Page 6 of Inked Desires

ANDREW

I can’t bring myself to move in with Ares. The idea feels way too risky. Living and working in the same place means exposing myself, making an easy target. Holding down a steady job is a threat in itself... For now, I’m not in any official files, but that won’t last forever.

It’s Sunday, the shop is closed, and I don’t know what to do with my day. So, I end up in a bar. The place is quiet, almost too quiet. A few regulars, clearly too familiar with alcohol, slump over the counter while I take refuge in a shadowed booth.

A glass of whiskey and cola sits before me. It’s been ages since I touched alcohol.

Not since Jace.

He said alcohol made people unpredictable, uncontrollable. That it would make me lose value, dirty me. I was his private jewel. He dressed me as he wanted, picked my clothes, my scent. He liked me flawless, smooth, always ready to please. He wanted a docile toy, a well-behaved doll. My hair had to be a specific shade of black, my eyes the color he preferred. Without that, I wasn’t perfect. Alcohol could have ruined that. Taken me away from the image he built of me.

My hand trembles slightly as I grasp the glass. I bring the drink to my lips, the alcohol sliding slowly down my throat, leaving a diffuse warmth in my belly. Maybe tonight, I’ll just get drunk. The town’s small — I know the way back to the boarding house by heart. Even stumbling, I’d find my way home.

I take another sip, savoring the sudden lightness in my limbs. Yet with it, a familiar shadow resurfaces. Alcohol revives memories I thought buried. Mourning a relationship can be more painful than living it. Even when it broke us, even when it was just a chain of wounds, there remains an invisible thread — that pain that still ties us to what was.

My fingers tighten around the glass. That’s all I have left of Jace: this persistent ache, this diffuse poison.

The bell above the door rings, pulling me from my thoughts. I look up, my stomach tightening slightly as I recognize the man who enters. It’s Ares’ client. His black hair, slicked back, shines under the dim light, and his tight t-shirt outlines an athletic figure. I’ve seen him shirtless before. For a moment, I catch myself recalling just how well-built he is... before remembering why I’m here.

His gaze locks with mine and he nods in greeting before briefly motioning to the man beside him. My breath catches. Ares is here.

Of course he is. It had to be him.

His eyes pierce mine — burning, sharp. A needle heated red-hot piercing my skin. Instinctively, my neck tingles where his memory has embedded itself. I don’t understand how he manages to make me react this way, to disarm me so easily. With Jace, I had butterflies in my stomach. With Ares, it’s an uncontrollable blaze. And it terrifies me.

If I give in to this desire, I could lose myself again.

They approach me. My heart races, tension skyrockets. I grip my glass tighter, searching for an anchor.

“You still drinking alone?” Kiran asks with a sly smile.

I raise an eyebrow. Is that a pick-up attempt?

“Not you, when you hope to leave with company?” I reply sarcastically.

A low growl sounds to my right. Ares pulls the chair next to me and sits, his gaze locked on mine.

“The guys here have nothing to offer you,” he says calmly, but the intensity makes the air between us shiver.

I tilt my head slightly, studying him. For the first time, his hair’s tousled, like he didn’t bother fixing it. He’s not wearing his leather jacket, just a simple t-shirt. Probably because of the sweltering heat.

I opted for jeans and a white tee, just to not melt under the sun.

“I’m Kiran,” the other man introduces himself.

“Andrew,” I answer simply.

Kiran doesn’t linger. He nods then heads to the counter.

“What are you doing here?” Ares asks.

“I told you: making myself desirable.”

He rolls his eyes, exasperated, leaning slightly toward me.

His scent hits me immediately, flooding my senses, wrapping my throat in an invisible grip. It smells like safety, danger, adrenaline, and something infinitely comforting at once.

For a fraction of a second, I feel trapped.

But for the first time, that thought doesn’t terrify me as much as before.

His lips brush my ear as he leans closer. An electric wave rushes through me, violent and uncontrollable. I hold my breath.

“I don’t see anyone here on your level,” he murmurs. “The only options are Kiran and me. And I doubt you want to end up in either of our beds.”

I pull my glass closer, encircling it with both hands to hide my trembling fingers. His proximity burns me. Every vibration in my body becomes unbearable. To release the tension, I quietly tap my foot on the floor.

Kiran returns with two beers and sets one before Ares, who finally leans back. I breathe deeply, regaining control of my body.

“Am I bothering you?” Kiran asks as he sits.

“Not at all,” I answer, cutting off Ares who was about to speak.

