Taking Over Me Deebelle1
Rated: NC17
Warnings: Includes a Slash flashback, Adult Language, and Sexual Situations aka Lemony Goodness
Beta'd By Brie and Ysar
Summary: Iz's life was never easy, and when she met E after arriving back home, everything changed. He takes over her every thought until finally, she caves and asks him to tattoo her. Sometimes tattoos aren't the only thing getting skin deep. One Shot for Fandom4Friends
~Taking Over Me~
No one forgets the first time they get a tattoo. Or the second, or the third ... You get the idea.
It's an addiction from which you can never escape, an inked reminder literally under your skin that never stops calling you back for more. More pleasure and more pain. The natural high of adrenaline rushes through your body at an unstoppable rate until you feel like you can't take it anymore and crash, like a drug addict after a four-day binge. At least that's what it did to me. The rush it gave me was unlike anything I had ever experienced before, and I didn't think I would ever experience something like it again - at least not without the needles penetrating my skin.
I wanted to; I just didn't think it would happen. But you know what they say… Never say never.
I started college one month before my eighteenth birthday, and I was completely alone in the world. In just my short eighteen years on Earth, I had experienced more than my fair share of hardships. My father Charlie had been killed in the line of duty the day after my high school graduation. A robbery gone wrong, or so they say, but planned or not, my father had been murdered, and my world would never be the same.
We'd only had each other after my mom Renee passed away when I was eight years old. Dad's death hit me even harder than hers did because for so long, he had been my rock, the person who pushed me to achieve more and find the woman I would become.
I wanted to close myself off from the rest of the world, wallowing away in my grief and sorrow, but being the daughter of a policeman, I knew I couldn't. My father wouldn't want that. He'd want me to show the world exactly how special Isabella Swan was.
It didn't matter if I was alone in the world now; I had no living relatives to lean on or even people I could really call friends, since I was a cop's kid, stuck in a strange social no man's land, part normal kid, part capable of getting everyone arrested. Once my classmates were old enough to start really getting into trouble, I was included less and less, so I found my home in art classes and the library. Weekends were spent exploring the wilderness, drawing all of the different plants and animals I saw around Forks. The Hoh Rainforest was the perfect against which my artistic skills flourished.
I had already been accepted to college; Charlie and I celebrated back in March when my letter arrived in the mail. A full ride to San Francisco State in California. He would want me to go, to set out and discover who I was and who I wanted to be.
It was hard, packing up the house with his work buddies and their wives, boxing up my childhood and all of Charlie's memories. I couldn't afford to keep the house, and Charlie's pension and life insurance weren't going to last forever. I would have to get a job once I was settled in California.
I packed up my truck with all my worldly goods and began the long drive down from Forks. It was the start of a new life for me, and my goal was simple; I wanted to discover life outside the small town I grew up in, a town where everyone knew everybody.
The drive was long, and I made many stops. I stayed in Portland and Redding overnight; I could have tried to push myself, but with a truck that struggled to reach sixty, I didn't. Three days of driving alone began to make me stir crazy. I was singing along with the radio and mostly looked like a fool to the other drivers, but I was ready to be out of the car.
On day three of my trek, I finally reached the Bay Area and pulled up to what could only be considered a mansion. According to the directions I'd gotten off the computer, this was where the guest house I was renting for the school year was located. I was stunned by the size. I'd never seen a house that big up close before. Goodness knows homes like this didn't exist in back in Forks.
I rang the doorbell and was greeted by Suzie Homemaker, Mrs. Cleaver in the flesh. Talk about shocking! I didn't even know they made moms like that anymore. Once our introductions were finished, she led me back to my new abode, which was better than anything I could have imagined. The pictures hadn't done it any justice.
The adorable little house was perfect for me. The floor plan was completely open, which made it seem larger than it was. The bedroom was a good size, and the bathroom was attached to a large walk-in closet. The whole place was decorated in creams and beiges with pops of plum, burgundy, emerald, and royal blue. I was beyond impressed with everything and grateful that it came furnished. My mismatched hand-me-downs would have brought down the property value for sure.
The rules were simple: no wild parties or drugs. They were easy to comply with, since I wasn't a partier and never participated in recreational drug use. I was a good girl, a cop's daughter, so it was the perfect place for me.
I settled in quickly and then began my job search. Luckily, it didn't take too long. I found a little coffee shop around the corner from the university, and I began working full time almost immediately. On my lunch breaks, I walked around, getting to know my new neighborhood. Mom-and-pop shops mingled with chain stores. Clothes, coffee, books—all were at the beck and call of the college crowd in this neighborhood. But one place stood out, the lone tattoo and piercing shop that was nestled above an old record store.
