Page 9 of Inked Desires

AReS

My muscles burn. Acid pulses through my veins, forcing me to face the truth, but I refuse. I breathe deeply, savoring the scent of release still lingering in the air, and bury my nose deeper into his black curls. His body, hot against mine, radiates warmth. I silently thank Kiran for bringing him back. Without him, I would’ve completely lost control. He was so drunk he could barely walk, leaning on Kiran just to get home.

He misunderstood me—and that’s exactly what I wanted. I needed him to leave. But the second he walked out that door, I realized I’d made a huge mistake.

The stirring beside me pulls me from my thoughts. He’s waking up. He’s definitely going to have a hangover. His body stiffens, then slowly he turns his head toward me and blinks. When he sees me, he relaxes.

“Oh. It’s you,” he murmurs sleepily.

“If Kiran hadn’t been there, you’d be waking up in Theo’s bed right now,” I growl.

Andrew freezes, then closes his eyes again. I gently brush a stray curl from his face.

“And that would’ve been my choice,” he replies sharply, making my blood boil.

“I’d have smashed that fucker’s face in,” I snap.

“And who gave you the right?”

I pull him against me, sliding my leg over his bare thighs.

“You did. Grinding against me like a damn stripper, terrified you’re nothing but a replacement for someone else. You gave me that right.”

He raises a hand to rub his forehead, eyes still shut.

“I don’t belong to you,” he mutters.

“That can be arranged,” I bark, and throw myself fully on top of him.

His body immediately softens beneath mine.

The idea of another man touching him drives me insane. Kissing those full lips, tasting him. Something snaps in my mind. He’s melted my entire world in a way that can’t be undone, and I can’t hold back anymore. I already couldn’t yesterday.

I don’t give him a chance to think. I crush my lips to his and press my morning erection against his core. He moans, the sound ripping straight through me. I want more. I want him screaming my name, his body tightening around my cock, giving himself over to me completely.

Even if his mind fights back, his body begs me to keep going. His small hands claw at the bare skin of my back, silently pleading for more. And I’ll give him everything I have.

I press harder into him, savoring every soft noise that escapes his lips. I slide my tongue into his mouth, tasting his skin, drinking in his warmth. Nothing compares to this.

My hands, acting on their own, slip under his shirt. When my fingers find his nipples, my thoughts scatter. Fuck. They’re hard. Just enough to drive me crazy. Pure temptation. I pinch them firmly, and his hips jerk in response. My lips curl into a smile against his.

I test again. Another moan escapes his throat. I pull back just enough to glance between us. Holy shit. He’s so hard, his underwear looks ready to burst. He won’t last long.

I leave his nipples behind and trail my fingers down his stomach, reaching the waistband of his black boxer briefs. My mind fogs. All I can think about is uncovering this body that calls to me, unleashing everything I feel.

When my fingers brush over his cock, a deep groan rises from his chest. He’s ready. So fucking ready. I don’t waste time with slow teasing. He’s waited long enough.

I stroke him without restraint. His heat burns me alive. My thumb glides over his tip, circling gently, while my fingers pump him. The sounds he makes, the way he trembles—it all pushes me to the edge. My cock aches, painfully hard, pressed against his thigh.

Then his body arches, every muscle tense. He goes completely still. The silence is heavy, broken only by the slick rhythm of my fingers working him. Finally, he cries out—a sharp, desperate sound that fills the entire room. He’s perfect, glowing in his weakness, and I never want to look away.

I give him just enough time to catch his breath, but I’m done waiting. I want nothing more than to sink into him and silence my own thoughts once and for all. I reach over him and open the drawer. After finding the condom, I tear the wrapper, shove my shorts down, and roll the latex over my cock. I’m hard as a steel rod, and my balls feel like they’re about to explode.

I grab his thigh, ignoring the surprised sound that escapes him, and hook his leg over my shoulder. This is it. I position myself right at his entrance, sliding the length of my cock along his sensitive skin. Only his boxer briefs still separate us from that final pleasure. His eyelids flutter. His mouth opens slightly, lips forming a breathless sound that catches in his throat.

