Total pages in book: 64
Estimated words: 61100 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 306(@200wpm)___ 244(@250wpm)___ 204(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61100 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 306(@200wpm)___ 244(@250wpm)___ 204(@300wpm)
30
ROSE
The brothers in ink insist that I come to their shop or house at least once a day so they can care for my tattoo as it heals. I’d been seeing them nearly every day already, but since it isn’t always possible to fit a visit into my schedule, they start placing coffee orders again to give me an added excuse to come to the shop at least five days of the week.
Once I see what the actual care consists of—washing the tattoo and applying ointment or lotion that can be purchased at any drugstore—I realize that they’re just using the tattoo as an excuse to have me stop by every day, and I’m very flattered.
“Do you offer this kind of after-care service to all of your clients?” I ask as Hutch smooths a thin layer of lotion over my tattoo. It’s been less than a week, and it seems to be healing very well. It looks better as each day goes by, though they did warn me to expect it to fade eventually. I try not to draw comparisons between the artwork fading and our relationship—if you can call it that—fading someday.
“Only for you, beautiful,” Hutch says, giving me a tender kiss.
On the rare occasions that their shop is empty, my care visits involve sex with one or two of the men. Once, even when the others were busy with clients, Christian pulled me into the back office and made me come with his talented fingers, his other hand on my mouth to muffle the moans I couldn’t hold back.
After a few weeks of this daily bliss, Hutch declares me fully healed during one of my coffee delivery visits.
“We don’t have any clients coming in for another hour,” he tells me, sliding a hand low on my back, teasing the waistband of my skirt. “I think we should celebrate.”
“Celebrate that my tattoo is healed?”
“Sure.” His fingers dip down to the tops of my ass cheeks, sending a thrill up my spine.
“Sounds like a great idea to me,” Mace says, claiming a kiss of his own, his hand caressing my upper back.
I melt into them, the way I always do, and within no time at all, they have my panties off, my skirt pushed up to my hips, and my body bent over Hutch’s table. My pussy practically gets wet every time I walk through their door, but today I’m drenched, and Christian is kneeling behind me, his tongue making me ever wetter.
In front of me, Hutch toys with my breasts while he kisses me, and it’s him I grab onto when Christian’s big cock presses inside me, filling me with one smooth stroke.
I cry out at his first thrust, and whimper through the others as he takes me hard and fast. He strokes my clit while he fucks me, and I come in less than a minute, my cries echoing off the walls, blending in with the ever-present ‘90s music that fills the space.
After Christian comes, Mace takes his place, then Hutch, then Zipper, each of them making me come—they always make sure I come first—before they reach their climaxes.
I’ve built up a lot of stamina over the past couple of months I’ve been seeing them. I might have been overwhelmed by four back-to-back quickies a while ago, but today, I’m energized and glowing, so happy to be able to give them all pleasure, and so grateful for all the pleasure they give me.
“That was quite the celebration,” I say as I put my clothes back on. “I might have to get another tattoo, just so I can enjoy another celebration.”
Hutch takes a seat on the table and pulls me into his lap. “You know very well that we don’t need a special occasion. Just say the word.”
Christian’s hand caresses my knee. “In fact, why don’t you come over tonight?”
“I wish I could,” I say with a pout. “I have to work.”
“Afterward?” Christian asks.
“I really shouldn’t. I can come on my next night off, though.”
Hutch’s hands stroke over my arms and he gives me a squeeze. “I wish you weren’t working two jobs.”
I tip my head to the side so that I kiss his chin, which is nuzzled against my head. “I know. It won’t be like this much longer, though. When I move into my apartment, I’ll have more flexibility. We can spend the night together then.”
“When do you think you’ll be moving?” Hutch asks.
I had wanted it to be a surprise, but I’m too excited to keep it a secret, even though I feel a little funny when I remember Hutch’s offer to help with money for the apartment.
“Tomorrow!” I say. “A unit was finally available.” I’m afraid I’m grinning like a child at the thought of being able to come and go as I please.
“Can we help you move your things?” he asks.