Ink & Obedience
"You're dripping on my vinyl," she said flatly, turning off the gun.
The tattoo gun buzzed against my ribs and I nearly bit through my lip. Not from the pain — from the fact that Mio’s knuckles kept brushing the underside of my tit, and she knew exactly what she was doing.
“Stay still, Yuki,” she muttered, bent low over my side. Her black fringe tickled my skin. “You flinch, you get a crooked koi.”
“Your hand keeps moving.”
“My hand is working.”
“Your hand is *working* me.”
She glanced up through her lashes. Those sharp green contacts she wore for the edgy look — they always made my stomach drop. She smirked and pressed her palm flat against my sternum to hold me down.
“Behave. Shop closes in twenty. Then you can whinge all you like.”
The shop. Right. The shop belonging to her fiancé, Ren, who thought Mio was “just helping a uni mate finish her sleeve.” Ren who was currently three streets over at his stag do, knocking back sake bombs with his cousins. Ren who had absolutely no idea that his bride-to-be had been railing me senseless in his studio every Thursday for four months.
I should’ve felt guilty. I really should’ve. Instead I felt my thighs squeeze together under the paper sheet and hoped she couldn’t smell me through the antiseptic.
She could. Of course she could.
“You’re dripping on my vinyl,” she said flatly, turning off the gun.
