Skin Deep Claim (Tattooed and taken)

1

The shop smelled like green soap, ink, and the faint metallic tang of blood under antiseptic.

Neon from the open sign bled pink and blue across the black-and-white checkered floor.

Chase’s station was in the back corner, farthest from the front windows, where the music was lower and the air stayed warmer.

Jody sat on the padded chair, bare from the waist up except for the thin black sports bra she’d worn specifically because it wouldn’t get in the way.

Twenty-four, soft curves, pale skin already marked with his work: a delicate vine climbing her left ribs, a half-sleeve of dark flowers wrapping her right upper arm, and the new piece—larger, denser—taking shape across the upper curve of her left breast and spilling toward her sternum.

She’d been coming back every three weeks for six months.

Each time the design grew. Each time the placement got closer to places most clients kept covered.

Chase stood over her, gloved hands steady, machine humming a low, steady buzz.

Thirty years old, tall, broad through the shoulders, dark hair pulled back, a full sleeve of black-and-grey work flexing every time he adjusted his grip.

His voice stayed calm, professional, but his eyes kept dropping to the way her nipple tightened under the thin fabric every time the needle hit a sensitive spot.

“Breathe for me,” he said, wiping excess ink with a damp paper towel. The cool wetness made her skin pebble. “You’re clenching.”

Jody exhaled slowly. The sting was sharp, then warm, then something else entirely—heat that sank lower than the needle.

She’d stopped pretending weeks ago that it was only the endorphins.

The vibration traveled through her ribs, down into her belly, and settled between her thighs.

She could feel herself getting slick against the thin cotton of her underwear.

The chair was high enough that if she shifted just right, the seam pressed exactly where she needed it.

Chase’s gloved thumb rested just under the lower curve of her breast, steadying the skin.

Not clinical. Not anymore. His fingers were warm even through the nitrile, and every few minutes the pad of his thumb brushed the soft underside in a slow, almost absent stroke while he concentrated on a dense patch of shading.

“You’re taking it well tonight,” he murmured, voice lower than usual. The machine paused. He wiped again, slower this time, watching the way her chest rose and fell. “Usually by this point you’re making those little sounds.”

Jody’s cheeks flushed. She knew exactly which sounds he meant—the soft, involuntary ones that slipped out when the needle dragged across a nerve-rich spot. “Maybe I’m learning.”

“Or maybe you’re just getting used to me.”

He set the machine down, peeled off one glove, and reached for the ointment.

His bare fingers were calloused from years of holding the machine, warm, and deliberately slow as he smoothed the thin layer of balm over the fresh ink.

The touch lingered longer than necessary along the outer curve of her breast, then traced the edge of the sports bra where fabric met flushed skin.

Jody’s pulse kicked hard. She could feel the wet heat between her legs now, unmistakable. When she shifted, the chair creaked and the pressure against her clit made her breath hitch.

Chase noticed. His hand stilled. Dark eyes lifted to hers, and for a second the professional mask slipped. He looked at her the way he looked at a finished piece—hungry, proprietary, like he already owned the skin he was marking.

“You good?” he asked, voice rough.

She nodded, but her thighs pressed together under the sheet draped across her lap. The movement was small. He saw it anyway.

The shop was empty except for the two of them. His apprentice had left an hour ago. The front door was locked. Chase’s hand stayed on her, thumb still stroking the underside of her breast in slow, deliberate arcs while the ointment warmed under his skin.

“Tell me if this is too much,” he said quietly, and then his fingers slipped just under the edge of the sports bra, not far, just enough to feel the soft weight of her. His knuckles brushed the outer curve of her nipple through the thin fabric. Jody’s hips twitched against the chair.

The pain from the needle had faded into a deep, throbbing heat. Every place he’d touched burned in the best way. She could smell the green soap on his wrists, the faint scent of his skin underneath—clean sweat and something darker, like leather and ink.

Chase leaned in slightly, close enough that his breath warmed the side of her neck.

“You’ve been coming back for bigger pieces every time, Jody. Getting closer to the places that make you shake.”