A smile stretches across Kiran’s lips.

“You’re right, he’s different,” he comments with amusement.

I frown, glancing between the two men. Ares’ jaw tightens, his gaze shining with a hard light.

“Shut up, Kiran,” he hisses.

“Listen, guys, I just want to get drunk and stumble home. If you want to argue, find another table.”

I don’t have patience for these games. I’ve had enough of them in recent years. Just for tonight, I want to forget who I am.

“We’re not arguing,” Kiran assures with a sly smile.

I shrug. Whatever. Rather than feed this strange tension, I take a long sip.

“So, tell me: where are you from?”

I look up at Kiran. Seriously? He thinks now’s the best time for an interrogation?

“South Dakota.”

The music playing softly in the background swells slightly, but not enough to drown our conversation.

“I have family there,” he resumes. “Where exactly are you from?”

“Does it matter?”

“Are you hiding something?”

My stomach knots. Of course I’m hiding things. A whole life of shadows and secrets I refuse to let resurface. But in a small town like Maple Creek, people inevitably poke their noses into others’ business. Better to play along.

“Thunder Hawk,” I answer, my tone flat.

“Unfortunately, I don’t know anyone there,” he admits.

Good. Fine by me.

I drain my glass, my desire to stay fading slowly. I have no intention of continuing this conversation, so I start to stand.

Long fingers close around my wrist. A shiver runs through my skin. I sigh, lifting my eyes.

Ares stares at me, his piercing gaze probing my soul as if trying to strip bare every imperfection, every invisible scar. I freeze.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m leaving,” I say, almost breathless.

Heat rushes to my cheeks when I hear the slight tremor in my voice. A corner of his mouth lifts into a faint smile. He noticed. Of course he noticed. My heart pounds against my ribcage. That smile, subtle as it is, makes him all the more irresistible.

“Sit down,” he orders.

“Pardon?”

“Sit down, little rabbit. No one’s waiting for you at the boarding house.”

My body obeys before my mind can protest. I find myself seated, as if his will commands my movements.

“Since when do you make decisions for me?” I ask, irritated.

“Since you plopped your ass down in this bar, ready to get picked up by any asshole around here,” he retorts, his voice rumbling with barely concealed irritation.

His fingers remain firmly wrapped around my wrist, anchoring me to him.

“And why exactly do you care?”

“Because you’re my employee,” he growls. “And it’s my job to make sure you’re in one piece behind the counter tomorrow morning, rather than me having to pick your corpse out of a ditch.”

I roll my eyes. He’s overdramatizing. But before I can reply, I catch Kiran’s scrutinizing gaze. He’s watching us, analyzing every interaction.

“It’s fascinating how interested you guys are in my love life,” I throw out sarcastically.

Kiran gestures toward my ring finger with a slight nod.

“I’m mostly curious where that mark comes from.”

My stomach twists. I took the ring off, but the mark remains — like an invisible scar. I’m really bad at hiding my damn past.

“That’s ancient history,” I sigh, looking away.

“Jace, I suppose,” he guesses.

I could deny it. But what’s the point? They’ve seen my tattoo. Ares has seen my scars, the marks on my back. So a ring mark changes nothing.

“Right,” I confirm in a low voice.

“You’re divorced?”

My fingers brush my forehead. A headache is coming on, a direct consequence of this sneaky interrogation.

“You could say that,” I evade.

Ares tightens his grip on my wrist. His eyes darken. His jaw clenches.

“This just got interesting,” he mutters through clenched teeth.

“Who fucked up? You or him?”

I close my eyes briefly, exhausted.

Anger rises in me, burning and suffocating. I feel exposed. Kiran digs through my life, and I don’t like it one bit. I didn’t come here to make friends. I want to be left alone. The fewer contacts I have, the less chance there is someone will find out where I’m hiding.

“None of your business,” I snap.

“Okay, so you’re the fuck-up,” he snickers.

“Kiran, back off,” Ares intervenes, soothing my rage a little.

I look away, preferring to watch the commotion around us. The bar’s filling up, and a group of young people has turned the back room into an impromptu dance floor.

A strange urge overwhelms me — a desire to move, to lose myself in the music to release the tension. I gently free my wrist from Ares’s grip.

“I’m getting another drink,” I murmur before he can try to stop me.

I weave through the crowd to the bar and catch the attention of the bartender, whose shaved head gleams under the dim light.

“What’ll it be, handsome?”

“A whiskey and coke.”

