Page 22 of Inked Desires

ANDREW

My gaze drifts once again to the drawing in front of me. It's beautiful. Unable to resist, I reach for the sheet and examine it more closely.

"Do you want it?"

The deep voice pulls me from my thoughts. I look up.

Ares is leaning against the desk, his hands flat on the wood, his weight slightly shifted forward. His dark gaze pierces right through me, and the taut lines of his muscles stir something primal inside me—the need to trace the inked patterns on his skin with my fingers.

"The drawing or the tattoo?" I ask.

A playful smile curves his lips, and the pull between us becomes impossible to ignore. When he looks at me like that, it's hard to deny him anything. Everything about him calls to be touched.

"I don’t give away my drawings," he murmurs. "I mark my clients’ skin."

I raise an eyebrow. A tattoo? Am I even ready for that? I don’t really remember if it hurts. My gaze returns to the sketch. I like the roses on my neck. He’s already proven his talent. My fingers graze the rough texture of the ink. I run them across the raised area.

"What’s beneath the roses?"

He’s never answered that question. This time, his smile vanishes instantly. His jaw tightens. All mischief drains from his eyes. The desk creaks under the pressure of his fingers.

I hit a nerve. Great. His mood swings are completely beyond me.

"Sorry. I shouldn’t have asked," I breathe, trying to defuse the tension.

He exhales harshly, then, in a sudden movement, pushes off from the desk and circles the table. Behind me, his long fingers wrap around my hand and guide it toward my neck. My index finger brushes over the scar.

"J..." he forces out through clenched teeth.

He doesn’t stop.

"A."

A shiver twists in my gut. Acid burns the back of my throat.

Ares keeps going, relentless.

"C."

"Jace," I whisper, breathless.

"You dare let another man touch you?" he roars.

His voice cracks through the air like a whip. His eyes blaze with a crazed light, stripped of all warmth. I search for any trace of the man I once loved. There’s nothing. Just cold rage and raw madness that freezes me in place.

"Jace... my love... I didn’t mean to... He thought I was single..."

My voice trembles, barely more than a breath. My hands shake too, so I press them to my body, desperate to hide my fear. He mustn’t see it. He mustn’t know how much he terrifies me. That would make it worse.

"And you couldn’t defend yourself?" he growls, fury swelling, unstoppable.

"It was a public event! The whole city saw him pressing his disgusting lips to your neck, you little whore!"

I back away, hands raised in a placating gesture. But it’s already too late.

"Jace..."

"Grab him."

The command cuts like a blade. Before I can react, iron hands seize me. Two men step out from the shadows, each gripping one of my arms. My heart leaps into my throat.

What’s he going to do to me this time?

"Lay him on the bed. Face down. Hold him."

"No... Jace, wait!"

They throw me onto the bed without care. The wrinkled sheets under my face feel suddenly cold. The guards pin me down, their hands like vices. I could struggle, try to fight, scream. But I know it won’t help. I know what happens when I resist.

Then a weight crashes onto my back. Heat smothers me. His thighs trap my hips, pinning me deeper into the mattress. I hold my breath.

Fingers brush my nape. Almost tenderly, blonde curls are pushed aside.

"I’ll make sure everyone knows who you belong to," he whispers in my ear.

"What are you going to do?" I spit.

He laughs. A low, menacing laugh that chills me to the bone.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see him rummaging through the nightstand drawer. He pulls out a black marker and presses the tip against my skin.

"Bring me the tattoo gun," he says coolly.

The buzzing begins before my brain can even register what’s about to happen. One second later, a bolt of pain explodes at the base of my neck.

I scream. A high-pitched, piercing scream far too shrill to belong to any man in the room. It takes me a second to realize it came from me.

The needles dig in, slice, burn. I can’t breathe. My body isn’t mine anymore, reduced to a mass of flayed flesh. The pain radiates through my limbs, making every breath a torment.

I want to scream again, but nothing comes out. My vocal cords are wrecked by agony. So I cry in silence, tears spilling down my cheeks and soaking into the sheets.

Jace keeps going. Without pause. He holds my head firm with one hand, guiding the needle with the other, carving something permanent into my skin.

I disconnect. My mind drifts far from this bed, from this room, from him. The pain fades to a distant hum. I cling to better memories—days when his love didn’t hurt, when his hands weren’t weapons.

