Craving Sugar

by Elena M. Reyes

  I was hard.

  “Wow,” a voice coughed to my right, pulling my eyes away from Bitty.

  “What—”

  “You can say ‘thank you’ for my gift now and eye fuck her later.” Esther laughed while Bitty turned red around the cheeks.

  This cute little thing blushes?

  “Talan, it’s getting late,” Janice interrupted suddenly, “and we have plans.”

  “I’m sorry,” Bitty spoke up, turning to Esther, “maybe we should come ba—”

  “No.” The word popped out before I could think to stop them.

  “Yes.” My glare cut off Janice before she could continue, eliciting a chastised look from her. Who the hell did she think she was to be so rude and hostile toward my client and someone who I hoped, would soon be my friend?

  “Enough, Janice.” I let the words come out encased in a low, warning growl before turning toward the two women with raised brows. “You two head on back.” Bitty went to protest at my command, but instead bit her lip, causing me to groan. Fuck, I need to get this situation under control. “Esther, you know the drill; lose the shirt and get comfy. Bitty, I want—”

  Bitty crossed her arms, scowling adorably. “Who you calling ‘Bitty’?”

  “You, sweet thing, now quit interrupting me.” Bitty huffed, but I saw no real annoyance in her expression.

  “Talan, can we have a word please?” Janice butt-in, again. If this chick didn’t leave soon she was going to find herself without a job.

  “No, and for fuck’s sake—go home.”

  “But,” she whined and gave me a ridiculous pout. The two other girls in the room laughed. Janice didn’t appreciate this and turned her icy glare on them.

  “Come on, Es, seems the big, bad, tatt boy has his hands full,” Bitty cooed with a sexy giggle and pulled a nosy Esther behind her. The two walked off, down toward the room with my name on the door. They walked in, and while Esther went to strip, Bitty closed the door.

  Her eyes—those damn cat-like grey eyes—set on mine, blazing with amusement while she winked then pushed the door closed.

  “What the fuck was that?” Janice hissed once they were both out of earshot. “You should have a little more—”

  “Get out,” I said through gritted teeth.

  Janice’s jaw jutted forward in defiance. “Are you into that little girl?”

  I pointed toward the door. “Out and quit pushing . . . you’re walking a fine line.”

  Hurt flickered in her eyes. “Talan, I—”

  “Go home, Janice. Go home before I fucking lose the last bit of patience I have today and kick you out permanently.

  2

  Esther was already situated when I walked in; her upper half was bare while she laid down face-first in my chair. Bitty was standing over her friend. The girls were busy talking to themselves, not noticing that I was in the room with them.

  She ran her finger over the tattoo Esther had requested I design. “It’s gorgeous,” she gushed, and my heart— the idiotic and scared fucker—thumped harshly.

  “Talan is the best. He fucking blew me away with what he came up,” Esther said matter-of-factly.

  “I thought you drew this?” Bitty asked, her head tilting to the side, a crease of confusion gracing her brow.

  “No, I did,” I interjected, and she gasped, snatching her hand off the tattered wings we were finishing up tonight. “Like ‘em?”

  “I do.” Bitty bit her lip coyly. “I’ve always wanted a tattoo.”

  A smirk played on my lips. “Do you now? Are you a virgin?”

  “And if I am?” She gulped as I leaned in closer to her.

  “Then let me be your first.” My lips skimmed the shell of her ear, her breathing faulted, and goose bumps arose on her skin.

  “Aren’t you a bit forward?”

  “No, just cocky,” I admitted and pulled away. “But I’ve found that most women like the cock—”

  “Hello,” Esther cried out in mock indignation. “I’m here . . . topless, cold, and not part of this foreplay. Quit it or let me—”

  “Oh, shut it.” Bitty giggled and smacked her annoying friend on the ass. “Besides, aren’t you always going on and on about a certain artist that makes your pussy—”

  “Maya!”

  “What?” Bitty—or Maya, as I now had her name—sang.

