Page 7 of Inked Desires

AReS

The metal feels heavy in my hand as I lie beneath the sink, trying to tighten a bolt. My fingers grip the steel more firmly. I force myself to focus on the drainpipe, pushing away the image of Andrew, stretched out in my guest room wearing only one of my T-shirts and his boxer shorts.

Last night’s dance broke down dams inside me that I’m now clumsily trying to patch up. I want him. More than I’ve ever wanted a man before. And it’s wrong, because he’s vulnerable and above all, he’s not ready for someone like me. But that doesn’t stop my thoughts from wandering. I want to see more of that satin skin. I want to taste him on my tongue, feel the softness of his hair between my fingers.

“Fuck,” I growl at the drainpipe, as if it’s to blame for my chaotic mind.

“You need help?”

I sit up abruptly. My skull smacks hard against the cabinet, and a sharp pain radiates across my forehead. Damn drainpipe. No chance for a moment’s peace.

“You’re awake,” I say, stating the obvious.

My eyes land on perfectly sculpted calves. My gaze slowly travels upward, following the edge of my T-shirt that stops just above his knees, hiding the most captivating parts of his body. His hair falls in messy strands across his forehead. He’s adorable.

“Apparently. So, can I help you?” he repeats.

I shake my head and gesture to the counter.

“There’s coffee if you want some.”

He steps forward, standing just in front of me, legs apart. A proposition? Or just coincidence? He leans forward, and his manhood is right at face level. My body reacts instantly, a burning desire carving its way through me. I take a deep breath, bracing myself for... whatever he has planned. Mistake. A huge mistake. His scent hits me full on. He leans in more. If I move my head, I could...

But suddenly, he steps back, holding two cups. His eyebrows raise as he looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. I misread it. Andrew just wanted to reach the shelf, not me.

My body still trembles from his proximity. My fingers dig into the wooden floor. How can he have such an effect on me? With William, sex was incredible, but never has the tension been this overwhelming.

“Coffee?” he asks, waving the cups under my nose.

I nod and back away. We need distance. Immediately. Otherwise, I’m going to end up throwing him onto the kitchen table, and all my reasoning will shatter.

He fills the mugs while I stand and close the cabinet under the sink.

“Do we have...?” he starts hesitantly.

I raise an eyebrow, waiting for him to finish.

Uneasy, he shifts his weight from one foot to the other, staring at his drink before handing me the other cup.

“Did we... sleep together last night?” he finally asks.

I bite my cheek. In what sense? What we did on the floor yesterday can’t really be called dancing. I started dancing with him only because the leering looks from the assholes around were driving me mad. But when he pressed his body against mine, my brain shut down. Still, I didn’t go all the way, even though every part of me wanted it. And every reason not to slowly fades away.

“No,” I say, amused by his uncertain expression. “You’d remember, trust me.”

“Good,” he replies, though he doesn’t seem to believe it.

A slight disappointment flashes across his face.

“Is this your apartment?” he asks, scanning the kitchen, a poor attempt to change the subject.

I take a sip of coffee, trying to gauge his mood.

“No. We had a break-in last night. No idea who owns this place.”

He rolls his eyes but a smile tugs at his lips.

“It’s nice,” he says, ignoring my joke. “Can you call me a taxi?” he adds after finishing his coffee. “I need to change before heading to the shop.”

“There’s a new toothbrush in the bathroom,” I reply. “Wear your jeans from yesterday and take one of my T-shirts. We’re already late.”

He slept long, and I didn’t have the heart to wake him. He looked so peaceful, relaxed. It’s an expression I’d never seen on his face since he stormed into my shop like a tempest.

“Bathroom?”

“The door at the very end. Help yourself to my closet.”

“Okay,” he nods, heading toward the exit.

His hips sway with a hypnotic grace at every step, and I can’t help but follow the movement with my eyes. Impossible to look away. That body looks made to be bitten, marked as territory.

I take a deep breath, shake my head, and try to regain my composure. Andrew is already out of the kitchen, and I’m still staring at the door like an excited teenager.

I have to control myself. My desire can’t dictate my actions. Sleeping with Andrew would be a colossal mistake. He looks too much like my husband. He works for me. If I cross that line, I risk losing a good employee, and this unhealthy obsession isn’t worth it. It’s a shitty reality, and yet, I keep salivating after him.

I head toward my room. But as I step into the doorway, I stop dead.

He’s there, wearing only his jeans, standing in front of my closet. Drops of water drip from his hair, down his back, tracing a path to his hips.

Fuck. Does he want to be my downfall or what?

My gaze catches the scar on the small of his back. The mark of an iron is deeply etched into his skin, a brutal shadow on that perfection. A familiar rage rises inside me. How can anyone do that to someone who can’t defend themselves? What did he do to deserve that?

Suddenly, I’m right behind him. His scent has mingled with my shower gel. I notice his ragged breathing. My thoughts vanish. With my fingertips, I trace the scar. Gently, I follow its contours, paying tribute to that damaged flesh and apologizing for another’s deeds. His skin is uneven, but I don’t mind. An electric energy runs through his body into my arm, turning into vibrations that remind me of my dermograph’s hum. It soothes me, pushes the darkness behind my temples, and awakens my curiosity to feel the rest of his body.