Then, abruptly, a yank pulls me back.

He grabs my hair and jerks my head back, forcing my gaze to meet his.

"Go wash up. Your makeup’s a mess," he says flatly.

He straightens and steps away. His men release me.

I could move. Run. Get up. But my body won’t obey. I lie there, broken, staring blankly ahead, unable to do anything but breathe.

Caresses. A gentle warmth on my hands.

I blink, slowly returning to the present. Ares is crouched in front of me, holding my hands in his. His thumbs trace soft circles over my skin—soothing, grounding.

"Hey. Welcome back," he whispers.

I swallow hard, his words not enough to dispel the weight of the past. I try to steady my breathing, to come back to myself, but the anxiety still grips my chest like a vice.

"What did you see?"

The question hits me like a fist. My throat tightens. My eyes sting. I refuse to cry, but the pain pulses in my bones, vivid and relentless. A shaky breath escapes my lips. I don’t want to fall apart. Not yet.

"I don’t want to get a tattoo," I murmur, voice cracking.

I try to swallow down the tide of emotion, but he sees through it. Too easily. Too clearly.

"Talk to me," he urges, calm and patient.

I close my eyes. My head tilts back slightly. My therapist always said speaking was the only path to healing. But the words stay stuck behind my teeth.

"I’m here," he breathes.

I open my eyes again, anchored by his presence. Had I already told him, before the memory loss? Did he know the whole story?

"A man kissed my neck during an event. I didn’t want it. Jace saw..."

The memories slam into me like a blade of ice.

"Two men pinned me down. He tattooed me... like he was carving me up with a knife."

My voice sounds hollow, detached, but the tremor in my hands betrays me.

Ares lets go of my fingers and cradles my face in his palms. His touch is rough, but grounding. Instinctively, I nuzzle his hand. He’s warm. Solid. Here.

"What he did to you... that wasn’t a tattoo. It was pure cruelty," he says, voice raw.

The dam breaks. My tears fall in silence, landing on his hands. Ares leans closer, until his forehead rests gently against mine.

"I’ll never let him hurt you again."

The promise hums between us, as steady and undeniable as his presence. He’s not leaving. He’s staying.

A shiver runs through me. I clutch his shoulders, drawn to him, then press forward. My lips find his.

And everything explodes.

The world fades. There’s only him—his breath against my skin, his warmth against my body. I want more. More of him. More of this feeling that drowns out the shadows.

Ares responds with equal hunger. Our kisses turn feverish, desperate. Our tongues tangle. Teeth clash. I lose myself in him, in the electricity that sparks with every touch.

I’m floating.

His hands slide down my back, igniting every nerve. When he brushes my chest, a moan slips out. My whole body hums under his touch. My nipples harden beneath the fabric, aching for him—but he ignores them, drawing out the anticipation.

Then suddenly, he pulls away.

I cling to his shoulders, unwilling to lose that connection.

"What do you need to be happy?"

My heart pounds in my chest. The answer is obvious.

“You. You make me forget.”

“You’re sure about that?”

His fingers keep grazing my skin, sending shivers through me. My breathing quickens.

“I need you,” I breathe out, almost panting.

He studies my face. Then, suddenly, he lets go and takes a step back.

“What...?” I start, confused.

I want to protest. Determined, I reach for him, ready to pull him back to me, to make him forget whatever doubts are holding him back.

But Ares shakes his head and nods to the right, toward the window. I shut my mouth, understanding what he's trying to say. My gaze drops to my hands, embarrassed. I’ve never seen myself as someone immodest, but clearly, that’s exactly what I am right now. Surprising no one’s already standing outside the storefront with their phone, filming the scene.

Two fingers tilt my chin up. His eyes are soft. He leans in and brushes a quick kiss against my lips.

Then he pulls away and rushes to lock the door before hurrying back. His hands slide under my thighs, and in one swift motion, he lifts me like I weigh nothing. Instinctively, I wrap my legs around his waist and my arms around his neck. Even though the entire street could see us, he carries me through the shop into his bedroom. He kicks the door shut and sits on the chaise longue, keeping me on his lap.

“Kiss me,” he says.

The fire inside me hasn’t cooled, not after that pause. His low voice brushes against my nipples, reigniting the ache. I obey, leaning in to press my lips to his. He devours me. The intensity flares instantly—exploring hands, greedy mouths, bodies pressed too close and still not close enough. That spark builds in me until I forget where I end and he begins. We are one. One entity, a masterpiece made of skin and want.

