by Kole, Lana
He was hard, and he inched his hips back a bit so she didn’t accidentally touch him.
How embarrassing.
He was an alpha, he had complete control over every damned aspect of his life, yet he couldn’t give Lyric a simple tattoo without wanting to bend her over the table.
The buzz of the gun was loud in the room, but it was the buzz of his blood that distracted him the most.
Her fingers would tighten and release against the edge of the table every few minutes, just like she’d likely be doing if he were inside her.
Stop that.
The tattoo wasn’t painless. Thigh pieces were popular, but not always the least painful.
At least she didn’t take you seriously about getting it on her ass.
Henry almost groaned at the thought.
What a nightmare that would be.
Or a dream.
He blocked the images threatening to manifest from his mind, focusing on the task at hand.
Glancing up, he caught her gaze and found something totally unexpected.
Desire.
Knowing she was struggling with his touch as much as he was touching her…
Just made everything so much harder.
Including his dick.
He sat the gun to the side, ready to change colors, and shut the gun off for the moment.
The silence was loud, but her soft breaths were louder.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he said, voice raspy as if some part of him didn’t want to say the words so they’d barely scraped past his lips.
She shifted on the table, removing her hands from the edge to flex them. They had to be getting sore from how tight she was gripping the lip.
“Like what?” she asked.
“Like you’re as close as I am to giving in.”
He averted his gaze, afraid of what he would find if he watched her reaction. Because if he saw the slightest hint of give… not even he was strong enough to resist.
Lyric was an omega. It was natural for him to gravitate toward her, but he’d worked with omegas before. Never had he struggled so hard to resist one.
Something was different about her, and while he had a list a mile long of just what made her so special, he tried his hardest to avoid thinking about it.
His job was to take care of her. As her tour manager, he was in charge of making her life easier on the road, making sure things ran smoothly. But too often he found himself wishing to make her happy, and it had nothing to do with his job title.
The conversation with Emerson came floating back to him.
Don’t wait too long.
Too long for what? For the end of the tour?
What exactly did Emerson and Adra hope to get out of this tour?
The better question… what was Lyric looking for? Was she even aware how close the three of them had drifted?
Ironically, he felt he was stranded on that beach, watching the three of them sail away and leave him behind.
Ludicrous.
That was what his thoughts were.
Andi had given him the rundown on Lyric. What kind of omega she was… and what kind she refused to be.
Henry bet she had no idea just how much she resembled the omega she didn’t want to be. He also bet she’d never been happier.
The bond between the three of them was growing stronger every day, emotionally. Henry knew Odd’s and Emerson’s teeth had gotten nowhere near her flesh, but just watching them in a room together was enough to see their bond went beyond their physical desires.
Did he think Lyric was strong enough to leave them behind once the tour was over?
Yes. Yes he did.
Emerson and Adra obviously knew this too, or they wouldn’t be trying so hard. Maybe it was simply that they wanted to show her that not all packs were as terrible as she’d clearly been raised to believe.
Or maybe they were putting their hearts on the line even though they’d been burned before. They had to know the risk they were taking, had to know how strong Lyric was in her reservations, how stubborn.
Hell, she was sitting here getting a simple tattoo after thinking about it for only a week.
Lyric never responded to his comment, and maybe that was for the best. Her cheeks were flushed red, and she kept her gaze locked on the streaks of ink staining her skin.
“It looks good so far,” she murmured.
“Thank you. Adra did an amazing job designing it.”
Small talk. Safe. Boring.
“It’ll look even better when it’s done. Especially if it turns out anything like the ones you have.” Her gaze raked over his arms.
Not safe. Not boring.
“Yours will look even better than mine.”
Partly because his resolve was iron strong, and he was forcing all of his concentration into making sure he didn’t fuck up. And also because this was Lyric. He wouldn’t dare mark her perfect skin with a flaw.
“The blending is what’s going to hurt the worst. Do you need water or anything?” he asked first.
“Actually, a water would be great right now,” she answered with a soft smile.
Great. Henry could get a water. He ignored the blood rushing to his face as he stood and slid out from behind the table, avoiding her knees as he moved.
As soon as he could, he turned his back to her and adjusted himself, trying to make the bulge in his pants less obnoxious.
He grabbed two waters and returned, noticing her cheeks were even pinker, and her gaze was determinedly sticking north.
After taking his seat, he drew in a slow, deep breath, but quickly realized what a mistake that was. Lyric’s scent filled him, honey and lavender and her. Aroused.
It took everything in him not to say anything, so he regloved and got back to work.
For the most part, Lyric remained quiet. She winced every now and then, but the buzz of the needle stroking back and forth over her skin was lulling.
“Ass hurt?” he asked her when he switched colors again. “You’ve been sitting for a while.”
Her cheeks bloomed with color, but she nodded and then stood to walk around a bit.
A bad idea came to mind, but he opened his mouth to speak before he could talk himself out of it. “Do you wanna lie down? It’ll be more comfortable.”
