Old Ink (Get Ink'd #3) - Ali Lyda Page 0,86

Or a nag. I don’t want to do all the work—and I don’t want you to be with me out of penance.”

“And I don’t want that for you,” he agreed. His blue eyes were so clear and earnest as they locked onto mine. “What I want is to paint because I love to paint. I want to paint you because I love you. The rest of it, the fame and attention? It’s just bullshit. I was lost and apathetic until you came around, Channing. You’re not a muse—you’re my inspiration.”

Reagan reached out and brushed a thumb across my lower lip, his touch light as a whisper and yet a complete sucker punch to my heart, which was beating hard and fast for him.

“In return, I’d like to be there for you while you go for your dreams. I want to cheer you on when you succeed and comfort you when things get rough. I know you’ll be at school, and I still have another season to shoot at least with the show, but I think we’re both adult enough to make it work. If...if you’ll forgive me?”

I felt pinned by him, but there was no part of me thrashing to escape. Instead, all of my impulses pushed me to open my arms, my heart, and let him back in. I’d needed a way to know that he truly saw me as the current me, not the kid I’d been. To know that he could respect me, that we could be partners in every sense of the word.

And I’d seen that evidence. Hell, I was surrounded by it. Each portrait of me was done in a way that made me feel sensual and mature and confident—not a prize, or a boy toy. Just a man, as real as anyone else.

“To forgive or not to forgive...that is the question.” I playfully tapped at my mouth as if weighing my choices. “What do I get if I forgive you?”

Reagan Dallas seemed to swell with lust and determination, his shoulders straightening and his strong chest puffing up. The energy rolled off of him, and I fought hard to stifle a moan. It would be horrifying to pop a boner in front of all of these people. But Reagan was apparently oblivious to the eyes that were peering at us in interest.

He leaned in, his lips brushing my ear. “If you forgive me, I’ll pick you up right now and take you home and love you senseless.”

Oh, lord, I was going to get a boner. But he wouldn’t really pick me up in front of all of these people, would he? This was the start of his new career as a painter, and he was doing it without that prick, Ian. Surely, he wouldn’t make a scene on my account. And yet I felt a need to test it.

“I forgive you,” I said, my stomach flipping in anticipation.

In less than ten seconds, I was flung over his shoulder, laughing and mortified. Reagan shouted a thank you to all his patrons and the crew, who were whooping and catcalling. And sure as shit he carried me out of the gallery, put me in his truck, and sped us off toward his condo.

23

Channing

I was pretty sure the doorman chuckled as Reagan tugged me toward the elevator with a curt nod, his hand hot where it was wrapped around my wrist. The elevator trip felt excruciating in its length, and when we pinged at his floor, Reagan ushered me to his door, holding me with one arm while unlocking his front door with his free hand. As soon as we were inside, he had me pressed against the door.

“Fuck, I’ve missed you,” I said as his lips found my neck. He kissed and bit and licked. Reagan’s hand hooked under my knee, dragging my leg up. I was so fucking hard.

“I need to touch you,” I said, grinding against him. “You carried me out all caveman-like. It was hot as hell.”

He slid a hand between us and grabbed my cock, squeezing gently. I cried out and clung to his shoulders.

His body grew tense and Reagan hissed. “What is it you want, Channing?”

I grabbed his bearded cheeks in my hands, forcing our gazes to meet. “You. Always you. But I also want it rough tonight, Reagan. I want you to mark me, to make me yours. I want you to fuck me until I can’t speak.”

The blue of his eyes darkened as his pupils dilated. “You have a filthy