  “This has to be the weirdest appointment to date.” I laughed and sat down on my stool.

  “Why?” They both turned their heads my way.

  “Because usually, when a woman is in this room, I’m the center of her attention. You two,” I mock glared, “could give a shit.”

  “Let’s be real here,” Esther huffed, “you only want one woman’s attention in this room.”

  “Jealous?” I grinned at her.

  “No,” she quirked a brow at me, “but keep being a smart ass and I won’t introduce you.”

  “You two do realize I’m standing right here, don’t you?” Bitty complained before marching straight up to where I sat, her slender thighs coming to a halt between my parted legs; so fucking close.

  “Careful, sweetheart; you don’t want to find yourself within my grasp.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because, he’s going to bite you,” Esther mumbled and reached over for her shirt. She covered her front so she could turn my way and begin the introductions without her tits being the center of attention.

  “Let’s get this shit over with, Talan.”

  My eyes snapped to hers, yet my hands reached forward and pulled an already close Bitty, closer.

  “This is my best friend, Maya Owens. She’s just moved down here for school and is interested in a tattoo.”

  “So,” Maya began thirty minutes into my session with Esther, “what’s your story? How’d you get into the business of tattooing?”

  “Why don’t you tell me about you instead?” I’d felt her eyes perusing my ink since we met; it felt good to see the physical evidence of her attraction for me. Bitty’s nipples were pebbled and taut, her cheeks flushed and eyes heavy-lidded while she ate up every flex of muscle I produced when working the gun over her friend’s back.

  “Not much to tell really.”

  “Amuse me.”

  “Fine, but don’t complain to me if you find it boring.” My eye roll earned me a flick to the forehead.

  “If I fuck this up—”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah . . . I’m blaming you.” She waived me off and began to tick off useful facts as if she were reciting a grocery list.

  “I’m twenty, in school to become a marine biologist, parents live in New Jersey . . . oh, and I’m an only child.”

  Esther snorted while I watched her squeak this out. This bullshit was cute.

  “Dude,” my client laughed, “could you have squeaked any faster? Breathe, girly.”

  “Shut it,” Bitty snapped at Esther before turning back to me. “Now, you spill. How long, coolest client or tatt, and finally, who or what, is your fantasy tatt?”

  “Fifteen years.” I said, referring to her first question.

  Bitty laughed at my reply, confusing the fuck out of me. “No way,” she continued laughing, while Esther and I just watched. “I don’t believe you. No way you’re old enough to have been doing it for that long.”

  “Why not?” I was perplexed by this reaction. Was age a problem for her?

  “Because,” Maya huffed, “that would make you over thirty.” Yeah, so.

  “Thirty-four to be exact.”

  “Fuck me.” Bitty choked on her giggle, her voice becoming breathy.

  “Fuck me good—or bad?” I asked.

  “She has a thing for older men.” Esther sighed, sounding almost annoyed with us. “Always has,” she stated in a rather bored tone like this should be common knowledge. “I remember when she went through her James Bond phase . . . the old man with a gun in a tux made her tingle.”

  With my brow raised, I turned to look over at a blushing Bitty. “Really no
w?”

  She nodded and looked down. Oh, no, Bitty, that won’t do.

  My fingers reached over and tilted her face up. My body turned toward hers, our faces mere centimeters away so that her scent was infiltrating every pore in my body.

  Maya’s breaths were coming out in small pants, her chest rising and falling quickly as she too, breathed me in.

  “Don’t be embarrassed, my little Bitty. I’m going to enjoy corrupting every single inch of you.”

  Her breath hitched. “Oh, God.”

  The sound made my cock twitch, making me hiss out a low “fuck.”

  “Jesus Christ on a pogo stick.” My chair groaned. “Can you two get horny after? I’m still half-naked and waiting.”

  Distraction, her name was Maya.

  “Okay, so you answered the age and how long . . . now tell me the how?” Bitty questioned.

  “My father was in the business. He was one of the best, if not the best portrait artist, in my opinion. I watched him as a child and studied his technique on the days he would bring me to his shop.”

