to see her, even if it was only for a few minutes. I’d sit in my truck, watching her through the window as she shelved books or helped some old lady with her reading glasses, and I’d tell myself it wasn’t a big deal. Sometimes, I’d go to the library just to catch the scent of her shampoo, no book needed.
It wasn’t like I was doing anything nefarious. Just…looking. And sniffing. But that turned into thinking. And thinking turned into wanting. And now, sitting here in the shop, watching her squirm under Trick’s relentless kisses and teasing, I know I can’t just sit on the sidelines this time.
This isn’t like the other times. This isn’t some girl we’re going to share for a few nights before moving on. This is Marie. And I want her in ways I haven’t wanted anyone before.
She’s the kind of girl you marry, not the kind you kick out of bed. While I’m not the marrying kind, I could be persuaded by someone like her. Her round, pert ass is the best argument for marriage I have ever seen, and those tits? I could be persuaded to do damn near anything for a taste of them.
Trick pulls back from their kiss, and I swear her eyes are glazed over with need. Her lips are pinker now, her breaths more pronounced. She is utterly at his mercy. She would do anything he wants—I’ve seen that countenance on dozens of women, all of them yearning for more.
“Relax, Marie,” Trick says, leaning against the counter with that cocky grin of his. “Sam’s got steady hands. You’re in good company.”
“Jealous she didn’t pick you to be her first?” I tease Trick.
He laughs. “I’d say she picked me to be her first of other, more important things.”
If she were not around right now, I’d sock him for that. Reminding me what he had with her only spurs me on, though. I want what he had.
A show.
Marie laughs nervously, glancing between him and Sam, her hands gripping the edge of the chair like it’s the only thing keeping her grounded now that Trick has backed off.
“So, Marie,” I say as politely as possible, “about that show?—”
She tenses up, but stays still under Sam’s needle. “What, um…what about it?”
“You’re putting on a good one now.”
Her laugh is nervous. Of course it is. She’s never done anything like this before, and she’s got all three of us here, watching her like she’s the main event, because she is.
In my youth, I found myself the center of attention a few times, and while intoxicating, the novelty of it died after I found Sam and Trick. As much as having three or four women on me at a time was a delight, nothing was ever as satisfying as sharing a woman or two with them.
The trouble is the math. A man can do only so much with multiple women before they must take care of each other. But a woman has multiple holes for multiple men. To truly pleasure a woman, to bring her to ecstatic heights of pleasure, there should be several men for her, not one man distracted by other women. A numbers game, really.
Sam’s all business as he works, his jaw tight, his focus absolute. But I see the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands flex a little too tightly when he adjusts the position of her leg. He’s not as good at hiding it as he thinks. And this tattoo is small. It should not take this long, but he’s being extra careful with her.
And Trick? Well, Trick is Trick. He’s always been the charmer, the one who makes them laugh and blush and feel at ease. But even Trick is a little sharper than usual tonight, his banter coming faster, his grin a little wider.
And me? I’m just sitting here, watching. Like I always do.
I’ve always been the watcher, the one who hangs back until it’s undeniably time to step in. The three of us have been doing this for years, and it works because we all know our roles. Trick opens the door, Sam closes it behind us, and I wait for the moment that feels right, the moment when everything falls into place.
But this time feels different. This time, I don’t want to wait. I want to pounce.
“She’s doing great, isn’t she, Hugo?” Trick says, glancing over at me with a grin.
“Looks like it,” I say, my voice calm, even as my pulse ticks up a notch.
Marie glances at me, her eyes wide, and I can see the way her blush deepens when she realizes I’m watching her.
“Don’t let him distract you,” Sam mutters, his tone sharp.
“Distract her?” I say, raising an eyebrow. “I’m not the one making her laugh mid-tattoo. That is all Trick.”
“Hey,” Trick says, holding up his hands. “I’m just doing my part. You know me—I’m a team player.”
Marie laughs again, the sound soft and nervous, and something about it makes my heart pound. I feel her energy as much as my own. “You’re nervous.”
She glances at me, her lips parting slightly, but she doesn’t deny it.
“That’s normal,” I add, leaning forward slightly. “First tattoo’s always the hardest. After that, it’s easy. Addictive, even. Just breathe, Marie.”
She nods, her eyes locked on mine, and for a moment it feels like the rest of the room goes away. Just me, Marie, Trick, and Sam. The hum of the tattoo gun is our only music. If I could just?—
“You know what would help?” Trick says suddenly, breaking the tension.
Marie glances at him, her brow furrowing. “What?”
“A kiss.”
She freezes, her eyes going wide before she laughs. “Another?”
“I’m just saying,” Trick says, his grin widening. “It worked before, didn’t it?”
“Trick,” Sam says warningly, but Trick ignores him.
“Well?” Trick says, looking at me now. “What do you think, Hugo? Should we see if it helps?”
Marie’s blush deepens, and I can see the way her hands tighten around the chair again. She’s nervous, but she’s not pulling away. Her nipples pebble against the thin material of her sundress. Not saying no, as her body says yes.
“I think she’s waiting for you to shut up,” I say, my tone dry.
Trick laughs but steps back, motioning for me to take his place. “If you’re such an expert, Hugo, show us how it’s done.”
I roll my eyes but stand up anyway, walking over to Marie’s side. “Is this okay?”
She nods, but her breath catches just slightly.
“Good,” I say, my voice low. I lean in, my lips brushing against hers, and the moment I feel her melt into me, everything else falls away. She kisses like she’s never been kissed before—needy and hungry, her lips soft and trembling against mine.
And I’m gone.
Gone in a way I haven’t been in years, not since the first time the three of us decided to share. Gone in a way that feels raw and real and entirely new. The experience consumes me. Her hands tighten on the edge of the chair, and I reach up to cup her face, deepening the kiss just enough to make her sigh against my mouth. And then?—
“It’s done,” Sam says abruptly, his voice cutting through the moment like a knife.
Marie pulls back, her eyes wide and glassy, her lips still parted as she stares at me. And just like that, it’s over.
I stand up slowly, my balls tight as I glance at Sam. His expression is unreadable, but there’s a flicker of something in his eyes that I can’t quite name. Is he angry with me? With us? Or is it purely jealousy? I can’t tell.
Marie looks at him, then back at me, and I can see the way her blush creeps down her neck, disappearing under the collar of her dress. How far does that blush go? I need to know.
“Thank you,” she says softly, her voice barely above a whisper.
“For the tattoo?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.
“For…everything.” She looks away quickly, her hands trembling slightly as she reaches for her bag.
And as I watch her, the weight of the moment settles over me, heavier than I expected. Because for the first time in years, I don’t want this to end. And it has to.