I reach over his shoulder and pull off a T-shirt, handing it to him.

“Here.”

His trembling hands grasp the fabric and unfold the old band tee.

I return to the wardrobe to grab black jeans and another top before forcing myself to step back, giving him space. I head to the bed and lay the clothes down. I look away, or I risk giving in to the fire burning deep inside me.

Behind me, I hear a faint rustle, but I don’t turn around. I yank off my top with a sharp motion, then let my soft pants slide down my legs. My back tingles. I can’t help it—I glance over my shoulder. Andrew is watching me. It doesn’t embarrass me. I’m not ashamed of my body. He bites his lip, letting his gaze drift to my hips.

“Andrew,” I say, my voice sharp, warning him.

Any more, and he’d already be beneath me. And I’d throw all consequences to the wind.

He blushes and lowers his eyes to the floor. I take a deep breath, gathering the last scraps of control I have left before pulling on my clothes and grabbing the key from my nightstand.

“Let’s go,” I say, leading him out of the room, away from the danger zone.

We shouldn’t both be in my room. It feeds fantasies I’m not allowed to have.

I cross the hallway and stop in front of a mirrored door.

“What’s that?” he exclaims behind me.

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.

I roll my eyes, silently praying for divine intervention that doesn’t come.

“Stay here,” I say, grabbing William’s arm to lead him away. We’ll talk later. No way I’m explaining myself in front of him.

“What are you doing here?” I ask William.

“The real question is, what are you doing here? You need a damn shrink, Ares. He could be my brother!”

I run my hands over my temples to calm down.

“None of your business. Why are you here?”

He holds up an envelope. Only now do I notice it.

“Divorce papers,” he grumbles.

I bury my face in my hands and massage my temples, trying not to explode.

“I told you to send them, not hand them to me in person!”

He steps back a few paces, keeping his distance. He’s scared of me again, and it drives me mad. I’ve never done anything to him. His fear is totally unfounded.

“I wanted to see how you were,” he murmurs.

I snatch the envelope from his hands and head to the table.

“I’m fine,” I reply coldly. “Next time you get nostalgic, call me, but don’t set foot here again.”

I pull the papers from the envelope and skim them quickly. He doesn’t want anything from me. He just wants to erase me from his life. No surprise there. When we split, he was clear before he fled.

“You’re the one not doing well. Otherwise, how do you explain having my double in your shop?”

I grab a pen and sign the divorce papers in one stroke.

“Still none of your business, darling,” I say bitterly, inadvertently using his old nickname.

I bite my tongue, annoyed. It wasn’t intentional, just an old habit.

I put the papers back in the envelope and shove it into his hands.

“Now you have everything you need. Get out,” I demand.

“You really want to get rid of me that fast?” he asks softly, hurt.

His question, even innocent, sets something off inside me. A long-buried anger resurfaces.

“What do you want me to say, William?” I yell. “You couldn’t handle my return after deployment. I was too much for you. Too angry. Too quiet.

“When I found a way to vent, to rebuild myself, you decided I worked too much. You left, and for two years, you never tried to reach me.

“You thought I’d wait for you forever? You broke my heart, damn it! And now, I don’t need anyone to fix it.”

He stares at me, wide-eyed, surprised by my honesty. He didn’t expect that. I’d always preferred silence to confrontation. And even now, I don’t want to talk anymore.

“Go away, please,” I say, drained, worn out by all this.

I leave him there, unable to bear his presence any longer. His face is an open window to too many memories I’m not ready to face.

Passing by Andrew, I glance sideways.

“Cancel all my appointments for today,” I say. “You can take the day off.”

I open the mirrored door without waiting for a reply and slam it shut behind me. I don’t even bother locking it.

At this moment, I don’t care who might come in. The day is ruined. I have no patience left for this shit.

In the living room, I find an unopened bottle of scotch in the cabinet. I grab the glass next to it and fill it to the brim. No ice needed. I just want to shut my mind up, and my old companion is here to help.

The amber liquor slides down my throat, leaving a slight burn behind. I drain the glass in one go and pour another. Apparently, I haven’t really given up hard liquor. A few minutes with William, and suddenly everything else seems more tempting than staying in control.

“Ares?”

Annoyed, I stare at my glass, hoping it’s clear enough that I don’t want to talk.

“I told you to take the day off. What don’t you understand?”

“We need to talk,” he insists.

I turn around, exasperated. I don’t want to talk! Why can’t anyone get that? Sometimes silence is all you need.

“Go away. We’ll see each other tomorrow,” I say, keeping my voice steady, then turn my back on him.

I don’t wait for him to leave. I don’t listen to his footsteps. I focus only on my glass.

When I finish my second, I don’t stop there. I pour a third before sitting on the couch.

The cushion next to me sinks. I turn my head. Andrew hasn’t left. He just sat beside me, silent, enduring my muteness.