His thumb finally dragged across her nipple, slow and firm.

The thin sports bra might as well have been nothing.

“You think I don’t notice how wet you get when I work this close?”

She made a soft, broken sound. Her hands gripped the arms of the chair. The fresh tattoo pulsed under the ointment, sensitive and hot, and the dual sensation of pain-memory and his deliberate touch made her clit throb in time with her heartbeat.

Chase’s voice dropped even lower. “I’m going to finish this section. Then we’re going to talk about what happens when the gloves come off for real.”

He pulled his hand back, snapped on a fresh glove, and picked up the machine again. The buzz returned. The needle kissed her skin. Jody closed her eyes and tried to breathe through the sharp, electric pleasure-pain while her underwear grew soaked and the air between them turned thick.

Chase didn’t pick the machine back up right away. He stood between her knees, still holding the foot pedal, and looked at the edge of the fresh work where it disappeared under the sports bra.

“Pull it up,” he said. Quiet. Steady. Not a request dressed as anything softer.

Jody’s breath caught. She met his eyes. The shop was locked.

The music was low. No one was coming. She reached up with both hands, hooked her fingers under the band, and dragged the thin fabric up until it rested above her breasts.

Cool air hit her nipples and they tightened instantly.

The new ink on the upper curve of her left breast was still shiny with ointment, red around the edges, the skin raised and hot.

Chase’s gaze dropped. He didn’t hide it. He looked at her the way he looked at a finished piece he was proud of—slow, thorough, already planning the next mark.

“Good girl,” he murmured, and the words landed low in her belly.

He snapped on a fresh glove, picked up the machine, and leaned in.

The needle touched the bare skin just beneath the lower edge of the existing work, right where the soft underside of her breast met the sensitive flesh near her nipple.

The vibration was sharper without fabric between them.

Jody’s back arched. A soft, broken sound slipped out of her throat before she could stop it.

Chase’s free hand settled on her ribs, thumb stroking in slow arcs while he worked.

Every pass of the needle sent a bright, electric sting through her, then a deeper pulse that traveled straight between her legs.

She was already soaked. The thin cotton of her underwear clung to her, the seam pressing against her clit every time she shifted. She couldn’t stop shifting.

He wiped the ink, then let the machine hover again. The tip brushed the outer edge of her nipple—not hard enough to break skin, just enough that the vibration traveled through the sensitive peak. Jody’s hips jerked. Her thighs opened wider on the chair without her meaning to.

Chase set the machine down.

He peeled both gloves off, dropped them in the bin, and looked at her for a long second. “Tell me to stop and I stop. Clear?”

“Don’t stop,” she said, voice rough.

That was all he needed.

He pushed the rolling stool back with his foot and dropped to his knees between her spread thighs.

The sheet that had been draped over her lap was shoved aside.

His hands—warm, ink-stained at the cuticles—slid up the outsides of her thighs, then hooked into the sides of her underwear.

He dragged them down slowly, watching the wet fabric peel away from her.

The scent of her arousal hit the air between them, sharp and sweet.

Jody’s pussy was flushed and slick, the outer lips already parted, her clit swollen and shiny. A thin string of wetness connected her to the cotton as he pulled the underwear free and tossed them aside. Chase exhaled hard through his nose, like the sight of her hit him in the chest.

“Fuck, look at you,” he said, low. “All this from a needle and my hands.”

He leaned in. The first drag of his tongue was flat and slow, from the bottom of her entrance all the way up over her clit.

Jody’s head fell back against the chair.

A broken moan tore out of her. He did it again, slower, tasting her, then sealed his mouth over her clit and sucked—firm, rhythmic, the kind of pressure that made her thighs tremble on either side of his head.

His hands held her open. Thumbs spreading her outer lips so he could get deeper.

He licked into her, tongue pushing inside, then dragged back up to circle her clit with the tip.

Every time the fresh tattoo on her breast throbbed, the dual sensation made her clit pulse harder against his mouth.

She was dripping onto the chair. He made a low, approving sound against her and licked it up.

“Chase—” Her voice cracked.