She shrugged, tugging the hem of her shorts up a bit more. “Sure. Where at?”
“Just lie along the table,” he directed, and grabbed her a pillow.
So what if it was one of the ones he slept on every night? It wasn’t on purpose, it was just the closest one he grabbed.
Sure, keep telling yourself that.
He put the pillow on the table and left it for her to adjust as he grabbed a folding chair. He placed it at the end of the table, spread his legs, and placed her foot on the edge of the chair.
“Comfortable?” he checked.
This was the final stretch. Just maybe fifteen, twenty more minutes, and he could barricade himself in the shower to stroke one out.
“Yeah, I’m good,” she replied.
He glanced up the length of her, her hands placed casually over her stomach, clenching each other almost as tightly as she had the edge of the table.
Henry was right, having her lie on the table was the worst idea ever. It was far too easy to imagine himself dipping down to place a kiss on her thigh, moving north, tasting her…
Henry shifted on the chair, the damned thing squeaking in protest as he placed his palm on her thigh again to steady her.
She jumped at his touch, and he had to bite the inside of his cheek as she apologized softly. She was so on edge, so tense, just like him.
She’d be just as sensitive too, just as responsive, but he tried not to think about that.
And failed.
The buzz of the gun filled his ears, and as the color bloomed on her skin, filling in her tattoo, he focused on his work. On giving her the best damned tattoo he could.
And by the time it was over, he felt like he�
�d run a marathon.
His cock was rock-hard, and he wanted more than anything to kiss her, to taste her.
But instead he focused on explaining the after care, assuring her that he’d check it every few days if she wanted.
“And even if you don’t, I’ll probably do it anyway,” he warned.
She rolled her eyes, but knew he was serious. He swiped the tattoo with antibacterial solution and told her to get a good look at it.
“I’ll put the derma bandage on, so get a good look now. It’ll be a while before we can remove this.”
Lyric hopped up and went to look at the tattoo in the full-length mirror.
“It looks so good,” she breathed, her fingers ghosting over the area but not touching. “You’re talented. Wow. Look at how you blended those colors!”
Henry mumbled, “Thanks,” and packed his gear away as she took a few pictures. When he turned back around, she was seated on the table, still staring at the permanent art.
“Okay, bandage me up,” she said. Her grin was carefree and excited, but the longer they stared, the more it wilted.
No, not wilted. While it did fade, it wasn’t gone completely, it just… morphed. Into desire.
Henry avoided her gaze. Only a few more seconds, and he could escape. He never ever became intimate with clients, and never on the bus. That was his one goddamned rule.
Carefully, he laid the bandage over her tattoo, which would keep the colors vibrant and protect her skin during the healing process.
He smoothed the edges with his thumbs, his first touch against her skin without the latex of gloves between them. His hands went rogue, smoothing over the seams of the bandages a few more times than necessary. Once he realized what he was doing, he lifted his hands away and lowered them to his sides.
“You’re good to—”
“Henry,” Lyric interrupted.
He lifted his gaze from her thigh to her eyes, and his heart almost burst out of his chest.
“Too much,” she warned.
Henry’s pulse skyrocketed as he took a half step back, but she was off the table and wrapping a hand around the back of his neck before he was ready. He stumbled into her, and it gave Lyric the leverage she needed to yank his head down to hers.
Henry groaned but pulled back a split second later. It was only long enough for him to read her expression, but it was filled with the same desire he’d been fighting all day.
Her nails dug into the back of his neck, and he let his hands feather down to rest on her hips.
“Lyric,” he breathed.
Fuck.
He was about to break his own damned rule.
Some things in life just didn’t go to plan. At least, that was what Lyric told herself as she finally gave in.
It’s just a tattoo, she mocked herself silently.
His lips bruised hers as he lowered his head and took her mouth. This time it wasn’t a simple touch, a taste. He devoured her, and she parted her lips beneath his.
After being surrounded by Henry… his touch, his scent, him for over an hour… she couldn’t take it anymore. Not after his palm warmed her thigh just long enough to heat her skin before he would shift, dragging his touch a centimeter in another direction. The heat spread out from that one point of contact to warm her entire body.
They were like two puzzle pieces, him between her legs, she between his. She wanted to shift her foot forward, see if she could tease him, feel that bulge she hoped was all for her.
But she was good. Or she had tried to be. And she thought she’d succeed too, until she realized the moment she’d been hoping for was going to slip away.
Henry wasn’t going to make a move. He was going to resist, even if it killed him. Lyric wished she had that resolve, and part of her knew she should follow his lead, ignore the throb of need that pulsed between her thighs, but…
She couldn’t.
But more importantly… she didn’t want to.
Her thigh was aflame from the abuse it’d taken in the past hour, but a totally different heat engulfed her. It made the grip she had on his neck turn sharp, her nails digging into his skin as she pulled him closer. His hands framed her hips and he pulled her into him. She ignored the sting of pain from her tattoo and dropped her hold from his neck to fist his shirt.