I didn't do any research like I should have, nor did I know if this was the right place for me, but the name called to me— A Painful Reward.
Up until that point, all I knew was pain, and I deserved some kind of reward for the hardships life had handed me. A tattoo seemed like a good place to start. Like popping your cherry, whether it's a good or bad experience, no one forgets the first time they get inked. Yeah, I know, I've said that before, but it's the truth.
The shop was dark and modern, with leather chairs and a steel abstract angled counter taking up the main waiting area. The blood red walls were covered with what I would come to know as flash, pre-made designs that some people liked to get. On the counter were photo albums of each of the artists' work for people to peruse while they waited.
It's been ten years, but I remember the first time I went under the gun like it was yesterday. I was nervous, excited, and completely afraid of needles that first time. But there I was on the precipice of life, plunging head first into adulthood, unaware of what the future held beyond my first year of college. I just needed to leap of the proverbial cliff and do it.
I had no idea what to expect or if I would even go through with it, but something was pushing me, and I had to find out what it was. I would learn that my body was a blank canvas, itching to tell the tale of where I'd been and map out where I was headed. I chose a black tribal swan to represent my father and our last name. That way, even if I did get married, I would always carry the swan with me.
It wasn't very large, but it sat between my shoulder blades, a reminder if you will, that Charlie would always have my back.
That tattoo was the first step I took in finding myself, and I never looked back. Emmett, the big, burly owner of the shop and giver of my first tattoo, soon discovered my love of drawing, and he took me under his wing as an apprentice. I grew stronger and wiser, not to mention I had a trade to fall back on if school didn't work out. Emmett quickly became more than my mentor; he became my brother. His wife Rose became my sister, and I thrived in our untraditional family. I dove headfirst into womanhood and never looked back, thanks to my new sister.
Although I still enjoyed spreading my wings—I traveled the world, learning about different styles of tattooing and marking my body and other people's skin with memories—Emmett and Rose would always be there when needed them, so it was no surprise to me or anyone else when I finally decided to lay down some roots.
Five years after I first hit the road, I was back in Northern California, and it was wonderful because it was home, being there with them. Stepping back into the family who welcomed me with open arms soothed my wandering spirit. They understood, embraced me even, as one of their own from the moment I lay back in the chair, and the needles began penetrating my pale, virgin skin so long ago.
The constant buzzing of the gun as the ink was pushed into my skin relaxed me that first day back home. The pain was pretty fierce at first, like a constant scratch from an angry cat, but then my adrenaline kicked in, as always, and the pain faded to little more than a nuisance. I became so numb, relaxed into a serene sense of calm by of the humdrum noises around me. Sometimes I lost myself in the mellow headspace so much that I began to moan, and I'd end up on the cusp of an orgasm as the ink became embedded beneath my almost translucent skin.
"Damn, B. Why you gotta be making those noises with me? You're my sister, for Christ's sake!" Em bemoaned.
"Sorry," I started. "Well, not really. I can't help it if you get a stiff because of my sounds. You know exactly what getting tatted does to me."
He groaned and adjusted himself before he mumbled out something that sounded like, "Should've let E do this. Rose will never let me live this down."
E, or Edward as I had come to learn his full name was, began working at the shop when I was traveling in Hawaii. The first time I saw E, I was completely enamored with him. Shaggy bronze hair that that fell into his eyes when he looked down, wild but guarded emerald eyes that had seen too much, suffered too much. Tattoos covered his muscular arms and hands, hands that I desired, that I wanted touching my body since the moment I first laid my eyes on them.
He was a tattoo covered god. A tribal design crept over the contours of his shoulders and down his chest, spreading down his arms, where it faded into a lion on one forearm and an eagle on the other. The ink suited his skin much like mine did. It was as much a part of him as mine was of was me. His muscular form called to me, and I wanted to lick every black inked molecule of his body. I wanted to know if the tattoos continued their way further down, under the black wife beater tank he was always wearing, or if they turned into another animal scene like the ones displayed on his forearms. Or maybe it was something else entirely. I didn't know, but the yearning to learn and discover was on the verge of driving me mad. I loathed the fabric that hid his rugged form and kept me from knowing his full story.
Today was no different. The need to rub myself all over E's body had reached a fever pitch because not only was he here with me again, but he was also using those perfect hands to fix his motorcycle. Grease marked his cheek and darkened his forearms. That bike was his baby, and he took care of all of its repairs on his own. Watching him work on the motorcycle was almost as big of turn-on as watching him handle a tattoo machine was.
