25. Chase
25
CHASE
The gallery transforms under professional lighting. Skylar’s crew has turned my station into a mini film set, carefully arranging equipment to catch the best angles of her backpiece session.
“We’ll do a time-lapse of the outline,” her producer explains, checking camera positions. “Then cut to live segments for the details.”
I nod, focusing on setting up my station. This isn’t my first filmed session, but it’s definitely the highest-production-value one. Skylar’s social media presence demands perfection.
“Ready when you are,” she calls from the chair, already positioned perfectly. Her existing ink catches the light, making the Japanese pieces seem alive.
Evie appears with release forms, ever professional. “Just need final signatures before filming starts.”
“Live feed’s up,” Skylar’s social media manager announces. “Comments already flooding in.”
I start the outline. The buzz of my machine drowns out everything except art and skin. This is what I live for—creating something permanent and beautiful.
“Holy shit,” Skylar laughs softly, reading her phone. “Your fans are thirsty, Chase —‘Is the artist single?’ ‘Those arms, though!’ ‘Please tell me he’s available!’ ”
I catch Evie’s subtle smile as she works at her desk. “I’m taken,” I tell the camera with a grin. “By someone amazing.”
“Collectively breaking hearts across TikTok,” Skylar teases. “Your fans are devastated.”
The outline progresses smoothly. I lose myself in the work, barely noticing when they switch camera angles or adjust lighting. Skylar’s good at this—keeping up casual conversation for her followers while staying still under my machine.
“Your manager’s tattoo is gorgeous,” she comments during a break, camera panning to where Evie’s organizing appointments. “That snake design? Incredible work.”
Evie’s sleeve has ridden up, fully exposing the tattoo she never talks about.
“Old piece,” I say carefully, drawing attention back to Skylar’s back. “Ready to continue?”
The session runs long. Proper lighting means more breaks and angles to consider, but the results are worth it. The outline flows perfectly across her skin, ready for next week’s shading.
“This is going to break the internet,” her producer says, reviewing footage. “Especially that candid moment with your manager. Fans love seeing the whole shop dynamic.”
Evie’s expression doesn’t change, but I catch the tension in her shoulders. She hates being filmed and hates attention of any kind.
“Let’s focus on the art,” I suggest. “That’s what your followers are here for, right?”
Skylar nods, understanding immediately. She’s good at reading people. “Absolutely. The technical stuff is what they love.”
We wrap up the session and schedule next week’s appointment. As her crew packs up, I notice Evie’s already disappeared into the back office.
“Your manager’s shy,” Skylar observes quietly. “Don’t worry, we’ll edit her out.”
“Thanks. She’s private, you know?”
“I get it.” She checks her phone. “Two million views already. They love your work. And apparently, your arms.”
I laugh, but my mind’s on Evie.
Later, after the crew leaves, I find her organizing supplies. “You okay?”
“Fine.” But she won’t meet my eyes. “Just not used to cameras.”
“They’ll edit you out,” I promise, pulling her close. “And they’ll focus on the tattoo work only.”
She relaxes slightly against me. “Your fan base seems enthusiastic.”
“Jealous?” I tease, nipping her ear.
“Please.” But her hands slide under my shirt. “Like I care about thirsty TikTok comments.”
“No?” I press her against the supply shelves. “Not even a little?”
She kisses me hard. “Maybe I just think you should wear more clothes on camera. Stop showing off these arms everyone’s drooling over.”
“Make me.”
Her laugh breaks the tension. “Later. When we’re alone.”
“Promise?”
“Go clean your workspace or something.” She pushes me away playfully. “I have to get back to work.”
I catch her hand before she can escape. “Hey. You know I’m yours, right? All of me—arms included.”
She nods. “I never forgot.”
When I arrive at Evie’s, the girls are already asleep, worn out from their day at the park. I find her in the kitchen, wearing one of my old shirts, scrolling through her phone.
“Four million views,” she says without looking up. “Your arms are apparently very popular on TikTok.”
I slide behind her, nosing her neck. “Are you jealous now?”
She tilts her head, giving me better access. “Maybe a little.”
“Your man, huh?” My hands find her hips. “What happened to sharing?”
She turns in my arms, expression playful. “Oh, I share. Just not with your newfound fanbase.”
“They can look.” I kiss her softly. “Only you get to touch.”
“That’s just…perfect.”
I catch a glimpse of her phone—she’s watching Skylar’s video. The moment where the camera pans past her is brief, but that snake tattoo is clearly visible. It doesn’t seem to worry her.
“Speaking of looking…” I trace the design through her sleeve. “Going to tell me about this one?”
She tenses slightly. “Nothing to tell. Young and stupid, remember?”
But there has to be more to it—there has to be. The placement, the design, and the way she always changes the subject when it comes up.
Before I can press, she kisses me. Not the playful kisses from before—this is heat and need and distraction.
“Trying to shut me up?” I murmur against her lips.
“Is it working?”
