Total pages in book: 29
Estimated words: 27964 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 140(@200wpm)___ 112(@250wpm)___ 93(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27964 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 140(@200wpm)___ 112(@250wpm)___ 93(@300wpm)
The woman looks at me a little harder, like she’s analyzing me for a few long seconds. I shift uncomfortably under her calculating gaze. She takes a breath with what looks like relief and then gives me a big wide smile.
I wave awkwardly to her and then turn my attention back to Magnus. It’s hard to keep my eyes off him, even for a second.
“I’ll put my mark on you,” he says as he looks at my tingling neck. “What kind of tattoo are you thinking?”
“Oh,” I say as I open my purse. “I got some ideas off the internet.”
He leans forward as I put some printed papers on the counter between us. His rugged smell hits me—pine, sandalwood, nature, sex—and it sends a thrill racing through my body.
“I was thinking something like this,” I say as I show him a picture I printed out. “Two wolves howling at the moon.”
He raises a brow. “Wolves?”
“Yeah,” I say, nodding. “Do you think you can do something like that? On my back shoulder?”
Those seductive green eyes lock on mine. “I can do anything you like, Erica.”
My pussy tingles hot as I think about all the things I’d like him to do to me. Flashes erupt in my mind—those lips on my neck, his weight pressing down on me, those big greedy hands pushing my legs apart, a big thick cock pushing inside…
“Okay,” I say, trying to ignore the persistent dirty thoughts racing through my mind. “Let’s do it. The tattoo, I mean.”
He grins as he walks over to his workstation. “Follow me.”
My legs feel all shaky as I walk over to the long black leather chair. He sits on the stool as I sit beside him, tucking my legs together.
He pulls out a sketch book and a pencil case and starts working. I watch his eyes focus on the page, his brow furrowed, his hand loose as it brushes across the scratchy paper.
I could watch him work for hours. He looks so at ease, so at home, so in his element as he sketches the howling wolves and the large moon in the background.
We sit in silence as he works and it’s not long before he’s done.
“Something like this?” he asks as he hands me the sketch book.
I take one look at it and my eyes fill with tears. “It’s perfect,” I whisper. “I love it.”
He adds a few more finishing touches and some shading to it, really bringing it to life. This man is dangerously hot when he concentrates.
I notice the girl, Victoria, watching me from the corner of her eye, her lips twitching like she’s analyzing me or trying to size me up or something. What’s her deal? She probably has a crush on Magnus and doesn’t like me around him. I can’t blame her for that.
“Is this your shop?” I ask, trying to get some more information on my new crush.
He doesn’t look up as he sketches, trying to get my tattoo just right. “Sure is. I started it with my brother and sister a few years ago.”
I take a breath of relief when it clicks. Those green eyes… They’re eerily similar.
“That’s your sister?” I ask, motioning with my head.
He nods.
Thank god. I didn’t want to have to fight her over this man. She looks like she’s tough as balls.
“It’s really cool,” I say as I look around the room.
I loved the outside of Heat & Ink all tucked away in the Montana mountains, but the inside is even cooler than the outside. It’s cozy but edgy, like a cross between a mountain cabin and a trendy tattoo shop. The scent of ink, disinfectant, and pinewood lingers in the air, mixing with the crisp mountain air wafting in through the open windows.
The walls are covered in framed tattoo art of all different styles and shapes. Gritty grizzly bears mid-roar, delicate florals that look real enough to sniff, old-school daggers, and snakes that make me weirdly nervous and impressed at the same time. These people are crazy talented. How can so much artistic talent be concentrated in one family?
Four black leather tattoo chairs are spaced out around the shop, each with their own station around them. They’re each worn and cracked in their own unique way like they’ve seen some serious shit.
Every corner has something interesting to look at—bottles of ink arranged like a rainbow on open shelving, stacks of sketchpads, even a vintage jukebox in the corner quietly humming tunes. Right now, Lightning Crashes by Live is playing quietly in the background.
I like it here. It feels like the kind of place you could hang out all day in. The kind of place that knows how to keep secrets.
When the drawing is just perfect, Magnus transfers the sketch onto a stencil and puts black latex gloves on.
“You sure?” he asks as he sits on his stool in front of me. “Once it’s on, it doesn’t come off.”