Chapter 15

Lincoln

Fuck.

Me.

She looks damn edible.

Sophie struts in wearing a short plaid pleated skirt and knee-high Dr. Martens that leave her gorgeous thighs bare and I'm sure that when she sits, it will ride up and expose the tattoo wrapped around her left thigh. A cropped T-shirt exposing her midriff completes her outfit, and when she reaches up, she'll reveal the bottom of the tattoo I know to be there. I love that I know she has those tattoos—it's both intimate and torturous.

I drop my head back on my shoulders with a pained groan.

Did I tell you Shortcake's been torturing me non-stop?

She arrives every day looking sexier than the last. She's everywhere I turn with her seductive smile, and I swear she finds any excuse to touch me. I have no idea how I'm supposed to keep resisting her. Especially today.

I'm tattooing one of her designs on a client tonight, which means she's staying late again. And it'll only be the two of us because Ken's leaving early for his grandson's birthday.

* * *

I roll away from the table and stretch out my neck. I really must work out a way to remind myself to stretch regularly. Ken's been at me for years about my posture and taking breaks; maybe it's time to listen to the old guy. He wanders around the room to say goodnight to his girls, swapping some pots around so they grow evenly; and my regular client and fight organizer, who's familiar with Ken's attachment to his plants, snickers.

"Man, I'll never get used to a grown-ass man talking to plants the way Ken does," Mike comments.

Ken comes to a stop at my station and points to me. "You need to stretch more often." Then he turns to Mike. "The girls need love, too." He smirks as he spins on his heel and waves over his shoulder. "Good night."

"Night," I call, then roll back to the table to continue my work.

Sophie wanders out from the back after her dinner break and heads straight to Ken's station to clean up. Mike turns his head to follow her. "Your new girl's hot as fuck." His expression turns salacious. "What I wouldn't give to ben—" Anger turns my vision red and I clench my fist, causing the needle to dig into his arm and he curses, "Fuck, man." He looks down at his arm with narrowed eyes and then up at me accusingly. "What the fuck?"

I wince internally, but give him the same look I give my opponent in the ring. If Mike has any sense of self-preservation, he'll pick up what I'm putting down. "Keep your eyes to yourself. She's mine," I snarl.

What the actual fuck?

I had to say something, or I'd hit him. Lay him flat, so he'd stop looking at her like he wanted to … fuck her. Jesus, is that how I look at her?

His eyes flick between the two of us, and he points at me. "You"—he points in her direction and I slap his hand down—"pulled that knockout?"

I nod. "Yeah, but she doesn't want anyone to know, so keep it to yourself."

"I'm not surprised. I'd be embarrassed if people knew I was dating you."

"Fuck off," I snap.

He chuckles. "Just kidding. Congrats." When he finally stops laughing, he grows serious as his eyes study my torso like he can see beneath the fabric. "How'd you pull up after last week? You took some heavy hits."

"A bit of bruising, but I'm okay." I grunt and focus back on the feather I'm working on.

Sophie quietly sits to observe, but I ask her to take an inventory of the storeroom. Not that it needs to be done; I just don't want Mike to look at her. When another hour passes and I'm finally finished, relief that he won't be around Sophie any longer washes over me.

"Ah, Linc. That looks amazing. Thank you," he says as he twists his arm back and forth in front of the mirror.

Some of my aches disappear with his awed expression. "You're welcome. Make sure you follow the aftercare."

"Yeah, I will," he answers absently as he studies his new ink.

He heads to reception to pay and I tell Sophie I'm going to take a quick break before our next client arrives. I trust Mike to behave after my warning as she explains the aftercare procedures with him and then prep my station for my last client of the day.

When I step out of the bathroom, Sophie's leaning against the doorjamb, blocking the entry to the hallway. "You told Mike I'm your girlfriend?"

So much for keeping his mouth shut. I knew I should have finalized his account instead of taking a piss. "He was looking at you and saying inappropriate things about what he wanted to do to you." Her eyebrows shoot up and I lean into her space, lowering my voice. "I was protecting you."

Her casual posture vanishes as her hands fly to her hips and her eyes narrow. "You don't need to protect me. You may think I'm too young and incapable of making my own decisions, but I assure you I'm grown enough to take care of myself," she says sharply.

I take a step forward so we're toe-to-toe, towering over her so she has to tilt her head back to keep her narrowed gaze on me. "I know you can take care of yourself, but I will always protect you when men come in here and think they can talk about you in a way that devalues you." I lift my hand to slip a loose lock of silky hair behind her ear. Lowering my voice, I add, "Because I respect you and you're worth more than being treated like a quick fuck." I press a gentle kiss to her forehead and step around her to grab something to eat in the limited time I have.