  “Too cute.”

  “Woman, men aren’t cute,” I grumbled. “We are strong, virile, handsome . . . but never cute.”

  “Will you get on with the story?” Esther complained before turning her eyes toward the wall of mirrors. I could tell she loved the foreplay her friend and I were displaying.

  On my next pass, I dug the needle a little bit deeper, daring her to say something.

  “As I was saying . . .” I mock glared at Esther. “I watched, learned, and practiced on slabs of pork fat when no one was paying attention. Every time he would throw away a machine, I would hide it to fix later.” Her giggle was distracting.

  “So you taught yourself?”

  I nodded, then verbalized, “Yeah.” I swiped over the area on Esther’s upper blade. The final touches to the wings where I was lighting up certain spots were almost done.

  “I went to him at the age of fifteen and asked him to let me prove myself. The old man didn’t know whether to be proud or laugh, but he parked his butt in the chair and told me I had free reign.”

  “He sounds like an amazing man.” Bitty smiled.

  “He was.”

  Her smile faded in understanding.

  I removed the needle from the tip of the wing I was working on and grabbed her hand. One squeeze and I released. “Best father and friend . . . Old man Cox was so amazed by the small tarantula I did on the back of his calf that I came to work for him every day after my homework was finished. This shop was my second home then, and is my all, now.”

  “So you own this?” Bitty inquired softly.

  “Yes, I do, Bitty. It’s been my pride and joy for years.”

  The final hour of Esther’s session was held in silence. Esther had put in her headphones to help her tune out the world; she was in pain. The flesh of her upper back had become red and it was a problem to keep her still now.

  I was confused. There were these feelings—confusing emotions—swirling inside my chest. They made no fucking sense. How could I be so attracted, and not just physically, to her? To that little girl who strode into my shop with a sassy mouth and a body of sin? If the guys had been here, they would’ve had a field day with this one.

  Maya, on the other hand, stood over me while I finished.

  Her scent. God, that mouthwatering scent of a woman—that girly, soft scent of flowers and sunshine made me leak and draw a spot on my pants. My cock had not seen any action in months and was well aware of the tempting young pussy to my left.

  “Are you almost done?” Maya whispered low, catching me off guard. The gun fell onto Esther’s back with a small thud. Esther didn’t appreciate this and turned to gift me a glare.

  “That makes us even for you being late.” I deadpanned and returned her glare.

  “I thought Maya made us cool?”

  She did, but Esther didn’t need to know that.

  “You used me?” Maya whined.

  “And you loved it, so quit it. Plus, this gives me the perfect opportunity to invite him and his boys out with us on Friday.” Now this had my attention. I wanted to see her again.

  “Where?” I demanded.

  “The Playwright Iris—”

  “On Washington?”

  “Yeah, we’ll be there around nine . . . meeting some friends for dinner and drinks.”

  “Bitty can’t drink,” I blurted out rather rudely. I shouldn’t fucking care, but I do. The idea of her drunk and being harassed didn’t sit well with me.

  “Yes, I can,” Bitty seethed and pulled out what looked like an ID.

  Better not be what I think it is or we were going to have a problem. “Give it.”

  It was irrational the protectiveness I felt for her. She wasn’t my problem.

  “No.”

  “Will you two relax? Jesus; I swear you two will give me an ulcer.” Esther sighed and stood from the chair. She walked over to the tallest mirror in the room and with her back to its front, turned her head to see the final look. “This looks hot . . . wonder what Simon would think?” she mumbled, but it was too late.

  I’d heard.

  “Simon? As in Simon that works here, Simon?”

  “Oh, she’s in l—”

  “Like I was saying,” Esther interrupted before Bitty could finish, “you in?”

  Lust, love . . . what?

  “I could be persuaded into going . . .” I trailed off and turned my eyes toward a smiling Maya.

  “You could, huh?”

  I nodded. Is this really what I wanted? To chase the skirt of a woman so much younger than me?