"Fuck!" he shouted before flinging a wrench across the thankfully empty parking lot.
I stared, enraptured as he ranted on and gripped at his own hair. I could have stood there all day; hell, I could have stood there for the rest of my life. Watching his body flex with each move he made wasn't a hardship, but sadly, I was there to interrupt his work for a client.
"Hey, E," I said, so as not to surprise him with my approach. One knife at your throat will teach you not to sneak up on a man who has gone to war and back. "We got a live one inside. Why don't you wash up and see what he needs? I'm about to do another fucking belly piercing, or I'd take it."
He turned to me, and I melted like a prepubescent virgin with her first lady boner under his hard gaze. "Sure, Iz. Tell 'em I'll be right there."
He turned his attention back to his bike for a moment and then shook his head before going to retrieve the wrench he'd thrown.
I sighed as he bent over and put his delicious ass on display. The fabric of his distressed jeans clung to its tight form—oh, how I wanted to bite down on one of those spectacular cheeks! I shook my head to clear the lust-filled haze and headed back into the shop. No matter how badly I wanted him, I was too much of a chicken shit to act on my desires.
Why did God have to send me the devil incarnate if I couldn't have him? Why did he have to be my employee, but even more so, why did he have to be gay?
Talk about an eye-opening shocker there.
One night, after leaving the shop, I returned to find him kissing the fuck out of another man. I was definitely surprised but not repulsed. If anything, I was turned on beyond belief. The thong I was wearing practically disintegrated as they continued to lock lips and grope each other.
E's hands were locked in the man's jet black hair as he tilted his head back and bit down on the man's shoulder. Their bodies ground together against the wall, E pumping his cock into the man's ass, his moves matching the rhythm of the music playing overhead.
Thankfully, they hadn't heard me or the shocked squeak I'd let out upon seeing them, and I was able to escape before they saw me. I ran to my car and quickly got in. My chest was heaving, and I was so fucking drenched. Their image was burned into my brain. I couldn't even get the key into the ignition; I was shaking so much with need.
I was a wet, aching, and panting whore who had never been more turned on in her life.
Without a second thought, I tilted my seat back, undid my jeans and shimmied out of them before I plunged two fingers into my wet core. I worked myself over harder than ever before, coming three times with my fingers before I could even begin to form some semblance of the relaxed and calm woman I usually was.
Everything changed that night...my schoolyard crush grew into a full-on fantasy, driven by my need for him to fuck me into oblivion. He had become my drug of choice.
His smell, his voice, his looks… They tainted every fiber of my being, spreading like a poison through my veins. His presence, his mere existence tore through me like a wildfire and infected my dreams. I spent every day in a constant state of arousal, knowing he could never be mine but wanting him nonetheless.
I craved his touch, and I knew it could only be mine if I asked him to ink me.
I had wanted him to mark me for a while. His work was spectacular and his color-blending was even better than my own. Emmett knew exactly what he was doing when he hired him.
With one last look over my shoulder – because, let's face it, I was unable to resist the man - I opened the door and stepped back into the shop.
Lord, help my panties make it through the day.
After I told the client that someone would be right with him, I finished with the chick who wanted her belly button pierced. I hated doing the piercing, but ever since Rose had given birth to little Henry, she'd been MIA, and I had to step up and do them between my tattoo clients.
I loved the artistry that went into a tattoo, a permanent memory inked into your skin. Whereas most piercings could be removed and the holes would eventually close, a tattoo was more permanent; it took a lot more to get rid of it if you changed your mind.
For me, it was a reminder of a moment in life that meant something, and it was always with you when you needed to bask in the memory.
I finished and cleaned up my station, and then I went over to watch E work. The talent he possessed, the mastery with which he wielded the needles was amazing, but the mural he'd painted in his room was out of this world.
His back wall was a full underwater scene, complete with red and purple coral and aquatic wildlife, small schools of fish all the way up to a full-grown octopus and manta rays. He'd added a diver who swam serenely with the ocean dwellers. It was so realistic that I felt like I was underwater, too.
It wasn't a true testament to his talents, that tattoo he was working on, but he treated it like it was a work of art. He always gave his all when he worked.
"Hey, E, you think you might want to tat me later?" I finally inquired. I didn't know where my boldness was coming from; maybe it was because of the grease that still lingered on his cheek or the fact that he hypnotized me with his amazing ass. I didn't know, nor did I really care. I was just glad I did.
