Chapter 35
When Dacre walked into breakfast the following day and declared he had a tattoo appointment booked for that afternoon, two things happened.
My mother was scandalized, like the idea of getting a tattoo was the most low-brow concept she had ever heard of.
And I decided I was going with him.
This snowballed into Presley stating that if I was going then so was he, and then proceeded to cajole Sinclair into coming. When I’d sent a text to Boston telling him about our plans, he’d agreed too.
One big, horny family, headed for a group hang at the tattoo parlor.
Sinclair had called the venue on the way there asking them to clear their books for the afternoon to accommodate all of us.
He offered them substantial compensation for it and they’d agreed.
He then offered the funds needed to remodel the studio and a five-figure fee for each artist to keep quiet and not sell any stories to the press about anything they might see or hear from the five of us while we were there.
They accepted that offer too, which meant we were away from the watchful eyes of Byron, Kesia, and my mother, and could be free to be ourselves.
“You can get your ink done from my tattooist, Sass,” Pres said, throwing his arm around me as we walked into the waiting room. “He’s a gun. I’ve been coming to see him for years.”
Dacre scoffed. “You’ve been coming here with me for years, claiming you’ll get a tattoo, getting Mickey to stencil it out for you, then bailing the second he brings the needle anywhere near you.”
Sinclair snorted a laugh as he took a seat on one of the deep leather sofas. “That’s a fact.”
“Wait, so you’re a tattoo virgin?” I asked, surprised.
“No, I have one.” Pres lifted his pant leg, showing off the words ‘Catch me…’ on the back of his calf, just above his sock line. He dropped it and lifted the other pant leg. ‘... if you can’. He shrugged. “It’s to taunt whoever is chasing me on the football field.”
I let out a laugh.
“Anyway, Mickey knows how to spell my name, so you’ll be sweet for your tattoo,” Pres went on, undeterred by my sarcasm.
“Why would that matter?”
Pres grinned back at me. “Because obviously you want to get my name tattooed somewhere on that beautiful, perfect body.” He gave me a heated look.
Boston grunted his objection to that suggestion.
“As sweet as that sounds,” I said, attempting to placate everyone. “I’m not sure what I’m going to get yet.”
Presley stretched back on the couch, his abs peeking out from under his shirt capturing my attention. “I’m getting your name tattooed right here…” He motioned across his left pec. “Right over my heart, Sass.”
I melted at the revelation, sliding from my seat and into his lap. “You’re going to get my name branded on you?”
He nodded, sliding a hand over my throat and tugging my mouth to his. “Your nickname at least. I want you with me forever.”
I leaned into him, touched by the gesture. We made out like horny teachers for several minutes, until Dacre cleared his throat as footsteps approached. I got to my feet just as a short, blond guy walked over to Dacre and gave him one of those bro-clap-hug things guys do.
“You ready?” he asked Sinclair.
“Yeah, man.” Sinclair got to his feet and followed the artist down the hall. An idea for my own tattoo hit me as they went and I grabbed a pen and piece of paper from the desk, running after them.
“Wait!” I called, handing Sin the blank paper and a pen. “Can you draw a star for me?”
He stared down at me, took the pen and paper I offered leaned against the wall to draw an eight-point star.
I beamed up at him, pushing up onto my toes to give him a quick kiss. “Thank you.”
He smirked, shaking his head, then disappeared with the artist to get started. I strolled back to the waiting area, Presley joking around with a bald-headed guy in his thirties who had more piercings than anyone I had ever seen.
“Let’s do this,” Pres said, rubbing his hands together.
“You’re not seriously getting my name tattooed on you, are you?” I asked.
“Damn fucking straight I am.” He reached out, hooking an arm around my neck and tugging me against him. “I want you on me for the rest of my life.” He pressed a kiss to the top of my head, then pulled away, following the human pin cushion out the back.
I wandered over to where Boston was still sitting on one of the low leather couches, deep in conversation with Dacre, which was a surprise. To see the two of them talking like they were old friends was a welcome sight that made my heart clench with all kinds of feelings.
“Draw a star for me on this?” I thrust a pen and paper at Dacre.