Her hands slide under my shirt, fingers plucking my nipples. When she pushes the fabric up, I let her strip it off.
“These arms,” she says appreciatively. “Maybe your fans have a point.”
I lift her onto the counter, stepping between her thighs. “Don’t need fans. Just need you.”
She makes quick work of my belt, her fingers deft and eager, while I push that stolen shirt higher up her thighs. The sight of her like this—bare except for my clothes, skin still flushed from earlier—makes my cock throb, a sharp ache of need.
“Bedroom,” she gasps when I slip my hand between her thighs and feel how wet she already is. Her hips buck against my fingers. “Don’t want to wake the girls.”
“Good point,” I murmur, but I don’t stop teasing her. My thumb circles her clit, just to hear her gasp again.
“Chase…” Her voice has that edge of warning, but her body tells a different story—hips rocking, thighs trembling.
I grin and scoop her up, her legs wrapping instinctively around my waist. The shirt rides up further as I carry her to the bedroom.
She nips at my jaw on the way, her breath hot against my skin, and it takes everything I have not to throw her down right there in the hallway.
Once we reach her room, I set her on the bed. She lies back, legs parted just enough to tempt, and I swear I forget how to breathe for a second.
I crawl over her, pinning her wrists above her head with one hand. “Tell me what you want, Evie.” My voice is rough, the need clawing at my control.
“You.” She arches beneath me, pulling me closer with her legs. “Just you.”
But I’m not in any rush. Not this time. I want to take my time and savor every inch of her. My lips find hers first, slow and deep, before trailing down her jaw.
I release her wrists, letting my hands roam. Her skin is soft, warm, and alive under my touch. I slide the shirt off her, exposing her completely.
My palms skim over her ribs, the curve of her waist, and her hips. She shivers when I kiss my way down, pausing at her breasts to trace her nipples with my tongue.
“Chase,” she moans, her hands tangling in my hair.
“I’ve got you,” I whisper, my lips brushing her skin.
I take my time, tasting every inch of her, but my hands are never still. Her thighs quiver when I trail kisses down her stomach, my fingers brushing against the inside of her knees before sliding higher.
“Chase…”
“Shh,” I murmur, pressing a kiss just above her pussy. My hands stroke her thighs, easing the tension there. “Just loving every part of you.”
My tongue flicks over her clit, and she cries out, her back arching off the bed.
Her hands fist in the sheets, her thighs trembling as I tease her. Slow strokes of my tongue, alternating with gentle suction, have her moaning my name.
“Chase, please,” she pleads, her voice breaking.
I don’t stop until she’s right on the edge, her body tensing beneath me, her breaths coming in short, desperate gasps. Only then do I pull back, climbing over her again and capturing her lips in a kiss that’s all heat and hunger.
When I finally slide into her, she’s so wet and tight it feels like she’s trying to pull me deeper, refusing to let me go.
The heat of her wraps around me, overwhelming and perfect, and for a moment, I have to stop, my forehead pressed to hers, just to keep myself from losing it too fast.
Her legs tighten around my waist, urging me on. “Don’t stop,” she breathes, her voice trembling but firm.
I pull back slowly, every inch of me throbbing as I feel her slickness clinging to me. The stretch as I slide back inside makes her moan, a raw, desperate sound that sends shivers up my spine. I set a rhythm, slow and deep at first, each thrust sending a ripple of sensation through both of us.
“Look at me,” I murmur, cupping her face. Her eyes flutter open, glazed and heavy with desire. “You feel so fucking good, Evie. You have no idea.”
Her lips part, but no words come. Just a gasp as I roll my hips, hitting the right spot inside her that makes her go crazy.
The tension builds between us. My senses are overloaded—the wet, rhythmic sound of our bodies moving together, the way her walls grip my cock, the taste of her lips when I capture her mouth again, desperate to feel every part of her.
Her nails bite into my shoulders as she teeters on the edge. “I’m close,” she pants, her voice shaking.
“I’ve got you,” I promise, thrusting deeper, harder, the need to push her over the edge driving me wild. The way her body reacts, her thighs squeezing tighter, her back arching off the bed, is almost enough to undo me right away.
When she finally falls apart, it’s like a dam breaking. Her body tightens around me. Her cry is muffled against my shoulder as wave after wave of pleasure crashes through her. I keep moving, chasing my own release, drawn in by the sheer ecstasy on her face.
“Evie,” I groan as I let go, burying myself as deep as I can. The world blurs and all that exists is her—her heat, her scent, and the way she holds me like I’m her anchor.
After, as she dozes in my arms, I study that tattoo in the moonlight. The design is professional work—expensive. Not the kind of ink a college student could afford.
Just like her other pieces tell stories, this one must too. But as I trace the scales with gentle fingers, she shifts away.
“Just hold me.” Her voice is sleepy but tense.
I pull her close, breathe in her scent, and try to ignore the secrets still between us.
My phone buzzes—probably Rick checking in. But when I check, I see it’s Skylar: “Five million views. Your gallery’s about to get very busy.”