BONUS EPILOGUE

FOUR MONTHS AFTER BODY and Soul…

I glanced up from the line work I was laying down on Shepherd's arm, meeting his gaze. My dom sat perfectly still in the tattooing chair, not even flinching as the needle buzzed against his skin. Typical Shepherd, always so stoic and unflappable. Even getting his first ink, he somehow managed to look both bored and sexy at the same time.

“How you holding up there, tough guy?” I asked with a smirk, dipping the machine into more black ink. “Need me to hold your hand or get you a lollipop?”

Shepherd just raised an eyebrow at me, the hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “I think I'll manage. This is hardly the most painful thing I've endured.”

“Careful, your badass is showing,” I teased, getting back to work on the outline. I was inking a Russian nesting doll on Shepherd's forearm, the first piece of what would eventually be a full sleeve. He'd given me total creative control over the design, trusting me completely. It was humbling, being given that kind of artistic freedom on my canvas of a dom. I wanted it to be perfect for him.

Around us, the familiar thrum of Cherry Bombz tattoo shop buzzed with energy. Ketchup was somewhere in the back, finishing up the stock count while Cherry leaned against the counter, her chin in her hands as she watched me work. She’d offered me a full-time position at the shop, which I’d accepted, of course. There was nowhere else I’d rather work than with them.

I fucking loved my job. How many people get to spend their days drawing permanent art on other people's bodies and call it work? And the fact that my gorgeous, badass dom was trusting me to ink his virgin skin... let's just say it did things to me.

I leaned in close as I worked, my brow furrowed in concentration. The lines flowed from my tattoo machine like inky poetry, each one precise and purposeful. Shepherd's skin was the perfect canvas, smooth and unblemished, his muscles taut beneath my fingertips. I had to resist the urge to trace the ridges of his bicep, to lean in and taste the salt on his skin.

“Eyes on your work, boy,” Shep murmured, low enough for only me to hear. I glanced up to see him watching me, his dark eyes glinting with amusement and something else, something heated.

“Yes, Sir,” I replied, trying to ignore the blush creeping up my neck.

I shook my head and refocused on the tattoo, determined to make this ink fucking perfect. As the machine buzzed and the needle danced across Shepherd's skin, my mind wandered to how far we'd come in the past few months.

It hadn't been all smooth sailing, that's for damn sure. Adjusting to life with a newborn in the house was no joke, even with all of us pitching in to help Dani. I swear, that kid had a set of lungs on him that could wake the dead. And don't even get me started on the diaper situation. I never knew something so small could produce such unholy smells.

But even with the sleepless nights and the endless loads of laundry, I wouldn't trade it for anything. Seeing Shepherd with little Noah, the way his face softened and his eyes lit up... it did things to my heart. He was a natural with the kid, all gentle hands and soft words. It made me think about the future, about maybe having a little rugrat of our own someday. I mean, we had plenty of time, but a guy could dream, right?

And then there was Dani. It had been touch and go with her for a while, what with the postpartum hormones and the trauma of everything she'd been through. But she was a fighter, just like her brother. With Shepherd's support and some professional help, she was starting to find her footing again.

I’d even started to get along with Azreal. I kept a special sketchbook where I was collaborating with him on a project I was calling Badass Bible Babes. He wasn’t a fan of the name, but he liked the drawings. Once I got enough of them done, I was thinking of setting up a small art show just to see what happened.

I was one lucky guy. A year ago, I was just another lost soul, bouncing from one shitty situation to the next. No direction, no purpose, just existing day to day.

But then Shepherd fucking Laskin walked into my life and turned everything upside down in the best possible way. He saw something in me, something I didn't even see in myself. He believed in me, challenged me, loved me in a way I never thought possible. And now, here I was, inking my mark onto his skin, a permanent reminder of the bond we shared.

As I worked, my eyes kept drifting to the black leather collar around my neck. Shepherd's collar. Even now, months later, the weight of it against my throat made me shiver. It was a constant reminder of my place, of his ownership over me. And fuck if that didn't get me hot.

I shifted in my seat, trying to focus on the tattoo and not the growing tightness in my jeans.

The buzzing of the tattoo machine faded into the background as the TV suddenly blared to life, jerking my attention away from Shep's arm. I glanced up to see Cherry cranking the volume, her eyes glued to the screen.

The reporter's crisp British accent cut through the buzz of the shop. “In a stunning turn of events, French fashion designer Avery Roche has been acquitted of all charges in the highly publicized Paris murder trial...”

I set down the tattoo machine, my attention fixed on the television screen. Holy shit. Avery Roche, free? The eccentric designer had been all over the news for months, ever since the bodies of some of his models had been discovered in that macabre scene in that warehouse. The media had a fucking field day, dubbing them the “Killer Couturier.”

And now, they were walking free. Just like that. I couldn't wrap my head around it. The evidence had seemed so damning, so conclusive. But I guess when you have that kind of money and influence, you can get away with literal murder.

“Can you believe this shit?” Cherry muttered, shaking her head in disgust. “Fucker probably paid off the jury. Or the judge. Or both.”

I glanced at Shepherd, gauging his reaction. His brow was furrowed, jaw clenched tight. I could practically see the gears turning in his head, the way they always did when he caught wind of an injustice.

