Page 8 of Inked Desires

ANDREW

I’m unsettled. The guy in the shop looks eerily like me. How is that even possible? How can two people resemble each other so much without knowing one another? It’s insane. Simply unbelievable.

I look away. Ares sits next to me, staring into his glass like it might offer him some kind of redemption. His fingers cling to it tightly. It’s his lifeline. Alcohol might not be the solution, but sometimes, it’s the only escape from yourself. He wants to run from his own skin. He’s fighting himself.

That’s why I stayed. Even if these new revelations make me uncomfortable, I couldn’t bring myself to leave him alone.

“You touched me because I look like him?”

The words slip out before I can stop them.

His gaze lifts. He stares at me, jaw clenched, but I’m not afraid of him. He doesn’t scare me. I know he won’t hurt me.

“You want the truth, or do you want me to spare your feelings?” he hisses, more venom than question. He’s clearly cornered.

“The truth,” I demand.

He slams the glass down on the table. The sound echoes off the walls, buzzing in my ears.

“I thought you were William,” he admits, not breaking eye contact. “That’s probably why I can’t stay away from you.”

I see it. He’s trying to wound me. Trying to push me away. There might be truth in what he’s saying, but it’s not the whole truth. He’s hiding something—just like I’m desperately trying to conceal my own reaction to him.

Even knowing he wants distance, my chest tightens painfully. This morning, I had hope. Now, it vanishes, reminding me that it’s safer to face this world alone.

“If you miss him so much you want to touch me to fill that void, maybe you shouldn’t have pushed him away earlier.”

He shoots to his feet, grabs the bottle of whiskey, and takes a long pull straight from it, ignoring the glass entirely.

“He can’t stand me anymore,” he growls.

I sigh and rub my forehead. This is ridiculous. I’m talking to the man I fooled around with, trying to convince him to get back with his husband. I’ve really outdone myself this time.

“That’s not what I saw,” I tell him. “He came here to see you. That man hasn’t moved on.”

He takes another swig from the bottle. I was hoping for a flicker of hope in his eyes after I said that, but he stays cold.

“Maybe he hasn’t, but for me, there’s no going back.”

His voice is resolute, but I don’t buy it. He sounds wounded. Nearly broken. I can’t bear to see him like this. Slowly, I stand up from the couch and take a step closer.

“Is that really what you want?” I press. “You want it to be over?”

He lifts his head. His eyes blaze with determination.

“I signed the divorce papers. Did you? Before you ran from your husband and shoved your tongue down my throat?”

My fingers brush over my ring finger, over the spot where my wedding band used to be. Instead of his name, Jace should’ve just tattooed a ring on me—it would’ve been harder to take off.

“No,” I admit quietly.

He tilts his head, frowning, scrutinizing my face like he’s searching for answers I’ve kept hidden.

“So you’re still married.”

“Legally.”

“Your last name really is Lopez?” he asks sharply, lifting the bottle to his lips again.

“How do you know my last name?” I ask, surprised.

Until now, I’ve only told him my first name. That had been enough for him. He’d never asked for more.

“I heard you on the phone with William,” he says simply.

Of course…

“What’s your real name?” he demands.

I should leave. I shouldn’t reveal too much. The less people know, the less they can spread.

“Andrew Benton,” I say, unable to lie.

“You really lived in Thunder Hawk?” he presses, accusing.

“Until two weeks ago. That’s when I left,” I confirm.

I never really lied. I just tried to hide my broken body from him.

“Does he know where you are?”

I take a deep breath. This conversation is heading into dangerous territory. I should’ve stopped him from steering it toward me.

“No. And it has to stay that way.”

“Is that a threat?” he asks, amused.

I press my lips together. If he knew what would happen to me if Jace ever finds me, he’d understand why I’m reacting like this. But Ares will never understand—because I’ll never tell him. Maybe it’s time I leave. I need to learn from this.

“Exactly,” I mutter as anger takes over. “And if you tell anyone who I am or where I am, I’ll drain your fucking bank account and leave this town.”

The corners of his mouth twitch. That half-smile reappears, and amusement flickers in his eyes. His joke cuts through me like a blade, fueling my rage. He doesn’t take me seriously. He doesn’t think I’d actually do it. Clearly, he’s way too na?ve.