  “That’s too bad it isn’t a definite yes, but there is that one kid in my class who’s hot and willing to let me—”

  “The fuck?” An emotion I’d never battled with before ran deep through my veins and burned me. The idea of this stranger, this woman, with someone else just didn’t sit well with me.

  “Who else is going to dance with me and keep the drunks from getting grabby?” Maya sassed with a mischievous gleam in her eye. She knew exactly what buttons to push.

  “Done. I’ll be there at nine, and you better not have that kid anywhere near you.

  3

  Three days later, I was sitting at the bar with my boys, waiting. The girls hadn’t arrived yet; I’d wanted to come in early enough to see her enter before they found us.

  Simon had his eyes on the door. Ever since I’d let it slip that Esther was into him, he’d become impatient for tonight to get here.

  Guess he was into her, too.

  Made sense now that I thought about it—he was always around if she was in the shop. Always offering to get her a cup of coffee or tea from the café down the street; the same one she frequented before coming to the shop sometimes. He knew she liked their lattes and used it as an excuse to form conversation. Smooth fucker was slick, I’d give him that. I’d never paid much attention to his antics or how many bullshit excuses he used to come into my room when she was in my chair, though. Not until now, that is.

  Was it fucked up that I used their mutual attraction to get my Bitty alone? Maybe, but who said I gave a fuck? If playing dirty got her closer to me for a few hours, then you wouldn’t hear me complain.

  “Is that her?” Lance asked while pointing toward the door across from where we sat.

  My head whipped around, my neck craning over the crowd of obnoxious wannabes to see her.

  “Guess she is…” I heard one of them in the distance; Maya now had my full attention. My Bitty didn’t disappoint one bit. If my cock thought she was a temptation when we first met, then today she was divine sin. Maya wore a pair of distressed jeans—ripped and splashed with bleach marks along her thighs—that molded to her short stature like a second skin. The waist sat low; low enough to let every motherfucker, including me, visually dine on her delectable hip bones.

  Her shirt was modest and plain, white. It was a simple lace tank, with a matching white bra playing peek-a
-boo through the patches of transparent material. The end of her shirt rested above her navel. So much sweet skin, free of any marks, for me to lust after.

  “Fuck, she’s hot,” Simon stated and Lance whistled.

  Red hot lava ran through my veins at their appreciative leers. “Off limits.”

  “But—” they both whined.

  “No.”

  It was during this exchange that the girls found us. I felt her before she arrived.

  “No, what?” Maya teased with a knowing look in her eyes. Her face was beautiful; minimal makeup . . . natural perfection. All she wore make-up wise was black eyeliner to make those greys pop and lip-gloss to entice my penchant to nibble.

  “Before I answer…” I reached out and pulled her forward by the hand. Bitty didn’t hesitate, letting me pull her to stand between my legs. “You look like sin and smell of heaven.”

  She bit her lip coyly and looked me up and down. “You look delicious yourself.”

  “Hi, I’m Simon, and this is Lance. What’s your name, beautiful?” The soon-to-be-dead artist to my right stuck his hand between us, forcing her attention away from me.

  I growled.

  “Bad boy,” Maya scolded. “No growling out warnings.”

  “Can I bite you instead?”

  “It’s like we aren’t even here,” I heard Lance complain, but paid him no mind. Let them entertain themselves.

  “I’m sorry; this is incredibly rude of us.” She turned away from me. “Name’s Maya. Nice to meet you.”

  “Very nice to meet you,” Lance answered before elbowing a mesmerized Simon into the present. Somewhere between his introductions, my growl, and Esther coming to stand next to him my boy had become a mute.

  “Sorry,” he smiled sheepishly after regaining some composure, “got distracted.”

  “It’s okay.” Bitty laughed and shook her head. “I know the distraction in question and she very much enjoys the attention. Your attention,” she mumbled the last part under her breath. It wasn’t low enough, though; much to Simon’s pleasure and Esther’s embarrassment.