He groaned into the kiss, the sound vibrating against her lips. She whimpered as he leaned down, palmed the back of her upper thighs, and lifted her to sit on the same table she’d spent the last hour on.
“Dammit, Lyric. I’ve been envisioning this for the last hour.”
“Just the last hour?” she teased.
She’d had similar thoughts for the past few weeks. Not just hours.
Lyric nipped at his neck, drawing in a deep breath of his scent. Spice and musk and everything alpha.
“What cologne are you wearing?” The words came out before she realized she was asking them.
He stiffened beneath her touch, and Lyric drew back, her gaze rising to meet his, and she winced under the weight of his stare. At first, just curiosity, then realization. “I take it you really did stop taking your suppressants?”
Lyric nodded, his scent swarming her.
“Without your suppressants, I think your sense of smell is strengthening.”
“Oh...” She had been so damned concerned about the others, it hadn’t even crossed her mind how else the suppressants would affect her.
Had Henry’s scent always been this delicious? How was she supposed to resist him now?
“Is that a problem?” she asked, or dared, or—something. She just knew Henry was a challenge and she wanted to rise to the occasion.
He barked out a laugh. “No one talks to me like you do.”
Lyric’s first instinct was to shrink under his observation, but she stomped it down and shrugged.
“I can take care of myself just fine. Have been doing it for years before you came along. Sorry if you feel unneeded.”
“My job is far from obsolete. You’re trouble, Lyric,” he growled.
She smirked and patted his chest, staring up at his hazel eyes. “Good. Someone’s gotta keep you on your toes and make sure you stay in line.”
Lyric shook her head before she turned and stepped around the table. She intended to retreat to her nest, and lament over how stupid she was to think…
Henry grabbed her hand, tugging her around to face him as he pushed her backwards a single step. Her back nudged the wall, and Henry cupped one hand around the back of her head so she didn’t bump it, and planted the other next to her head as he stared down at her. He towered over her, his gaze deep and burning.
“If anyone needs help staying in line, it’s you,” he rumbled. Threatened. Promised.
She wasn’t quite sure what it was supposed to be, but in the next second, she didn’t even care because he tightened his hand around the back of her neck and swooped down, claiming her lips with his.
A moan slipped out as his warmth surrounded her, and her hands landed on his chest reflexively, intending to push him away. Instead, her fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt as he pulled and sipped from her lips. He swiped his tongue over the seam, and she opened to him as naturally as if they’d done this a thousand times.
He tasted like everything she expected him to. Like late nights and bad decisions that were oh so good.
His hands dropped from behind her head to her sides, his thumbs caressing the skin he could reach as he burrowed them under her shirt. It sucked her further under his spell, and she’d never been so goddamned happy to break a stupid rule in her life.
“Table,” she muttered into the kiss, and Henry was moving before she even finished the word. She gripped his arms to feel his muscles flex and shift as he dropped his hands below her ass and lifted.
After being tossed around the room by Adra and Emerson, Lyric thought being lifted so effortlessly would’ve gotten old.
She was wrong.
It was still hot as hell. But even hotter
than carefully placing her on the table, cautious not to disturb her new ink?
Was the way he pulled her to the very edge of it, his hands smoothing over her skin, her inner thighs. The places she’d been hoping he’d touch her for the last hour.
She tilted her head up to him, a flower seeking the sun, and he met her halfway, nipping at her bottom lip before soothing the sting away with softer presses. “Forgive me for asking, but do your suppressants double as birth control?”
His fingers tightened around her thighs just slightly, but she eased his worries with, “No. I take that separately, a shot every three years so I don’t have to think about it.”
“Good,” he said, his voice dark and more dangerous than she’d ever heard it, but only dangerous to her sanity. Because that look in his eyes, the heat flickering there said he wanted to drive her crazy. “But before we do anything, I need to make sure you’re okay with this. The suppressants—”
Lyric lifted a hand and placed it over his mouth to keep him from finishing the thought, question, suggestion, whatever. His breath was warm against her hand, his lips pursing in a soft kiss. “I’m fine. I’m ready. I should probably be asking you that question. I’m the one who stopped taking the suppressants, so my scent is stronger and—”
Henry nipped her palm, then gripped her wrist gently and lowered it so he could speak. “Lyric, I’ve been attracted to you since I first saw you. Smart mouth and all of your sass included. Your suppressants have nothing to do with how much I want you.”
Her heart stuttered in its tracks, skipping a beat as her breath caught. The truth of what he said shined out of the wheatfield swirl in his gaze.
“Okay,” Lyric said, dazed and totally, definitely aroused.
“Okay?” he questioned, breathing the word beside her ear. “That’s all?”
Lyric huffed, her nails clawing into his sides. “What, you want a handwritten invitation?”
His chuckle was deep and low, vibrating right above her skin, making chills spread out and trickle down her body. “A simple, ‘I want you too,’ would suffice,” he murmured.
Lyric swallowed. “Henry, I want you,” she breathed in response, barely able to catch her breath to even voice it.