In moments, my glass is ready. I slide a bill across the counter, grab my drink, and turn. Ares and Kiran talk, but Ares doesn’t take his eyes off me. His gaze pierces me, intense, voracious. A shiver runs down my spine.

The music shifts; the beat calls to me. I finally look away and head for the dance floor. The bass vibrates beneath my skin as I weave between dancers, taking a sip before letting my body move. Every motion lightens me, every beat frees me a little more.

I drain my glass in one gulp, set it on a high table, and raise my arms, eyes half-closed. I can’t remember the last time I danced like this, letting myself go without thinking.

A familiar presence presses against my back, freezing me. I feel him before I see him. His body burns against mine, commanding. A violent shiver runs through me. My mind disconnects.

I keep swaying despite the tension electrifying the air between us. Ares’s warmth wraps around me, trapping me in a bubble where everything turns unreal. His hands glide over my hips, and an uncontrollable tremor shakes my body.

“Tell me to let go,” he murmurs near my ear, his husky voice brushing my skin.

I should. But instead, my arms clutch his neck, pulling him closer. My hips mold to his, drawing a muffled moan. My breath quickens, my skin ignites.

I need to see him. To understand what he feels. Is it desire or just a habit ingrained in my flesh, a well-oiled routine?

I tilt my head back, seeking his eyes. He looks surprised, but his gaze, burning with fierce fire, captivates me. Breathless, I stare, unable to break this invisible bond between us. Then he draws closer, his hips finding a precise, devastating point of contact.

I stagger. How long can I hold out? My last orgasm is ancient history, and every involuntary touch consumes me. I want to drag him off the floor, slam him against a wall, surrender to this fire that devours me.

His hands descend, digging almost roughly into my hips. A moan escapes me. It’s too much. I can’t think anymore.

“This is a mistake on every level,” he breathes against my skin, “but I can’t stay away from you.”

Then, without warning, he spins me to face him, grabs my neck, and crushes his mouth to mine.

My brain shorts out. I cling to his shoulders, returning his kiss with a fever I don’t understand. He toys with me, and I love it. Every nerve trembles under his control.

One thought obsesses me: again.

It’s not enough.

His hips roll against mine, amplifying the burning tension between us. Electricity surges uncontrollably through me. Then the seam of his jeans rubs against my crotch. A violent shock shoots down my spine.

The friction becomes unbearable. My breath breaks. Then, suddenly, it’s an explosion. My body tenses and shakes against his as pleasure overwhelms me in the crowd, heart pounding wildly.

His kiss swallows my cry, muffling my surrender.

Slowly, reality catches up. My breath is short, my body drained of tension. I feel his heart hammering against my chest, his fingers still gripping my hips.

He made me come. Here. In front of everyone.

The adrenaline crashes down, replaced by a stinging shame. I open my eyes. What have I done?

Ares still watches me, but his gaze has changed. A flash of fury crosses his pupils. His fingers clench, and he abruptly lets go.

“That should never have happened,” he growls hoarsely.

“No kidding,” I mumble, stepping back, swaying slightly.

The alcohol clouds me.

He catches me as my legs threaten to give out.

“You’re completely wasted,” he growls, “and that just makes everything worse.”

I shake my head, confused. He pulls me close, pushes me away, then catches me again. His mood swings make me dizzy.

“Let go. I’m going home,” I try, struggling to free myself.

“You don’t have a home,” he replies softer, pulling me out of the bar. “Come with me before some asshole here drags you off. It’s bad enough I’m taking advantage of your state.”

His fingers grip my wrist tightly. I have no choice but to follow, half stumbling behind him to the exit.

Night has fallen. I hadn’t even noticed how long we’d stayed inside.

“Where are you taking me?”

“To my place.”

“I don’t want to go,” I protest, stopping dead.

He growls and tries to drag me by the wrist, but I resist, rooted to the spot. His mood swings tire me, and I refuse to endure more. He treats me like a puppet he can manipulate at will. I don’t want that anymore. It’s exactly why I fled Thunder Hawk.

He sighs, lowers his head, then suddenly spins around. In a flash, he drops to his knees and grabs my thighs. My vision tilts. A sharp slap lands on my ass as my face dangerously nears his sculpted backside.

“You’re leaving me no choice,” he growls, resuming his walk.

“You can’t do this!” I protest, less outraged than I should be.

He just chuckles.

“You’re here, ass in the air on my shoulder,” he reminds me of my submissive position. “That should be proof enough that I can.”