He stopped what he was doing and looked up into my eyes. He could have asked anything of me, and I would have done it. I could almost see the wheels turning in his head, wondering where I was coming from, but he just kept me locked in his heated gaze.
It might have been seconds or hours as he stared, but the instant he spoke, I was able to finally breathe again. "Yeah, sure, Iz. Whatever you want."
If only.
I let him finish with his client and went to work on the design I wanted him to mark me with.
Since it was a momentous occasion, I was clueless as to what I should have him do. You would think that as long I had desired for him to tattoo me, I would already know exactly what I wanted, but no, I didn't have the faintest idea.
There weren't very many places left on my body; my virgin canvas had slowly whittled down as I traveled. I did have a bit of space open on my ribs, right under my left breast. I got wet at just the thought of his hands working so close to my tit. My nipples were hard just thinking about it.
The only thing I kept coming back to was E's underwater scene on his walls. I had always wanted to commemorate the time spent in Hawaii, snorkeling with the sea turtles.
I was so focused on the design that I never heard E come up behind me.
"That's beautiful," he replied softly. He was so close that I froze. My movement stilled, and I muttered out a thank you. "Where do you want it?"
His smell was driving me crazy, and I swore the scent of his pheromones was designed just to torture me. He called to me and made me want to procreate. I would have his babies if he asked. I knew it would never happen, but I felt like I ovulated every single time he was near. If I was like Mary, he could make me conceive immaculately, but the thought of that happening without ever feeling his length move within me was utterly horrifying.
Besides wearing his mark, I wanted his cock. I wanted it pounding into me. I wanted to feel it days later, just like I'm sure the guy I caught him fucking probably had. I fucking wanted...plain and simple, I just wanted him.
"Uh, I was thinking on my ribs." I lifted the tank top I was wearing and showed him the spot I was talking about.
He glided his calloused fingers over my bare skin, raising goosebumps all over my body and sparking a rush of heat that traveled straight to my core. I shivered under his touch, and my nipples hardened once again. Hell, they were perpetually hard in his presence.
I swore I heard him groan, but it was so faint that the music blasting throughout the shop made it impossible for me to distinguish.
"Yeah, that'll work," he agreed before dropping his hand back to his side. "Let me know when you're ready, and we'll get to it."
I could only nod as he disappeared back into his room, most likely cleaning up and sterilizing everything.
I spent the last hour we were open finishing up the stencil for him before I locked the door. It hadn't been too busy which was both nice and crappy simultaneously. Until the influx of college kids returned, that was how our days usually were during the summer months.
I took one last deep breath and attempted to steel my nerves before I walked over to his room. A little pep talk might have helped, too.
This is no big deal. Edward is an amazing and talented artist, and you have been dying to have him mark you. Attempt to control your thoughts and act like the adult woman you are capable of being in his company.
E had everything set up for me. He had turned on his own music in his room, and I heard the haunting melodies of Amy Lee singing 'Taking Over Me.' She was singing about dreams, and it was like she was speaking my thoughts as the music flowed through the room.
To Live, To breathe, You're taking over me.
I gave up any hope of ever feeling anything for anyone but him a long time ago. I felt destined to suffer in a silent world that existed in the fringes of his life, taking in only what he allowed. But now here I was, about to have his fingers, although they would be covered with latex, touching my body in one of the many ways I had craved.
I removed my shirt and lay down on his table. My bra kept my breasts from being exposed but did nothing to hide my hard nipples. The midnight blue satin and lace made my pale skin glow, and while normally I would feel completely exposed in my state of undress, when I was getting tattooed it didn't faze me. I loved showing off the artistry that covered my body. E leaned over me and began his work.
He carefully shaved the peach fuzz off my ribs using a new razor and the hospital grade green soap. Its coldness did nothing to temper the rising heat that his touch infused. His touch was so tender, gentler than I had ever felt before, and it made me ache. The throbbing between my legs increased as his warm breath caressed the bare skin. His eyes were so focused on his task, but all mine could do was linger on him. E was spectacular up close, even with the slight scars that were visible from this short distance.
They explained so much. Em had told me he'd been in Afghanistan before he began tattooing. He didn't give me many details, saying that if E wanted me to know, he'd tell me himself, and I was too scared to ask. It seemed too personal for casual 'shop talk,' and we had never really been left by ourselves before now. There was so much I wanted to ask, hell, even just say to him, but I chickened out every time. The man had me tongue-tied but not in the way I wanted.
"I'm going to do the stencil now." His gruff voice sent tingles down my spine and rendered me speechless, so I just nodded.