I break. In one swift motion, I tug his underwear to the side and thrust deep inside him. This time, I’m the one who nearly screams loud enough to shake the room. Head tilted back, eyes half-lidded, I fight to keep control. He’s perfect. Soft, yielding, and impossibly aroused—for me.

I pause just long enough not to come instantly. I’ve never felt sex like this before. Being inside Andrew, sober, is more intense than anything I’ve ever experienced.

Once I feel the edge recede, I start to move. Andrew’s head twists from side to side, overwhelmed. His soft whimpers fill my mind, but it’s not enough. I want to hear him scream. Beg.

I lift his other leg and hook it over my shoulder, letting me drive even deeper. I want him to never seek pleasure in anyone else’s arms. I want to be the only man who owns his body.

And it works. His hands clutch at my forearms, nails digging into my skin—but I don’t care. His hips arch into mine, and his cries grow louder as I fuck him hard, relentlessly.

I see it before he does. His body tenses again. He freezes, not even breathing. Only the sound of my ragged breathing and the slap of our bodies echoes in the room.

“Fuck, Ares, I—”

He doesn’t finish. I’m already gone.

Hearing my name in that moment, hearing him give in, so open, so vulnerable—it breaks me. I cry out with him as I come, my cock twitching with each wave of release. Stars explode behind my eyes. My orgasm consumes me entirely. I can’t stop. I keep thrusting, deeper into his heat, until everything finally fades.

Spent, I collapse on top of him. His shirt is pushed up, revealing that flawless chest, letting me rest my cheek against his skin. His heart pounds, matching mine beat for beat.

“That was... interesting,” Andrew murmurs.

“Interesting, huh?” I say with a slight smile. “I could think of a few other words for it.”

His comment might have bruised my ego, but I don’t care. I heard and felt what I did to him.

Carefully, I pull out of him, savoring the final shivers of his warmth before pressing a kiss to his forehead. “I’ll throw the condom away,” I say as I get out of bed and leave the room.

I expected it to be amazing—and somehow, I’m still surprised. It was more than anything I’ve ever known. More than anything I’ve ever had. He gave himself to my touch with such raw intensity. Just thinking about it makes me want him all over again.

I toss the condom into the small bin next to the toilet. I rinse off at the sink, washing away the traces of cum and latex. But I don’t linger. It’s not exhaustion calling me back to bed—it’s him.

In the doorway, I stop and take him in. Half-naked, lying in my sheets, basking in the aftermath. I love this sight. Maybe too much.

“You still think you’re just a replacement to me?”

Andrew looks up, props himself on his elbows, and shrugs. “Maybe. Maybe not. But that doesn’t mean I belong to you.”

I move closer to the bed, warmth stirring in my gut. “Forget the other men, Andrew,” I growl.

I can’t stop this jealousy boiling inside me. I know it’s too soon to say that—but the thought alone drives me crazy.

His body tenses. He pulls down his shirt and slips his legs out from under the blanket to sit on the edge of the bed. “That’s not for you to decide,” he mutters.

I grab his arm. He flinches, eyes wide, and stares at me with fear.

“You’re afraid of me,” I say, the realization sinking in hard.

He clenches his jaw, trying to hide it, but I see the panic. It’s obvious—my touch scared him.

“Is that what he did to you?” I ask, bitter. “He hit you when you looked at other men?”

As much as I hate infidelity, I’d never hit him for that. I might beat the guy to a pulp, sure, but never him.

He pulls away and stands. “Stop talking about things you don’t understand.”

He picks up my sweatpants, pulls them on, hiding his bare legs from me.

“Then explain it to me,” I insist.

I want to know what caused that darkness in his eyes. I don’t want to be the reason he flinches.

“What do you want to hear?” he yells. “I didn’t sleep with anyone else. Jace made sure of that. No one was allowed to touch me—hell, even look at me! If I so much as glanced the wrong way, I paid for it. Sometimes he’d throw me against the furniture for hours before he’d fuck me.”

My jealousy turns to pure rage. I want to rip out that bastard’s eyes for every damn thing he did to Andrew.