He reached for the pen, his hand closing over mine up to my wrist and he used it to tug me down, rotating me so I was seated in his lap.
His arm reached around me on either side, and he took the pen, enveloping me as he drew a star in his own style.
His was definitely the most creative, with its eight points and smaller stars surrounding it.
But I’d expect nothing less from the artist.
“What tattoo are you getting today?” I asked, leaning into him.
“I’m still deciding what I want.”
I twisted in his arms so I could lean into him, my mouth brushing his ear. “I know what I want right now,” I said, my tone intentionally suggestive.
His brow quirked. “Here?”
I nodded, the thought of him taking me in some backroom at the tattoo parlor turning me on. He looked as though he was about to take me up on it, when a petite woman with a belly ring and jet-black hair emerged from the hallway.
“You ready, Dacre?”
He let out the smallest of groans, pressing his lips to my shoulder. “Save that thought for later?” he said to me, eyes eager.
He patted my ass, and I got to my feet, Dacre disappearing with the artist, leaving Boston and I alone in the waiting area.
I flopped down on the couch beside him, the leather groaning beneath me.
Lifting my ass to reach into my back pocket, I pulled out the slip of paper, handing it and the pen over to Boston.
“Can you do me a favor and draw a star on that for me?”
He stared back at me, then he took the pen and paper I offered. He drew the star and handed it back. Was it possible for a star to look masculine? Because Boston’s definitely did.
“What do I get for participating in your little project?”
My brows shot up. “The privilege of being included.”
“You know, my wife has a really smart mouth on her.”
Heat creeped into my cheeks at his casual use of ‘my wife’.
“You’re yet to discover so many of the more exciting things I can do with my mouth.”
Heat flared in his gaze and he leaned over, hooking one of his big hands around the back of my thigh and flipping me into his lap so I was straddling him.
“We can’t do this in the waiting room,” I protested, glancing over my shoulder.
“Sure we can, Firecracker. Your step-brothers are all busy. And I’m your husband.”
A cocky kind of confidence filled his expression as he buried a hand in my hair and pulled my lips to his. His tongue was instantly in my mouth, his kiss consuming my very soul and killing every protest I’d had about doing anything with him in a tattoo parlor waiting room.
Boston Ivers was a lot of things, but a terrible kisser he was not, and I found myself grinding my hips against him without even realizing it.
“Fuck me, Dempsey, you’re going to have me blowing a load in my jeans like a fucking teenager,” he groaned.
His lips landed on my throat, his other hand cupping my breast through my shirt. His thumb drew lazy circles against my nipple, and I groaned right along with him. I was a heartbeat away from breaking the kiss and dragging him into the nearest closet when a throat cleared behind us.
I glanced over my shoulder.
“Umm... Dempsey, Pres is asking for you,” the sweet receptionist said, looking anywhere but at the way I was straddling Boston.
“Oh…” I said, cheeks flushed. I got to my feet. “Thank you.”
I went to follow her, shooting a wide-eyed ‘holy shit, we got so busted’ look back at Boston.
“You’re welcome,” he said in a low rumble that followed me down the hallway.
The receptionist led me into a room where Presley was laid out on an upright bed. He was shirtless, my mouth instantly watering at the sight.
“Sass, thank God you’re here,” he said, reaching for me, just as the tattoo gun buzzed at his pec.
Worry filled my voice. “Why? Are you in a lot of pain?” I glanced between him and the tattoo artist who was still stencilling handwriting on his body.
Pres chuckled. “No, I just missed you, baby.” He took my hand, tugging me towards him. “Climb up here and ride me while I get this done.”
I glanced at the tattoo artist, concerning etched in my brow.
Presley followed my gaze. “Oh, he’s cool.”
The tattoo artist glanced up, expression full of innocence.
“Mickey, man,” Pres said. “You know that NDA you signed? You keep anything you see here today to yourself and there’s another twenty grand in it for you on top of what you’ve already been promised.”
Mickey nodded appreciatively.
“Any media ever ask you anything about me, my girl, or my family, and you don’t say a word, there’s another twenty grand coming your way.”
