by Hunter Rose
3
Zacchary
“Come on, dude. Relax.” Fuck, I hate these guys who come in here acting all confident, and then lose it when I approach their skin with the machine.
“Sorry, I can’t do this.” My customer makes to get up.
I place my hand on his arm and flick my head in the direction of the door of the private room he’d insisted I work in. I smile weakly when I see understanding dawn on the young guy’s face. His girlfriend stands by the door, looking at us with a quizzical expression on her features.
“You’re lucky she has a short name. Dude, if she had a name like Anastasia-Morgana-Eloise,” I say, letting the air hiss out of my mouth, “you’d be here all fucking night.” I’m exaggerating of course, but my words have the necessary effect. The guy laughs a little and calms down.
“Let’s do this,” he says.
I nod. “Bee it is then. Do you want me to add an image of a really cool bee to the lettering?”
My customer blanches.
“Yeah, that would be awesome,” says Bee, approaching from the door. She strokes her guy’s hair and smiles down at him. Bee turns her head and looks at me. “Can you make it a really sexy bee?”
I growl. Bee’s kind of cute, if you like the Gothic sort. I just don’t understand what her college-type boyfriend is doing with such a girl. I wonder what’ll happen when Bee wants him to have a piercing. I study her face. I estimate that she’s had all the works done. Judging by her nose ring, myriad ear piercings and the obvious navel piercing winking at me, I am confident her clit’s all decked out with the likes.
“What’ll it be, friend? A bee to go with the Bee?” I chuckle.
The young man laughs with me a little too hysterically, then looks at Bee and nods. “Do it man.” He wipes the sweat off his forehead with his arm.
“Alright, buddy. You just hit the point of no return.” I move in with the iron, half expecting him to jump up again, but he remains still. He winces when the first needle pierces his skin. “Breathe, man,” I order.
A series of deep breaths follows, and he finally calms down when he sees the happy expression on his gal’s face.
I barely notice the two of them talk while I work. I look up briefly when I hear Bee going on about how cool it would be if he had a cock piercing. I have to stifle a laugh when I see the color leaving his face. Taking into consideration how well he’s done so far, I help the poor guy out. “Hey, Bee?”
“Yeah?”
“Why don’t you keep his cock just the way it is for a while, huh?”
“What’s it to you?” Her face lights up. “I love it when a guy has jewelry down there. And besides . . .” Bee flicks her tongue at me with a silver ring and a bulbous bauble dangling from it. “He loves it when I suck him off with this.”
I burst out laughing. “I bet he does. But my friend here,” I say, putting the gun down and patting his leg, “has done enough in proving his love for you, for now at least.” I pick up a mirror on my worktable nearby and hold it up. “What do you think?”
“That’s awesome. Thanks, man.” He studies his bicep, with the sexy bee wearing dark sunglasses and Bee’s name written above it in cool, Gothic lettering. I stifle a snicker upon seeing him trying to bravely hold back a stab of pain.
For a moment, I think he was going to hug me, but Bee saved me from that fate as she started frenching him like a wild woman. “Okay, guys. Get the fuck out of here and get a room,” I say, daubing the tattooed area with a healing ointment. When I’m done, I bandage him up and get to my feet.
“Thanks, Zac.” Bee gets on her tiptoes and plants a kiss on my lips. She turns. “Come on, baby.” She pulls her guy by the hand. He waves his free hand and heaps endless protestations of thanks upon me.
When I hear the bell hanging over the front door jingle, the sound of two girls laughing hits me. “What the fuck is it now?” The last thing I want is to have to work on some drunken broads. I look up at the clock hanging on the wall. It’s close to midnight and nearly time to close up shop. I walk out of the private room with a mind to kick the giggling bitches out.
“Holly shit,” I blurt. Next to a tittering gal with a mane of hair that reminds me of Marge Simpson stands the most gorgeous piece of work I’ve ever seen. She immediately stops laughing when she sees me. Her jaw drops, revealing a row of the most perfectly set teeth that rise up behind some plump, kiss-me-right-away lips. She’s like something that just walked off the red carpet, but better.
