Page 27 of Inked Desires

He steps past me and stares at the door, peering into my workshop.

“A one-way mirror?”

I suppress a laugh. What did he think? It’s not for nothing that I hardly ever leave this place.

“You can spy on people inside!” he protests.

“I could, but I don’t.”

He spins around to face me abruptly.

“Even the guys who are a little too sexy?”

“I see them naked anyway, Andrew. I don’t need to spy. Besides, I can’t be tattooing them and ogling them behind the mirror at the same time, can I?”

He grits his teeth. Jealous?

He slowly shakes his head and steps aside. I open the door and let him in before locking it behind us.

I toss him the keys.

“Open the shop and make some coffee,” I order, moving to the sink to clean the room.

A kind of compulsive ritual. I’m always cleaning this place. I hate disorder and dirt.

Andrew returns, broom in hand, and starts sweeping without me asking. I don’t like it. Not at all. Yet I find myself watching him. Every movement tightens his forearms as he carefully sweeps up some dust.

I can’t help but succumb to his magnetism. My legs move on their own, and I’m behind him again. His scent wraps around me, promising release. I remember too well the humid heat of his mouth, the softness of his lips, and the voracity of his tongue.

I breathe deeply the smell of his hair. Andrew freezes but doesn’t move away. He stays still. He doesn’t ask me to stop, even though that would be the best thing to do. He’s awakened something in me I thought was dead.

My hands slide down his arms to his shoulders, which I grasp firmly before pulling him closer. His heat ignites my chest. My nose buries itself in his still-damp curls while my hand traces a path from his collarbone down to his chest.

His breathing quickens. His nipples press against the fabric of my T-shirt. It drives me crazier. If I slipped my hand under the fabric, I’d feel his bare skin. My fingers would play with those tiny sensory peaks.

I press my arousal against him, savoring the tension in my loins he provokes. Is giving him up worth it? Does anything still matter?

“Well, that’s a nice way to say hello,” a voice says, snapping me back to reality.

I jump back, shocked. My gaze turns to my worst fear.

William is watching me.

He finally stops on Andrew, studying his face.

“Oh. Wow,” he murmurs, stunned.“I don’t even know what to say.”

They look like twins. Even William can see it.

Slowly, I look at Andrew. He stares at William with the same confusion until his eyes light up.

“Who are you?” he asks.

“His husband,” William replies, crossing his arms provocatively.

“You’re married?” Andrew growls, turning to me, furious.

His gaze pierces me with reproach. I’m in deep shit.