8. Hunter
Eight
Hunter
My room was quiet, bar the low hum of electronics, the occasional click of my mouse, and the clacking of my keys. The whole house had been quiet since Colt left.
Multiple screens glowed dimly, either displaying rows of code or surveillance feeds of various locations. Low music was pouring from an earbud in one ear, the other ear was attuned to the silence.
I tapped into the tattoo shop’s security feed, the audio kicking in with a soft click, barely louder than a breath.
Ella’s voice spilled through the line a beat later — joyous, easy, electric.
She was at the tattoo shop, and I’d already checked the place’s cameras. The quality of their feed was absolutely horrendous, but I’d caught a glimpse of my girl.
Good thing her artist was a woman. I didn’t know how I would’ve handled some guy leaning over her thigh for hours on end.
Actually , never mind. I did know.
The line crackled softly in my ear. Her laughter hit me, light and carefree. My Blaze.
Tattoo guns were buzzing like static, and faint, unintelligible music played in the background. Someone cracked a joke. Someone else snorted.
Hailey’s voice was cutting in now and then, but I didn’t register the words. The only person I was listening for was her.
They were on FaceTime, that much I could tell.
Fuck . Just listening to Ella had my dick stiffening in my shorts. Something in my jaw flexed, and I took a deep breath through my nose.
“… Just a bunch of roses up high on my thigh,” Ella was saying.
I heard a snort. Since Ella only kept a few people close, and knowing Hailey was on the other end of the phone, then Colt was probably nearby.
Ella kept talking, unbothered. “This one’s for me. Not for anyone else to see. Yet .”
My breath was catching in my throat, my heart stuttering, stopping for a beat, and then pounding like a fucking jackhammer.
Yet?
Leaning forward a fraction, as if getting closer might make it clearer, my thoughts spiraled.
But she’ll show someone. Eventually.
I could wait.
It was likely just a throwaway comment, but to me, it landed like intent.
She thought no one was watching. She was wrong.
It was only when my knuckles began to ache that I registered how tightly I was gripping the edge of the desk.
The word looped in my brain.
Yet.
Yet.
Yet.
My chest tightened and a muscle in my jaw twitched to the point of being almost painful.
Whoever would be allowed to see it would be special. Maybe it would be someone she hadn’t thought of showing it to yet.
For a reckless second, I let myself hope she’d choose me.
My cock was like a fucking steel pipe in my shorts now, tenting the soft material. I palmed it, trying to take some of the edge off.
Goddamn. As long as her voice was in my ear, there was zero chance of it going soft.
Might as well admit defeat now.
Only listening with one ear, as she joked with Colt and Hailey, I lifted my ass in my chair to tug down my shorts.
My dick sprang out, angry, throbbing, the tip already leaking.
Breathing harshly through my nose, I fisted my length, giving it a few slow tugs while continuing to monitor their conversation.
Ella was joking. Laughing. Spitting out fantasies like it was nothing. But I listened like it was gospel.
Thigh tats.
V-line.
Spine.
Forearms.
Piercings to bring her pleasure.
Ink and metal designed to be touched. Tasted .
I didn’t need the visuals. Her voice alone painted them in blood and desire. I could hear it: Where her hands would go and where her mouth might follow.
Every word was a map — it wasn’t just theory.
She knew what she liked. She knew what she wanted: a man marked just right.
“It’s the commitment for me.”
Those words nearly knocked the breath out of my lungs, and I stared at the waveform dancing on the screen like it had insulted me.
My cock was throbbing like a motherfucker as my abs flexed.
Commitment.
Talk dirty to me, baby.
Ella said it as a joke, but as if even she knew it wasn’t one … not really. She wanted something lasting. She wanted someone who didn’t leave.
Permanence was what truly mattered to her. Most people looked at her and saw only chaos, failing to grasp her essence.
My girl joked like she didn’t care, but I was listening. Matter of fact, I was fucking taking notes.
She told me exactly what she needed. Just not on purpose.
I sat back slowly, my balls pulling up as I resumed to fuck my hand methodically.
Jaw locked, one thumb dragging across the tip, my mind was calm and chaotic all at once.
It’s the commitment for me.
Good. Because committed was all I’d ever been, as far as she was concerned.
My strokes sped up, the base of my spine tingling.
If she wanted commitment, I would happily show her what that looks like.
She was already under my skin, but I’d carry her name, her shape, her meaning.
On me. In me.
Gritting my teeth, I closed my eyes in bliss as my muscles seized up, and cum exploded over my hand. I exhaled on a hiss once the waves of pleasure wrecking my body subsided.
After cleaning up the mess I’d made, I went to work. I created a folder to gather ideas for motifs and styles, imagining where the tattoos would go and what they would look like on my body.
My phone buzzed, but I ignored it. Cocking my head to the side, I leaned back and surveyed my unmarked skin.
I touched the spots where the tattoos would go on my thighs and twisted my underarms while imagining the black lines twisting around them.
Up until today, I’d never had any interest in these kinds of body modifications.
Now I was opening a new tab in my browser, typing and scrolling, until the notification popped up.
If I was going to commit to this, I wanted the best of the best — no compromises, no shortcuts. Which was why I wasn’t going to settle for someone local.
Your session with Logan at Black Rabbit is confirmed.
Guess I’d be taking a trip to Minnesota.
I’d cleared the path, and when she finally looked up … I’d be the one she’d find.