I gulp when she shifts her weight from one foot to the other. My cock jolts when her tits undulate under her skimpy shirt and her nipples press against the thin fabric. Jesus, they’re hard for me. Controlling myself, I look her in the eyes—damn, they’re impossibly blue. My gaze scans her blonde hair that falls from her head and down her neck like a golden cascade. I’ve got a prettier version of Alice Eve standing in my parlor. My gaze drops. Yep, her tits are as big, too.
4
Stella
“I’ve got a pair of eyes too, you know.” Getting over the super-hot tattoo artist, I walk up to the counter and dump my Céline handbag onto it. “I want a tattoo.” I slowly turn after my haughty introduction. Usually, everybody jumps when I give a command, so I can’t help but flinch when I see him scowl. The gesture makes the dark-haired Adonis—no, too effeminate—the Gerard Butler look-alike appear feral. Jesus, I bet he looks just like that when he makes love to a girl.
“I’m closing up,” he snarls, walking up to stand in front of me. My earlier command had no effect on him. The man is a tower of self-confidence.
I flinch when he picks up my designer handbag that costs more than four thousand dollars and rams it into my hands as if it were a paper bag. This action only briefly distracts me from the manly fragrance wafting from his incredible physique. I hold my breath lest it sizzles the synapses in my brain, turning me to putty in his arms.
“Take this ugly thing and round up your buddies and get the hell out of here.”
The ten rating for looks I’d initially given him drops to below five. What an asshole.
“I’ll have you know that’s a Céline.” I can’t believe that he would call one of my favorite handbags ugly. I lift it up lamely. The man’s masculinity and rugged good looks have completely taken away all of my usual overconfidence.
“Okay, Céline. Why don’t you take Serge and Clarence over there,” he points at Cornelius and Chase, then turns to look at Crystal, “and Marge Simpson, and go back to whatever bar you’ve been getting drunk in.”
I look around the parlor hastily. The place is nothing special, but then I guess this isn’t a beauty salon in Beverly Hills. My inspection stops. A faint smile flickers across my lips. My dad always told me that you have to comment positively on a person’s profession to pique their interest and soften their obduracy. This troglodyte will fall like a domino.
“Why’d you call your place the Eye of the Needle?” I use my sweetest voice, despite the anger burbling inside of me.
“This isn’t my place. Now leave.” He moves his bulk forward. The guy’s like a mountain on the move as he forces me back. I glance behind me. Crystal is flabbergasted. I can’t tell whether she’s melting between her legs or if she’s just plain scared. The two Stanford fellows are freaked out, turning to open the door. It rings like it did when we stepped in earlier.
I muster all of my resolve. “So, you just work here, huh?”
The scowl on his face reaches epic proportions.
My eyes drop. I look for something to change his mind. I don’t know why. I should be happy that I don’t have to go through with the stupid bet I made with the others back at the bar in the Petit Versailles. My primal instincts have taken over. I really want to have a tat, but there’s also something else that I do not recognize at first.
I look up. That piercing gaze. I don’t know whether he’s undressing me with it or trying to kill me. It holds me in a vice. His look takes my mind to strange places and makes my body rea
ct in ways I don’t recognize. Instinctively, I want to know more about this man. I want to stay, and the tattoo is not the only reason.
By the time we reach the door, I notice something on the bulging muscles on his left arm. I have to force the image of those arms pinning me down on the mattress out of my mind. “That’s beautiful.” I gulp when my fingertips briefly brush his skin. The touch sends a jolt through my body. I’m behaving like a girl on prom night. Why does this beast of a man have such an effect on me? Usually, I am in control.
He looks down. I see a small smile flicker across his sensual lips that could kiss a girl to nirvana and back.
“Azure,” I read. I know that I have him. The softening of his mien catapults his fiver rating past ten and beyond. Shit, he’s just too hot. I should tell my dad about him. He could find a spot for such a rugged man in one of the action movies he produces.