I approach slowly, trying not to frighten him further. He notices, and steps back again. Andrew looks like a deer caught in headlights.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” I say softly.

He avoids my gaze, but there’s nowhere left to retreat. The wall’s right behind him.

“Did he rape you?” I ask, needing to know everything.

His eyes fix on mine, cold and sharp. The panic is gone. He straightens his back, standing tall, and the fear fades entirely.

“If you press the elevator button long enough, eventually the doors open. So no, I wouldn’t call it rape…”

“Yes, Andrew. It was. Just because you felt something at some point doesn’t erase the horror of it. I know you’re not ready to see it that way, but one day you’ll understand you did nothing wrong. It was rape. Plain and simple.”

Andrew says nothing and slips past me, leaving the room.

“Where are you going?” I ask.

He glances back briefly but doesn’t stop. “Taking a shower,” he replies before vanishing, leaving me alone with my hatred for his husband.

He’s finally talking to me. Not everything—and I hate what I’ve heard—but he’s opening up. So Jace wasn’t just a brute. He was a rapist too. Rage scorches my throat. My hands ball into fists so tight my knuckles go white. To me, that bastard isn’t a man. Preying on the weak is the act of a coward. If he ever tried to stand against me, he wouldn’t last five minutes. For every scar on Andrew’s body—mental or physical—I’d break a bone before I end him.

I push down the handle. Relief washes over me—he didn’t lock the door.

He notices me but doesn’t meet my eyes. In silence, I scan his body. Every scar tells a story. Andrew is strong. Stronger than I am. After my service, I drowned in alcohol. I hated the world, and it hated me right back. In my bitterness, I pushed William away because I couldn’t speak. Andrew ran too—but he controls himself better than I ever could.

“You saw Kiran shirtless,” I begin.

He glances at me, confused.

“You must’ve noticed the scar on his chest?” I continue.

He shakes his head slightly. Of course. His abs are more distracting. I almost crack a sarcastic comment but hold back. It won’t help.

“It’s a bullet wound. A woman shot him on a mission.”

He watches me, waiting. He doesn’t get where I’m going with this—and truthfully, neither do I. I’m rambling to lighten the air.

“What I’m trying to say is... a young, skinny woman brought a trained soldier to his knees. And so can you. I’m going to teach you how to shoot.”

I leave out the part where I shot that woman between the eyes afterward—because she was aiming at my head. No need to scare him more.

Andrew freezes. His hands stay tangled in his hair as he rinses the shampoo.

“You’d really do that?”

I nod. He needs to be able to protect himself. I want him safe. That bastard is still out there. Andrew lives like prey, constantly looking over his shoulder.

“We’ll get you a weapon.”

Tears burn in his eyes and blend with the shower spray. I open the door and step in. It tears me apart to see him like this. He lets himself fall into my arms. His skin against mine sends a warm tremor through my nerves. He’s my tattoo machine—my only silence.

“Thank you,” he whispers.

The hot water cascades over us. I hold him tighter, my hand on his nape.

“Don’t thank me. Learning to shoot is one thing. Pulling the trigger is another. It goes against every instinct. But if your life’s on the line, you have to do it. Promise me, Andrew. Promise me you’ll pull that trigger if you have to.”

I know what I’m saying. Firing on a human being for the first time requires brutal mental strength. And it changes you. Over time, it becomes a necessary evil. I just pray he never has to face that.

“I promise,” he says, but I know he’ll hesitate.

Everyone does.

I exhale and release him reluctantly, grabbing the shower gel.

“Good. Let’s get ready for work.”

“I need to stop by the boarding house. I don’t have clean clothes here.”

I nod, running water over my face.

“I’ll drive you. Pick up your stuff. No need to keep paying for that room.”

“What do you mean?”

“You work for me—and at night, I’ll be taking care of that sensitive spot between your thighs.”

“Mmmh.”

“Am I wrong?”

Andrew lets out an irritated growl, which makes me smile. God, it’s been so long since I smiled. It feels strange—but freeing.

“So why pay for a room you’re not using?”

“Do I get a say in this?”

“No.”