He rubbed the Stencil Stuff into my skin, so the thermal paper image would stick and transfer the design smoothly. As he pressed on the design to help it adhere properly, I couldn't help the small moan that left my lips. His fingers just felt too good.
E's eyes shot up to mine, and I gasped. His emerald orbs were almost black as he stared into my chocolate ones, though I wondered if they might be black with desire, too.
He averted his gaze, focusing back on his work, and gingerly pulled the stencil away from my skin. "You can go check out the placement in the mirror on the door."
Again, I silently did as he instructed, my chest heaving with the breath I finally released. I was almost positive I would spontaneously combust before we finished the tattoo.
The design was perfectly placed on the first try. I knew how tender the area he would be working on was, due to the freesias I already had on my other side; they were in honor of my mother and were her favorite flower. I loved them, too.
Once I was back on the table, I closed my eyes and let the humming of the tattoo machine and the music relax me.
The moment E started the outline, I tried desperately to stay relaxed, to breathe through those first bits where the pain stood out. I had forgotten what it felt like. Each pass over my ribs sent twinge of pain radiating down my spine. E's fingers, pressing and stretching my skin, were like a balm, helping lull me into a state of peace, and my breathing slowly evened out.
Gone were the harsh in and out breaths, replaced by breathy oohs and aahs. Soft moans began to fill the air, along with sweet hums that followed the lingering strains of Shinedown's 'Call Me.'
My fingers tightened around edge of the table when he hit a particularly tender spot, and I couldn't help the loud groan that left my lips. The pain was somewhat pleasurable because of the surge in endorphins flowing through me. I think it was actually more so because of who was tattooing me than anything else; the heat from his fingers seeped into my skin through the gloves and caused a ripple of want that had been slowly building to reach an almost frenzy.
There was gentleness to his work even through the pain, and that frenzy was getting harder to deny. The needles never went too deep, nor did he overwork the area he was working on, and the serenity was peaking into an even deeper need for him to do something—anything-with his hands other than continuing to ink me.
My groans slowly dissipated and were replaced by breathy moans. If I hadn't known better, I would have thought that my sounds were affecting E. His breathing seemed deeper, more pronounced, like he, too, was having a hard time finishing what he was doing.
It wasn't anything I had ever seen him have a problem with before. He always came across as unaffected when he worked, in the groove so to speak. It seemed odd to me that I might be influencing his inability to stay on task.
What felt like mere minutes had actually already been over an hour since we'd begun. E leaned back and stretched, popping his back and neck in the process, and his shirt rode up. It gave me a glimpse of the trail of hair that led down into his jeans. I wanted to run my nails down the path, to find out exactly where it ended and what he was packing beneath those button-flys he wore religiously.
The throbbing between my legs grew like it always did in his presence. I wanted to rub my legs together, to relieve a bit of the ache, but I couldn't. Even with the music playing, I could hear E groan when I shifted just a bit, and my top that I was using to cover my breasts slipped. I muttered out an apology, thinking he was offended, and the blush that started on my face slipped down over my chest. Since I was worked up from just his hands, the flush on my skin was more pronounced. I was dying on that table.
"How about a break?" he choked out. "The outline's done, and so is the gray shading."
"Sure, that sounds good." I couldn't get off that table fast enough.
E rushed out the door for a smoke, and I locked myself in the bathroom. My pulse was racing, and my panties were soaked. I knew I wouldn't make it through the rest of the session without relieving some of the built-up ache from between my legs.
Without another thought, my small fingers were rubbing my swollen clit. I was so wet as I rubbed for all I was worth, like someone hoping to get three wishes from a genie's lamp. I wasn't quiet, and I sure as hell was ashamed of what I had to do to make it through the rest of tattoo process. I continued to glide my fingers through my soft lower lips, pumping them deeper into my aching core.
I was close, so fucking close.
Faster and faster I moved my fingers, wanting nothing more than E to take over. So that's what I did. I pictured E's long digits gliding in and out of my pussy. I imagined him whispering dirty words into my ears. "You smell so fucking good. Like cotton candy from the county fair. Do you taste like it, too?" His eyes were darker than I'd ever seen them before, almost black as night as he told me to come.
I pinched my clit and screamed out my release. All the adrenaline and endorphins exploded within me, and I fell to the ground.
My heart was pounding, and my pulse was out of control. My ears were ringing, and I wondered if my breathing would ever regulate. My orgasm had been earth shatteringly wonderful, but the ache was still there. I wanted to cry. What would I have to do to make it go away?
But most of all, why did I have to fall for the unattainable guy?