“Yeah, my little girl.” His smile grows.
“Aw, that’s so sweet. You have your girlfriend’s name tattooed onto your arm.”
“Not a fucking girlfriend,” he snorts like a silverback gorilla. “Who the hell would tattoo their girlfriend’s name on their body but some loser?” He comes to a stop as I stand in the doorframe. “It’s my daughter’s name.”
This time his smile is even more magnetic. I feel my pussy clench. Also, I’m psyched that he doesn’t have a girlfriend and then it hits me: he has a wife. The sensations make me more stubborn instead of desirous. I really want this, and he’s not going to get in my way. “A daughter, huh?”
“Yeah, a daughter. You got a problem with that?”
I raise my hands. This is not going as I’d envisioned it. His hackles are up again. This man is like some bristling porcupine with a major attitude problem. “No, why would I have a problem with that?”
He shrugs but does not answer.
“I think it’s great that you have a tattoo of your daughter’s name on your arm. What about your wife? Where’s her name?” It was the wrong thing to say. Damn, usually I’m really good at this. I shouldn’t have had so much to drink. Every time I open my mouth, I say something that appears to offend him. I have to say something. He’s making to push me out.
“I really want this tattoo, sir. And I heard that you are the best artist in town.” I say, as I try to will him with my gaze to relent.
“Where’d you get that information?” He smiles like he doesn’t believe my story.
“Some guy at the Petit Versailles told me,” I lie.
The hunk arches his eyebrows. “Giovanni?”
Air hisses past my lips. “Yeah, Giovanni. He told me about you. We started speaking while I was admiring some incredible paintings in the hallway. He said that you were the best tattoo artist in town when I told him what I needed.” I could swear that I saw him smile when I mentioned the paintings. I frown. That was a lucky bluff.
“You’ve got good credentials; I’ll give you that. Giovanni is a buddy of mine, but sorry, it’s past midnight and I’m closing up.” He moves forward again.
“I’ll pay you a thousand bucks for the tat,” I blurt, rummaging in my handbag demonstratively. I pull out my purse. Before I remove some money, I point to my groin area. “I want it there.”
5
Zacchary
Fuck me! Is this broad for real? Automatically, my feet stop moving again. I can’t take my eyes off her long, tapering finger pointing at a spot close to her pussy. I look up; the expression on her face is so hot—her lips pressed together and those eyebrows that make me think of stuff. Suddenly, I’m reminded of something I read some time ago about the relationship between eyebrows and a woman’s pubic hair. It would be nice to see what she looks like down there.
“Sorry, I have to close up now,” I say, letting reason take over. I have a daughter and the last thing my little girl needs is her father thinking about some woman’s pussy. I step closer to her and place my hand on the doorframe.
“I’ll pay you two grand for the tattoo. Please, sir. I really want this,” she says, brandishing a wad of crisp dollar bills under my nose.
The sight of the money makes my brain switch to overdrive. I think of all of the things I could get my baby girl with the cash. Azure would look so cute in that dress we saw at the mall the other day. My heart melts when I think of how little I’ve bought her and still, she’s as happy as can be. Fifteen-year-old girls always need new stuff. I press my lips together in thought.
The triumphant smirk on the woman’s face as she stands in the doorway to my parlor makes me want to throw her out onto the street just to make a point. I’d so love to hear her swear when her cute butt hits the pavement. I bet she’s one of those types who always gets what she wants just by wiggling that amazing ass of hers and batting those eyelashes.
Concentrate, stop thinking about her ass—her tits then. For a split second, my gaze rests on them. I feel my cock move in my briefs and start to press against my jeans. Damn, this is for Azure and not for you.
I look up into the smug woman’s face. I grimace and snatch the notes from her hand.
“Hey,” she says, following me back into the parlor.
I start counting. I’m fast because I used to work in an illegal gambling establishment before I got the job at The Eye of the Needle. I’d work just about anywhere to earn a living, so that my daughter and I can live okay.