His fingers slip under my shirt, skim my ribs, and keep rising. I grind against him, and a moan escapes me when I feel his hardness pressing against my stomach. My body reacts before my brain does, hips rolling hesitantly against him. The heat that spreads through me is exquisite.

Ares growls at the sound of my moan. He grabs my shirt and, with one rough pull, tears it apart. He breaks the kiss—his sweet taste already leaving me aching for more. I could kiss him forever, lose myself again and again in that raw passion. But he doesn’t give me the chance. His mouth trails downward and captures my nipple.

A burst of pleasure rips through me. All restraint evaporates. I grind on him, desperate, while his tongue teases and toys with me.

With a pop, he releases my throbbing nipple and locks eyes with me.

“What do you want, little bunny?” he murmurs in that gravelly voice. “You want me to make you feel good?”

His muscles tremble. His fingers dig into my hips. He’s holding himself back as much as I am. Seeing him like this, so close to unraveling because of me, makes me feel powerful.

He’s mine.

Completely mine.

“Everything,” I whisper. “I want all of you.”

“That’s what I was hoping to hear,” he replies.

With practiced ease, he pops open my jeans, unzips them, and pulls them down along with my boxers. My sweater follows. In a blink, I’m naked before him.

His hungry gaze roams over me. He devours me with his eyes as he begins undressing too.

I should feel a flicker of self-consciousness. Cross my arms over my chest, try to hide my stomach, my past. But I don’t. Not with the way he looks at me. Not when all I see in his expression is reverence. The safety he gives me makes me fearless.

With him, I’m not afraid. I’m not ashamed. And I know he’ll never push me to do something I don’t want. He is my redemption.

Ares strips off his pants and boxers in one fluid motion. Now he’s standing there, fully naked in front of me. My breath catches. He’s stunning. His body, sculpted and inked in black and white, tells a story I want to read with my hands, my lips, my whole being. I could spend hours tracing every line of ink on his skin.

“Enough staring,” he growls.

In a swift motion, he lifts me and kisses me with a fresh urgency. His fingers trail down my spine, linger on my ass, leaving a searing imprint. I moan into his mouth, reveling in the strength of his grip.

One hand leaves my body. I hear a rustle. My gaze drops just in time to see the condom sliding over his thick length.

He grabs my chin and tilts my face back to his.

“Do you like what you see?” he asks with a teasing smile.

I nod without thinking. How could I not? This man is pure desire incarnate. Half the city would agree with me.

His fingers glide down my hip, lower still, brushing my lower belly. I exhale a trembling breath. My eyes flutter closed under the wave of tingles.

“Look at me,” he orders, his tone firm but gentle.

I blink, forcing myself to meet his gaze. Only then does he begin to truly explore me. He strokes my length, playing, deliberately avoiding too much pressure. He’s teasing me, savoring my frustration.

“Please, Ares,” I beg softly.

That word shakes him. Finally, he gives in. His hand moves with slow, deliberate strokes down the length of me. My cry bursts out, raw and unstoppable.

“I love hearing you moan for me,” he whispers against my skin. “You’re so hard for me, little bunny.”

He torments me with slow, lazy touches. My mind falters.

“You want more?” he murmurs, a smile in his voice.

More? Can there even be more?

With Jace, I was never allowed pleasure. I was only there to satisfy him, no matter how I felt.

I nod. Of course I want more.

Without waiting, he spits into his hand, slicks two fingers, and eases them inside me. I cry out again, muffling the sound with his mouth.

Then everything accelerates.

He lifts me, sits down again, and settles me onto him.

“Take what you need,” he whispers.

I grab his cock, align him, and slowly lower myself onto him. Our breaths tangle as he fills me. He’s wide—too wide—and pain flickers through me before it melts into aching pleasure.

I start to move, slow at first, savoring the stretch, the friction. Then instinct takes over. My body rocks, bounces against him.

His grip tightens. His mouth finds my skin again.

Pleasure climbs, devouring everything.

I come undone in a wave of incandescent heat, clinging to him, letting myself be consumed by ecstasy.

Ares follows moments later, falling with me.

In the silence, broken only by our ragged breaths, he whispers:

“Fuck, I missed you.”