Old Ink (Get Ink'd #3) - Ali Lyda Page 0,52

but with Channing, sometimes it feels like we still have to walk on eggshells. Probably just leftover bullshit, you know?”

“Yeah. He’s a good kid, though,” I said, and then winced. “He’s a good man, I mean. Truly. And the stuff he’s sitting on is something he’s handling much more maturely than I would have at his age.”

Dane smirked. “Cool. I’m headed out—you need me to do anything?”

“Not tonight. I’ll leave Bryan’s paperwork for you to look over tomorrow. Could you get him set up with payroll and benefits and all that stuff?”

“You got it, Boss. Have a good night.”

He left and my office suddenly felt empty. I spent so much goddamned time in this room. The walls were decorated with posters of flash and framed portraits of some of my favorite tattoos that had come out of the shop. There was the fridge in the corner, my huge desk, the chairs, and a couch pressed against the wall. It was cozy, but it felt more like a lunch break room than a space where I could be me.

I ate at least two meals of my day in this office more often than not, sitting with myself and my paperwork. My neck and shoulders were starting to get chronic knots from working on the computer instead of moving around and making art. The walls were closing in on me. Was this it? Was this success and where I was supposed to be?

My fingers trailed the sketchpad, long neglected since Bryan had walked in that morning. If I wanted time for art, I would have to make it. But maybe I could fit in one more quick sketch now, before I went home for the night?

A knock at the door had me groaning until I saw it was Channing. “Hey, you,” he said, leaning on the doorframe. “Everyone’s left for the day. How long are you sticking around?”

I rubbed my hands roughly over my face, feeling my soul sag a bit. “I’m not sure. I just have one or two things to finish up.”

Channing stepped into my office and shut the door. I raised an eyebrow but gestured to the chair across the desk. “Have a seat.”

He sat so slowly and stiffly, accommodating the bulge in his pants, that I was forced to hide a smile behind my hand, pretending to stroke my beard. I’d been tired, but having him near breathed a bit of life into me. “What can I do for you?”

He looked at me then, pressing a finger to his bottom lip in a coy manner. “I was wondering…”

“Yes?” My voice was a rasp, and more than my eyebrow was beginning to raise. Channing managed to make my body feel young again. Vigorous. My pulse ticked up.

“Would you be willing to help me live out a fantasy of mine?” His blush was deep and so, so lovely.

My blood fired up and my cock rose to half-mast. All my work woes and existential crises evaporated as he sat in front of me, lean and dark and sexy as hell. We’d been dancing around a bit of power play, but I wasn’t sure how far to go. He responded so beautifully that the part of me that liked to top reared up. But I wanted to make sure—he was too precious to push. And whatever he was about to suggest? I wouldn’t dare rush it.

“I think I could help with that.” I steepled my fingers in front of my mouth. “What exactly do you have in mind?”

14

Channing

“You’ve had a long day,” I said.

The line was from a long-standing fantasy of mine involving Reagan, but it was also true. Things had changed since I’d been a shop assistant three years before. Reagan wasn’t out on the floor with the guys nearly as much. He rarely tattooed. He spent hours upon hours in the office now, all by himself, and it was starting to show: his skin looked not only pale but wan. He had blue circles under his eyes, and the sclera was tinged with red from staring at screens all day.

Reagan looked tired, and I was determined to revive him. It wasn’t entirely selfless, though. I’d been trying to hide a hard-on for most of the day. Reagan’s “take it slow” approach was making me crawl out of my skin, desperate for more. It was a little too old-fashioned—and not in a good way. Not when I was so horny, I worried I’d lose control and hump the couch if I