With a sigh, I washed my hands, twice, and then my face. I looked like I had just been fuck hard; I wished I had been by the man in the other room. With one last glance at my rosy skin, I headed back out to face the man of my dreams.
I gasped in shock when I opened the door. There he was, holding onto the doorframe, so close I could smell the smoke from his cigarette on his shirt. He looked feral, like a tiger ready to pounce.
"What are you doing to me?" he cried out, seemingly on the verge of a breakdown.
"I-I-I d-don't know what you're talking about?" I whimpered.
"I can't think; I can't focus. You're constantly there, in the back of my mind, begging me to make you mine. Mark you in other ways than a tattoo."
"What?" I was stunned. This man was gay. I'd seen it, and while I was a tomboyish woman most of the time at work, I was still a woman.
"You're driving me crazy. I can't—" He tugged at his hair and began pacing the open floor. "You make me want to tell you things I've never told anyone before. About my time in the service. The things I saw. The way it changed me."
He stopped in front of me, and all I could do was stare up into his eyes. They were filled with the vulnerability of a child, and I couldn't help my desire to cup his cheek. He leaned into my hand, closed those beautiful eyes, and sighed.
"Make me understand why," he pleaded.
I was clueless as to what he wanted. I knew what I wanted, but I wasn't sure I could risk my heart that way, to put it on the line only to have it tossed back at me because my equipment wasn't what he wanted. I could be his friend, though, even if it killed me. I would be there to help him recover from the hurt he still carried.
"I don't know what you want me to say. I think you need a friend, and I—"
He cut me off with a kiss. I froze; I was stunned. But his lips were finally on mine, and I realized quite quickly that if I didn't respond, he might think I didn't want him. So I kissed him back. I held nothing back, letting go of all the what if's, forgetting about possible fallout, and kissed him with all my might. He tasted like Tic Tacs and tobacco. He was demanding and urgent as he nibbled on my lip, seeking permission to invade my mouth. I acquiesced and was rewarded with him sucking on my tongue.
It felt like he was showing me what he'd like me to do to his cock, so I returned the favor. I showed him exactly what I would do to his cock with my mouth. I began sucking and pulling on his tongue, rolling it around in my mouth. Gliding the tip up the underside of his tongue, massaging the barbell in his mouth. I fucked his tongue like I would his cock.
When he pulled away, I whined. I wanted more. His harsh breath came out in pants. "You're going to kill me, woman."
But what a way to go.
Then, like ice water down my back, I remembered he was gay. My brain wasn't working at normal speed, so I spoke without thinking.
"But you're gay."
His eyes widened. "What did you say?"
There was no backing down; I'd already laid my cards out for him to see. He knew I wanted him, but I wasn't going to allow myself to just be a notch on his handlebars.
"You're gay. I saw you with that man a couple months back. Here in the shop. You were fucking him against the wall of your room." I could hear the longing in my own voice. I still wanted this man to want me back.
His eyes bugged out. "You saw that?"
No need for him to feel ashamed of who he was. I would still be his friend; who he loved didn't matter to me...even if I wanted it to be me. "I did. It was unlike anything I had ever witnessed before, so raw and primal. It made me so fucking wet that I ran to car and got myself off to the images of you two."
I didn't think he even realized that he had reached down and began stroking his cock through his jeans. "Fuck!" he groaned. "Why didn't you say something before?"
"What was I going to say? 'Hey, E, thanks for the show the other night. Great pearl buffing material for me!' Yeah, I don't think so." I was mesmerized by his hand still stroking his hard length. "You never talk about your private life, or even your family. I wasn't going to be the one to out you. You obviously had a reason for never saying anything."
He closed the distance between us once more, and the hand that had been giving me a show was gently cupping my chin and lifting my face to his. "I'm not gay; I'm bi. I believe love is love. What is or isn't between your legs doesn't matter. It's what's in your heart that matters.
"Thank you for not saying anything to everyone here, but you could have asked me. I would have been honest with you. I know you're not a gossip."
I was stunned by his revelation. E's being bisexual never even entered my mind because I had never seen him with a woman before. In fact, I'd never seen him with anyone before the night I watched him having sex with that man. It was such a visceral experience for me.
"I didn't know what to say, honestly. It was so fucking hot. But I was jealous, too." I confessed. "I wanted it to be me."
He pulled me into his arms, carefully avoiding my new tattoo that we'd pretty much forgotten about at that point.
His lips were on mine again as he lifted me up off the ground. My legs gripped tightly to his waist as he carried me back into his room. At least that was where I assumed he was taking me. Our tongue rings clinked together when they touched, twisted, and tangled as they danced.