Shepherd's gaze remained fixed on the television screen, his expression unreadable. But I knew him well enough by now to sense the tension coiled tight beneath his stoic exterior.

“Shep?” I ventured, my voice soft. “You okay?”

He blinked, as if coming out of a trance, and turned to look at me. For a moment, his dark eyes were distant, haunted by ghosts I could only imagine. But then he seemed to shake it off, his features smoothing back into that familiar mask of control.

“Of course,” he said.

“He just hates to see the guilty walk free like the rest of us,” Cherry muttered. “Someone should take that guy out.”

Shepherd closed his eyes and shook his head. “Not my circus. Not my prey to hunt.”

“You know,” I said slowly, choosing my words with care, “I bet this is the kind of thing that would be right up Algerone's alley.”

Shepherd's gaze snapped to mine, his brow furrowing. I could see the distaste written plainly across his features at the mere mention of the man's name. There was no love lost between those two, that was for damn sure.

“I mean, this Roche guy seems like the type of high-profile target that the Lucky Losers would be all over,” I continued, keeping my tone casual. “Taking out an untouchable fashion mogul who got away with murder? Sounds like their kind of job.”

Shepherd's jaw clenched, his fingers drumming against the armrest of the tattoo chair. I could practically hear the internal battle raging inside him, his desire for justice warring with his distaste for Algerone and his methods.

I watched Shepherd carefully, trying to read the subtle shifts in his expression. After a long moment, he let out a slow breath, his shoulders slumping almost imperceptibly.

“I'll make some inquiries,” he said quietly. “See if this is something that might be on Algerone's radar. But no promises, Eli. You know how I feel about getting tangled up with him and his crew.”

I nodded, biting back a small smile of satisfaction. It was a start, at least. I knew Shepherd's sense of justice wouldn't let him sit idly by while a murderer walked free, even if it meant holding his nose and reaching out to Algerone.

“I know, Sir. And I appreciate you even considering it. I just hate seeing guys like Roche get away with this shit, you know? It's not right.”

Shepherd's dark eyes met mine, a flicker of pride mingling with the ever-present intensity in his gaze. “You have a strong moral compass, boy. Don't ever lose that.”

His praise warmed me from the inside out, settling deep in my bones. I ducked my head to hide my pleased grin, focusing back on the tattoo. The lines of the Russian doll were coming together nicely, each one clean and precise.

When I was finished, I wiped down Shep's arm, admiring my handiwork. The Russian nesting doll looked badass, if I did say so myself. Bold black lines, clean shading… It was some of my best work. I caught Shep's eye in the mirror and saw my own pride reflected back at me, mixed with something softer, warmer.

“Looks good,” he murmured, flexing his arm experimentally.

“The finished product will look even better,” I promised him. “But it’s going to take a few months to get it done since it’s such a big piece.” I ducked my head to hide my pleased grin, busying myself with cleaning and putting away my tools. Praise from Shepherd never failed to make me feel like I was floating.

As Shepherd admired his new ink in the mirror, I couldn't help but bask in the warm glow of his approval. There was something deeply satisfying about seeing my art etched permanently into his skin, a visible testament to the unbreakable bond we shared.

I cleaned and bandaged the fresh tattoo with practiced movements, my fingers lingering perhaps a bit longer than necessary on Shepherd's muscled forearm. Even after months together, his proximity still made my pulse quicken and my skin tingle with barely suppressed desire.

“You're staring,” Shepherd murmured, a hint of amusement in his deep voice. His dark eyes met mine in the mirror.

I smirked, tracing a finger teasingly along the edge of the bandage. “Just admiring my canvas,” I quipped back. “It's not every day I get to ink a masterpiece.”

Shepherd chuckled, the sound a low rumble that I could feel in my bones. “Is that so?” He flexed his bicep.

I had to tear my gaze away before I did something highly unprofessional, like climb him like a tree in the middle of the shop.

“So,” I said, clearing my throat as I finished cleaning my station. “Any plans for the rest of the evening?”

I tried to keep my tone casual, but I couldn't quite disguise the hopeful note that crept in. With Shepherd's busy schedule at the university and my long hours at the shop, our alone time had been limited lately. But tonight, with Dani on Noah duty and no pressing commitments, the night was full of possibilities.

Shepherd stood, rolling his shoulders to loosen the muscles after sitting for so long. The simple motion made his biceps flex and bulge beneath his thin t-shirt, the black lines of the fresh tattoo peeking out from under the bandage. I swallowed hard, my mouth suddenly dry.

He caught my eye with a knowing smirk. “I thought we might swing by The Playground. It's been a while since we had a proper scene. That is, if you’re interested.”

“I thought you’d never ask,” I breathed, not even trying to hide the eagerness in my voice.

I finished clean up, and we left Cherry Bombz, stepping out into the night. The air was warming, signaling that spring was on the horizon.

Shepherd’s hand closed over mine and I turned to smile up at him, but gasped when he unexpectedly pulled me closer. He nuzzled against the side of my head, inhaling deeply. “You’re mine tonight.”

I threaded my fingers through his and stood up on my tip toes to plant a kiss on my cheek. “Always,” I corrected.