By the time I step back out to the front of the studio, Sophie has Brielle prepped for me to start work. The full sleeve she's drawn for this Henna-inspired design is spectacular and delicate—very Sophie. Ever since I started adding her artwork to our Instagram page, we've had an increase in the number of women contacting us for her designs. This was the first opening we had because of a late cancellation, but there are plenty more on our waitlist. Once her designs make it into the public arena, the requests for her artwork are going to explode. Luckily, she'll be ready to tattoo people within the next few weeks.

I hold out my hand in greeting. "Hey, Brielle. I'm Lincoln. Are you ready?"

She grins at me as her eyes skate down my body. "So ready," she says huskily, like I've just asked her if she's ready for my dick.

I ignore her tone and check over the transfer. "Sophie, you've done an awesome job with this." I glance up at Brielle. "Are you happy with everything?"

She looks down at her arm, scanning the design. "It's gorgeous. Exactly what I wanted."

"Great, let's get started." I take a seat and pick up my gun.

Brielle slides her hand across my arm and rests it over the tattoo representing my sister, making me recoil—I don't like it when clients are so … familiar. When I glance at Sophie, she arches her perfect brows. "Please be gentle with me," Brielle says with an air of seduction in her voice, and I have to stop myself from rolling my eyes at her obvious attempt at flirting.

Sophie has a naturally sexy rasp to her voice without trying. Brielle is trying hard to be seductive as she looks up at me with a fake pout and yet she doesn't do a single thing for me. She's a beautiful girl and I would say she's around the same age as Sophie, but she's not my Shortcake.

MyShortcake.

I roll my eyes at myself internally. She's not my anything. Though, the thought of making her mine has crossed my mind more than I'd like to admit.

"I promise you're in expert hands."

She tosses her head back and guffaws, then drops her head and slithers her eyes from the top of my head down my torso, stopping at my crotch. "Oh, I'm sure I am."

For fuck's sake.

She still hasn't removed her hand from me, so I look at it pointedly, hoping she gets the hint. Sophie clears her throat and I flick my eyes up to her face. She presses her lips into a tight line, but the laugh lines around her eyes give her away—she obviously finds Brielle's flirting hilarious.

"Soph, can you please grab Brielle a bottle of water?"

Sophie climbs to her feet with a knowing grin. "Sure thing, hon. Do you want one too?"

"Thanks, Shortcake," I wink at her and she blows me a kiss.

Brielle's eyes widen and she waves her finger between Sophie's vacated spot and me. "You're together?"

I nod. "Yeah." I don't even have to try to sound like a love-struck fool because even though I've done my best to keep the professional lines drawn between us, I like Sophie a hell of a lot more than any employee.

"Oh, I'm so embarrassed. I'll keep my hands to myself. I don't want to step on anyone's toes."

I dip my chin. "I'd appreciate that." Then drop my voice to a whisper. "She can be a little territorial."

Starting the gun, the familiar buzz fills the silence, and I get lost in tracing Sophie's delicate line work. The woman is crazy talented and I'm rapt I convinced Ken to give her a chance. As much as he liked her and loved her work, he was reluctant to bring her on because we're so far behind with our bookings, but she'll soon be up to speed and be able to work on small, straightforward pieces.

Wiping away the last of the excess ink, I peer up at Sophie to check on her emotional state. She's doing well to maintain her professional demeanor; however, I recognize the shimmer in her eyes and the tightness around her jaw as she holds in her emotions. I really hope she's not going to cry every single time someone gets one of her pieces tattooed because I'm never sure how to deal with female tears.

"Done." I roll away from the table and stretch out, groaning like an old man. Once again, I completely forgot to take breaks and stretch.

Sophie climbs to her feet and grabs the mirror so Brielle can see her new art. Her hand flies up to her mouth and her wide eyes take in every detail. "Oh my gosh, it's gorgeous." She flits her eyes between me and Soph. "You guys make a great team. You're both so talented."

I wave my arm out toward Sophie. "All her."

Pink darkens Sophie's cheeks. "Not really. If you didn't work your magic, there wouldn't be a tattoo." I can tell she truly believes that, so I let it go … for now.

I say goodbye and head out back, leaving Sophie to explain the aftercare to Brielle. After a few minutes, Sophie steps into the office as I'm rolling my neck and moves behind me. "You should consider setting a timer or something to remind you to stretch." Her hands land on my shoulders and she rubs her thumbs deep into the base of my skull. She chuckles behind me when I drop my head forward with a groan. Holy shit, that feels good.