When his lips left mine, they continued down my jaw, leaving a trail of wet heat as he headed for my ear. E nibbled on my right lobe, and I couldn't help the giggle that burst forth; my ears had always been sensitive. He silenced my laughter with a sharp bite to my shoulder. The tingle it sent through my body caused me to grind down on his hard length.
I continued to roll my hips, seeking more of the delicious torture as he began kneading my right breast. He tugged on my piercing, pulling the hoop gently, and I felt a flood of moisture seep deep into my panties. They were beyond salvageable at this point.
"Please," I begged. It didn't matter if I had just gotten myself off in the bathroom. I wanted him. "More. I need more."
"Patience, precious. More will come when I'm good and ready."
It was excruciating, the way he taunted me as he played my body like a fiddle. His fingers were magic; I was sure of it. They were everywhere and nowhere all at once.
I didn't protest when he began pulling my pants off, the scent of my wet sex filling the air. "Cotton candy. Fuck! I have to taste you!"
It was like my bathroom fantasy was coming to life.
He ripped my black lace panties off in one fell swoop. I'd probably have bruises where the sides cut into my skin as he tore them, but I didn't care; they would be a lovely reminder of our time together...especially if this turned out to be a one-time thing.
I squashed that thought. I didn't want to linger in the negative. I wanted to be owned and worshiped by E.
His head was between my legs before I even realized he had set me back on the table. I ground myself against his mouth as he fucked me with his tongue.
That tongue. Those fingers. I would say prayers of thanks for them.
"Yes," I hissed. "So good."
He stopped only to comment before he dove back in. "I can be better, do better."
"Fuck!" I shouted as he began flicking his tongue ring over my clit. Repeatedly. He thrust two of his long digits deep in my core before curling them and pumping them in and out.
My back arched off the table, lost in the pleasure he was giving me. I couldn't have told you where I was; it was almost an out of body experience as he brought me to orgasm.
Twitching, bewitching, possessing me is what he was doing as I peaked and crashed, the rolling ripples continuing rise and break as I came. I was helpless, screaming silently, breathless as he drew out everything. It was as if he couldn't get enough, and I sure as hell wasn't going to complain.
"Fucking cotton candy," he bellowed.
There was no break, no time to catch my breath before he dropped his pants and entered me. I was still trembling from my first climax.
Hard and thick is what he was. I wanted to stay connected to him forever. His hands gripped my hips and he began to move. He started slowly at first, building speed as gibberish fell from his lips.
"Never….Jesus….Impossible….Fuck….Heaven….Tight….Right."
Not to be outdone, I too had words.
"God….There….Yes….Fuck….Perfect….Huge….Sore….More."
There would be bruises tomorrow, aches in places I didn't know I could ache before. But above all, there would be smiles. I would be floating above the clouds.
He thrusted in and out, and I pleaded for more, begged as he leaned down and took my nipple into his mouth. I hissed as he bit down, my pussy fluttering around him. I was close again.
"Again," I begged. "Do it again."
He bit down again, harder than the first time, and I cried out in pleasure. My hands pulled his hair and scratched his back as I came. I saw stars as E twitched and groaned; the guttural sound combined with his release left me tingling. Even though it was just our beginning, I didn't want our night to end.
He collapsed on my right side, always mindful of my tattoo, which I had mostly forgotten about. We lay there on the table together, catching our breath, my fingers gliding up and down his shoulder.
"I don't think we'll be able to finish tonight," he uttered.
"Huh?" I asked, blissed out and unable to comprehend what he was saying.
'Your tattoo. It's been too long. You know if we start up again, it will fucking hurt to high heaven."
"Oh, yeah," I agreed. "We can finish it another time. At least you got the outline completed. We only have the coloring left."
"We can. A couple weeks, and it should be healed enough to start again."
"Uh huh." I was still so relaxed. I hadn't ever felt this sated before.
"Let me clean it up again, put the ointment on, and dress it." He stood up and grabbed his clothes before he left the room to clean up.
Without him, I felt as naked as I was, exposed and questioning what would happen now. Without any panties, I cleaned up as best I could with the paper towels we kept stocked in abundance and pulled my pants back on. It didn't feel too good without my underwear.
"Sorry about your panties," he said, startling me and causing me to jump.
"It's okay," I replied as I covered my chest, feeling completely exposed, even though he hadn't put his shirt on either.
"What's wrong?" he asked as he put on his gloves.
"Nothing," I stammered.
"It must be something. After the two—well, three if you count the orgasm you gave yourself—releases, you should be more relaxed. You're tenser now than before. Talk to me," he pleaded, and I caved, his puppy dog eyes working their magic.