“You got it.”
Mickey and Presley fist bumped, and Mickey went back to the work at hand. Pres motioned for me to climb aboard.
I let out a disbelieving laugh. “You’re not serious. You’re literally going to have a needle against your skin.”
He pouted. “The pain turns me on, which means I really, really want you to sit in my lap and grind on me.”
Mickey snorted a laugh, but didn’t glance up from what he was doing.
Pres shot me a sly smile, and he tugged my wrist so I bent down, my face close to his. “If I had my way, what I’d really want is for you to blow me while I get your name inked on my skin.”
Heat jolted through me at the illicitness of his words.
“We’re not alone though.”
Pres shrugged. “It’ll be a hell of a show. And the worst thing that’ll happen is Mickey gets jealous and horny. There’s no way he’s touching my girl though, I already have to share you enough.”
The pleading puppy look that crossed his face had me actually considering this insane request. Only Presley would want to feel pleasure while sitting through the pain of a tattoo.
“You’re crazy, you know that?” I asked, fighting my smile.
The tattoo gun buzzed to life, momentarily startling me.
“Don’t hold back on my account,” Mickey said. “I’m here to do a job, and I’m focusing on that.”
Pres moved my hand to his groin. He was hard behind his zipper. Rock hard, and straining to be freed. He waggled his eyebrows at me.
There was no denying the pulse of desire pounding between my legs at the thought of doing this with him. Was it bold and crazy? Yes. Did I want to do it anyway? Also yes.
I moved further down the bed that Pres was sprawled on, my fingers lowering his zipper and pulling him out. His delicious cock sprang free, tempting me, and before I could question it, I dropped my mouth to the tip, closing my lips around him and swallowing him deep.
“Fuck yes,” Pres said with a deeply satisfied sigh. “You’re my fucking queen, Sass.”
I worked him over, my tongue gliding along the underside of his length as I made my way back up to the tip, then swallowed him down again. He hit the back of my throat and he groaned loudly, the tattoo gun buzzing against his skin.
When I glanced up, Mickey was heavily bent over Presley’s pec, focused on his work.
I sucked harder, my head bobbing and jaw straining as I took Presley deep into the back of my throat over and over. On the next duck of my head, I dipped too far, the tip of Presley’s throbbing cock sliding too deep. I choked, my eyes watering instantly.
The tattoo gun buzzed louder, Mickey’s hand slipping while his gaze was trained on me. Pres swore, followed by a chuckle.
He stroked my hair. “You’re distracting the poor guy with your amazing mouth, baby.”
I pulled his cock from my lips with a loud, wet pop, smiling up at him.
Suddenly I wanted the eyes of this stranger on me. Presley and his penchant for public sex was clearly rubbing off on me, because I wanted to put on a show. I wanted this stranger to be mesmerized while I got Presley off. Let him watch me swallow as Pres came down my throat.
I took him in my mouth again, glancing up to find both Presley and Mickey’s awed and hooded gazes trained on me.
It felt powerful. I already knew I could bring Pres to his knees with the swipe of my tongue, but knowing that just watching me do it was enough to have this stranger adjusting himself made me all kinds of wanton.
The gun buzzed in mid-air where he’d paused to watch me.
I took Presley deep once more, hollowing out my cheeks as I sucked.
“Fuck, Sass, I’m going to come down your throat.” Presley let out a deep groan, and I moaned around his shaft in response.
A moment later, hot, salty liquid cascaded into my mouth, and I swallowed it down.
When I pulled off, Presley’s head was tipped back, his arm thrown over his eyes. Mickey just stared back at me, the pretense of finishing his work completely gone now.
“I’ll be right back,” he said, dropping the gun to the table and leaving the room.
Presley let out a laugh, gripping my arms and pulling me on top of him so my face was inches from him. “Poor guy is going to beat off in the bathroom after seeing how good my girl sucks dick.”
I buried my face in his chest, shaking his head. “I didn’t have any desire for public sex before I met you.”
His grin broadened. “Good to know I’ve corrupted you. And I’m not at all sorry about it.”