“Here’s one hundred back,” I say, turning around and handing her a note. She arches her perfectly plucked eyebrows. Looking at them, the magazine article comes back to the forefront of my mind. I wonder whether her pussy is as meticulously turned-out as those eyebrows. Another rub of the tip of my cock against the roughness of my jeans reminds me that I have to stop this line of thinking.
“Consider it your tip.” She flashes a megawatt smile that could melt the whole of the North Pole.
“Then you owe me another three hundred when I’m done,” I say, taking the note back and placing it with the rest.
She pleats her brow. “You have some nerve. Why the fuck would I do that?”
It somehow doesn’t sound right when she swears. “It is practice in my line of work to give the tattoo artist a twenty percent gratuity for work well done.”
“So, you’re an artist, huh?”
I don’t answer her and behave as if the question is the stupidest one I have ever heard in my life. “You can come back in if you want,” I say to her companions. I leer at them when I see their reluctance.
Marge Simpson is the first to move. She comes at me with newfound determination and a faint smile on her face. “Hi, I’m Crystal.” She holds out her hand.
“Zac,” I grunt. My gaze shifts to the two suits. “You brought your lawyers along?”
The blonde bombshell turns her head and laughs. The sound is infectious. It has the skin on my arms tingling. “No, we met these two gentlemen back at the Petit Versailles.”
I roll my eyes. “Welcome, guys. I guess you want to see your lays for the night squeal nicely before you make your minds up?” I guffaw.
“I will have you know that I am not that easy,” snaps blondie. Her friend finds my joke funny. The guys laugh nervously.
I arch my eyebrows. “Really? We’ll see about that.” Somehow, I’m not referring to Tweedledee and Tweedledum. I am thinking how long it would take for me to melt her panties away and get my tongue on the sweet merchandise I’m confident is hidden between her legs.
I move around the counter. “I need a valid ID,” I command, sliding a document I removed from under the desk across the surface.
“What’s this? It’s not like I’m buying a car,” says blondie. Crystal and the others laugh.
“No, you are mutilating your body.”
Blondie arches her eyebrows. The gesture makes me think of her pussy again. Damn, I’ve got to stop this. “That’s what certain doctors say about tattoo art.” I push the paper right under blondie’s nose. “Just fill the fucking thing in, and I might be able to get out of here before dawn.”<
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I watch her take the pen from the counter and start writing. Her fingers are long and slender. I hate the red nail varnish, though. It reminds me of my ex-wife. The only sound in the parlor is the scribbling of the pen, the noise of the traffic outside, and the deep breathing of the lawyer lookalikes.
“Stella,” I say, taking the document she hands me. “Bel Air.” I whistle. “Nice address, your royal hotness.” I wink at her, and immediately curse inwardly for flirting with her so brazenly. It had just felt right since finding out her name. I play it around in my head a bit and decide it suits her.
“Where was it you wanted your tat? You mentioned it earlier, but I seem to have forgotten.” I can remember it exactly, but I want to see her point at her pussy again. Just for the sake of it. “Oh, you’ve also got to decide what design you want,” I add for good measure.
Seeing her hesitation, I pull my t-shirt over my head.. There should be enough tats on me for her to get an idea of what she wants. Damn, I hate it when people can’t make their minds up. I scowl, the brief softening of my stance toward her dissolved into nothingness again.
6
Stella
I knew he would be in shape, but this is incredible. My eyes scan Zac’s perfect body, from his pecs and toned chest to his muscular biceps. I can’t stop my gaze from roaming to the bulge in his tight jeans. Has he got a boner? Crystal’s gasp answers my question.
Then, my eyes snap up until they come to a rest on two deep blue pools twinkling back at me. They are dark and foreboding, while at the same time revealing hints of warmth and to my great surprise humor.
It is then that I realize that it’s the first time I have actually looked him in the eyes for longer than a millisecond. Now I know why. His gaze is either intimidating or freakishly hot. Right now, I don’t know which it is. I check out his body once more. I never liked men with tattoos, but Zac’s different, I decide. They make him look incredibly sexy, but he also has the body to get away with it.