"Was this a one-time thing?" I blurted out.
He froze, and I was pretty sure it wasn't a positive indication of what I wanted. "Iz, I thought I made it clear I wanted more."
It was then that I relaxed, the relief pouring through me like honey. Those were words to cherish. Sure, I love you's were wonderful, and I knew we would get there, but for now, more was good.
"I just wanted to make sure. I want more, too."
I sighed as his fingers gently massaged the ointment into my skin. It felt so good, more like a balm to my soul than something to soothe and protect my new ink.
As he was putting on the dressing, I realized this man owned me, and I was never more taken by the overwhelming need for a man, this man, to consume me again just as he had before.
There was passion and fire bubbling between us continuously now, sitting just under the surface of our inked skin. He made forget...everything. Except for him. E possessed not only my body, but my mind too. Whether I was awake or asleep, he was there, stoking the raging fire of desire within me.
"You're so fucking beautiful, Iz. I love the way the ink on your skin tells me a story about moments in your life," E explained as those magical fingers of his glided over the bare skin of my waist. I'd forgotten all about my state of undress. "I really want to learn more about you, be more to you than just a co-worker or your tattoo artist. I've never wanted anything like this with anyone ever before, but you make me want it, want it all."
His sweet words of confession weren't out of left field to me, especially after he said he wanted more, but having him tell me he wanted me just as much as I wanted him made me smile like a content cat after drinking a bowl of cream. "I make you want it all? Like the two-point-five kids, white picket fence, kind of want it all?"
I watched his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed and nodded. "And a dog we can call Harley."
"That's a pretty picture you're painting, as pretty as the one in your room," I stated, still smiling like a loon.
Forget great expectations; it was more like unexpected revelations. Happiness bloomed inside of me.
There was no rhyme or reason; no explanation needed any further beyond the sweet words we'd already shared. I knew coming home was the right thing to do. Something in my gut told me it was time, and standing there in front of E, I was sure of it.
There was still so much to learn about each other. Likes and dislikes. Hopes and Dreams. Past, present, and the future to be discussed, but we had time. He had slowly been taking over me from the moment we met. All of this would come it time.
Some people say good things come to those who are patient and kind. Others claim that you have to have luck to win in life. I just believe all it took was going under the tattoo gun to land the man of my dreams.
When he was finished bandaging me up, I slid my top back on, sans bra. We cleaned up his room together and gathered the trash. We snuck small peaks at each other under our eyelashes, and small smiles played at our lips.
It was easy. It was sweet. It was fun.
Excitement bloomed, and I was ready to walk down whatever path he led me to. I would follow him anywhere.
With everything back in its place, the floors swept, and the money counted and locked away, we headed out. I locked the door after setting the alarm.
We stood silently facing each other, neither of us wanting to leave. Our hands were locked together. It felt good. It felt right.
"What now?" I wondered aloud.
"Now we live. Can I follow you back to your place?"
With a small smile, I nodded. "I'd like that."
He walked me to my car and held the door open for me, and I climbed in. Once the door was closed, I started the engine and rolled down my window.
"This is a hot car you have," he told me as he ran his hand along the hood of the car.
"It is." I loved my car.
"This is where you touched yourself for the first time thinking about me, huh?"
He wanted to play. "No."
He looked into my eyes, confusion evident on his face since I had told him about catching his previous partner.
"I got myself off many times before at home, long before I saw you with that man," I boldly answered. "But it was the first I had ever gotten myself off in my car. It smelled like sex in here for days."
He groaned. His eyes were black again, and I squirmed under his heated gaze.
"Fuck, woman." He shook his head. "You can't say things like that before I have to get on my bike. Do you have any idea how uncomfortable it is to ride with a hard-on?"
I shook my head and held back from telling him it couldn't be as bad as getting worked up again when I wasn't wearing panties.
He leaned in through my window and slammed his lips to mine, kissing me hard, leaving me wet and aching again. I was completely out of breath when he pulled away.
"Before the night's over, I will have you again."
"Promise?"
"It's a motherfucking guarantee, love."
I watched him walk to his bike and start it up, the loud roar from the motor making me wish I was on the back of his bike, the vibrations moving through my body as I held onto E tightly. I never wanted to let go, regardless of whether I was on that motorcycle or just living everyday life.
"Drive!" he shouted over the noise, startling me once more.
I did as he said, though, and drove.
I never would have expected the night to turn out like this, everything to fall into place for me so easily.
Now to make it home in one piece so I could have E again.
Life was good.
The End