Cuffs - Cara Lockwood Page 0,16
she wasn’t sure it was the smartest move. What she ought to do was finish up the tattoo and get this man out of her shop before he ordered her to strip and her body did it gladly.
She worked in silence for a while, and Mags felt her brain buzzing. Normally she loved hearing the drone of the tattoo machine, but now it sounded too loud, too scratchy in her ears. Gael never stopped looking at her, studying her, and she had the feeling he knew exactly the effect he’d had on her, knew that her mind was a swirl of confusion. But she had no idea what he was thinking. Or, even worse, what he was planning to do next.
She tried to focus on his shoulder, but all she could think about was the sexy growl of Gael’s voice. The way the thrumming bass in her chest had stopped her completely. Made her lose her damn mind. No wonder he got people to invest millions in his projects. He could just order them to and they’d need to obey.
She tried not to focus on the way the thick muscle across his shoulder twitched a bit, a knee-jerk response to her needles. She swiped at the blood rising on the tattoo and couldn’t help but sneak a glance at his broad, bare chest. She’d tattooed hundreds of men and women by now in her career, and yet she’d never been so affected by a man’s body in her chair. By a man’s voice. What was so special about it, anyway? The longer they sat in silence, the more she could convince herself she’d just imagined the power in it. The persuasion.
Sure, he was sexy AF. But she’d had plenty of muscled men lie there before. Fit men. Fine men. Sexy men. He wasn’t any different. Except he had had a family of sisters he took care of. That made him far beyond just a body. Or a suit. Made him a brother. A provider. A father figure. Was that why she thought he could keep her in line? Was that why she wanted him to? She shook her head. Dumb. She was being dumb. She just needed one night with her vibrator to forget all about Gael and his strong hands and low rumble of a voice.
She glanced up and their eyes met, and she froze for the briefest of seconds.
Him dominating. Her submitting. The role-play fantasy flickered through her mind before she could stop it. I’ve been bad. Punish me. The words gurgled up in her throat, but she swallowed them down. She glanced away quickly, pulling her attention away from her borderline BDSM fantasy and back to his shoulder.
Focus, Mags. You’ve got a damn needle in the first layer of this man’s skin. One distracted move and her mistake would be imprinted on him forever. And then he’d just lord it over her head, how she couldn’t stop drooling over him. How she wanted to beg him to spank her. That would be a fate worse than death.
Her real problem was that it had been too damn long since she’d been laid. And the fact that Clint was cuffed meant it might be even longer than she’d like until she could scratch the itch building inside her. Sure, she could take home her pick of men tonight, but Clint was easy. He knew what she liked. He knew she edged toward a little rough but not too rough. He didn’t talk too much. He didn’t pry. And, most of all, he accepted the fact without question that after he’d done what she wanted, given her the release she craved, he went home. She never wanted a man to sleep over; she preferred to sprawl out naked—and alone—beneath her own sheets. She’d have to explain all of this to a new guy. Explain why it was best to keep sex just sex. Explain that she might like to be bossed around a little in the bedroom, but she was always—and forever—the boss outside it. Mags was always amazed about how many men simply wouldn’t agree to those terms.
She pushed down her desire, her want, and by sheer strength of will focused on the tattoo. It was a seemingly endless struggle, even as the sun sank below the November horizon. She barely noticed the lack of sunshine. The bright lights of her parlor illuminated every little hair on Gael’s arm, her desire for him not completely gone, but she’d wrestled