“There’s one difference between you and William,” he says calmly. “He’s bold, but he’d never steal from me. And he’d sure as hell never admit it out loud. That’s what I like about you…”

His fingers find my forearm, gliding gently up to my shoulder. The anger evaporates instantly. His touch makes my heart stutter. I know I should stay mad, but I can’t. His fingers trace my collarbone in small circles, sending shivers through me. It feels like I’m under a tattoo gun again.

“What are you doing?” I whisper, barely audible.

“I’m done fighting,” he says, without warning.

His lips crash against mine. His free arm wraps around me, holding me tight. A tremor escapes my chest as my fingers cling to his shirt. Even if I wanted to push him away, I couldn’t. This is wrong. So wrong. And yet it feels so right. His strength steals my breath as his tongue explores mine with dizzying skill.

Caught off guard, I suck in a sharp breath—a sound that turns into a low, guttural moan when his rough hand grabs my nipples. When the hell did he get under my shirt?

“I’ve wanted you since day one,” he growls against my mouth.

His fingers pinch my nipple. Sharp, exquisite pain shoots through my chest, down to my gut, driving me even closer.

“Ares,” I whisper.

“I know,” he replies, sealing his lips to mine again.

His tongue swirls, dragging me into a fevered battle, while his fingers torment my nipple, drawing soft moans from me. My breathing turns ragged and erratic. My hands, now out of control, roam his hard, sculpted body, exploring every line. His skin is firm, and his perfectly built muscles leave no room for imperfection.

“Fuck,” we gasp at the same time, just as his palm slides into my pants. Slowly, he strokes me, brushing along the most sensitive part of me. My toes curl. The pleasure is so intense I want to scream at him to rip off my damn jeans. It’s been so long since anyone touched me like this—longer still since I felt anything close to real desire.

But deep in the back of my mind, a sharp doubt starts to grow—one I can no longer ignore. Ares doesn’t want me. He wants William. I’m nothing more than a pale copy to him. I squeeze my eyes shut tighter, trying to convince myself I can use him too. But it doesn’t work. I don’t want to just use him. I already feel safe with him, and I can’t deny there’s more than just physical desire.

I force my eyes open and pull my lips from his. His eyes open too, glazed with lust. With a sigh, I grab his wrist and try to move his hand out of my pants. A moan of frustration slips out when his fingers stop their sweet torture, leaving me unsatisfied.

“What are you doing?” he whispers, confused.

“I’m not going to play the role of your substitute husband,” I murmur, stepping back. “I can’t…”

But he closes the distance immediately, his long legs overtaking my attempt to retreat.

“You’re not a substitute,” he says, shaking his head.

I close my eyes again, breathing deeply to slow the frantic beating of my heart. I know he’s lying. He doesn’t want me. He just wants to feel close to what he’s lost.

“I’m not stupid, Ares,” I say calmly, opening my eyes. “You don’t want me. You want him. You’re just getting off because I look like him.”

Without waiting for a response, I turn away and walk down the hallway, needing to put distance between us.

The click of the lock when I close the shop door behind me echoes heavily in my ears. It sounds like an ending. Should I leave? Would it be better to disappear and find a new place to hide? Everything feels so damn complicated. I only ever wanted one thing—a peaceful, safe life. Is that too much to ask for? Maybe I just hoped too much after getting a taste of what he could offer.

Frustrated, I run a hand through my hair. I need a drink. And a man—any man—to help clear these thoughts from my head. Maybe then my heart will finally stop torturing me.

I settle onto a barstool in a nearly empty dive bar.

“What can I get you?” the bartender asks.

“Whiskey and Coke.”

The counter sticks faintly to my arms. Clearly, upkeep isn’t a top priority here. The old, scratched wood could use a total renovation—but I don’t care. Tonight, I’m here for one reason.

A glass appears in front of me, and I toss down a ten-dollar bill.

“Keep the change,” I say.

With a trembling hand, I lift the glass to my lips. The burn in my veins reminds me of the heat still throbbing between my legs. I keep drinking, trying to drown this insane craving my body still has for Ares.

“Not bad,” says a voice beside me.

I turn my head. A red-haired man with honey-colored eyes is standing there. His pale skin is dotted with a few freckles across his nose. He’s not bad-looking. A bit young for me, but he’ll do. I’m not looking for anything serious—just a reminder of how disappointing sex can be with the wrong person.

And this guy looks like the perfect candidate.