Her thumbs disappear and I hear a whisper of fabric moving and then her elbows dig into the top of my shoulders. "Fuck," I grunt.

She reduces the pressure with a snicker. "Sorry."

She doesn't sound fucking sorry.

"Nah, that's okay. Keep going. I was just surprised." She digs in deep and I know when she stops, my muscles will feel so much better from the attention she's giving them. "How did you feel about the tattoo tonight?"

Her elbows disappear and her body brushes mine as she moves around to the front of me, pushing me away from my desk and nudging her way between my thighs. My hands automatically move to her hips as hers lift to my shoulders again. She gives me a shaky smile. "I was proud I didn't cry. I was so close, but I held it in." She presses into the front of my shoulders with her thumbs, her eyes watching the movement, but I sense she's trying to avoid eye contact with me. "Will I ever get used to seeing my art on someone's skin?" she whispers.

I shrug. "I hope not. I still feel overwhelmed every time someone walks out of here with my art on their body. It's fucking awesome that they'll be carrying a little of me everywhere they go. I cherish it and I don't see a problem with the way you feel." I squeeze her soft hips in reassurance. "I think if we stop feeling that way, it means we don't care like we should."

Her lips part on a sigh—she's so damn responsive. "Thanks, Linc."

We fall into a comfortable silence and I drop my gaze from her face, down her sexy throat, and notice her pulse fluttering quickly. Flicking my eyes up to her face, her lips are parted slightly, and I know I shouldn't, but I move forward slowly without overthinking it.

I've tried.

But nobody could fault me for what I'm about to do when she's standing so close. Her coconut scent wafting around us, her hands on my body, and her obvious response to how close we are is making my brain misfire.

I wait for her to react; to pull away, but she doesn't. Instead, she watches with pupils blown wide, filled with lust as I close the distance. A hint of wariness creeps in the closer our mouths get, and I don't blame her after the last time. There's no denying I was a dick.

But this time … I'm not stopping.

"What's changed?" she murmurs against my lips as I make the softest contact.

"Everything."

Nothing.

I'm just tired of fighting.

And even though I renewed my promise to myself a few short hours ago, I won't … can't stop this time.

I press harder against her lips and her hands slide up the side of my neck into my hair. She holds me close, as if afraid I'll come to my senses and push her away again. I don't think I'll survive if I stop this time. And I know she deserves better than this. Than me. But I can't deny myself any longer.

I need her body surrounding mine.

I need to be wrapped in her tight heat.

I need her breath in my lungs and her essence on my tongue.

I need her.

Deepening the kiss, I demand entrance with my tongue and she doesn't deny me.

She should.

But I'm going to take everything she's willing to give me this time.

I'm not stopping.

I delve into her mouth and take my time to lick and stroke her, reacquainting myself with her taste, her sighs, her delicate moans. My blood rushes through my veins like a tsunami, straight to my dick, and my body heats to an almost unbearable level.

I need to get us naked.

Sliding my hands from her hips to the dip of her waist, I rub my thumbs along her ribs beneath her breasts, ensuring my nails scrape the fabric of her bra. Her flesh quivers beneath my touch and goosebumps cascade across her body. Her response boosts my need as she pushes into my touch. Moving higher, I slip my hands over her breasts, cupping them reverently as I circle each peak with my thumbs while her heart thunders beneath my touch.

I pull back just enough to ask, "Can I take this off?"

She nods, while I grip the hem of her top so I can remove it. Sliding it from her body, I drop it on my desk behind her, sending her luscious hair cascading down her back. The feminine color of her bra is quite the contrast to the dark skirt, knee-high Dr. Martens, and black top but I sense this woman is full of contrasts if I take the time to get to know her properly—something I want to do with an urge I've not felt before.

I unclasp her bra with one hand and make quick work of removing it, releasing her gorgeous tits straight into my waiting mouth. I suck as much of her flesh as I can and flick her nipple with my tongue while I roll the other one between my fingers. Her body shivers and she moans, raking her short nails through my hair and sending fire licking through my veins.

Her hands scrabble for my T-shirt and she clumsily drags it up my body. Reluctantly, I tear my mouth away and grab the back of the collar to remove it, then squeeze her tits together and bury my face between them, rubbing my stubble-covered jaw across her soft, plump flesh. Her hands grip my hair as she moans. "That feels so good."

I agree.

It feels so good that if I don't slow down, this is going to be over before we start and I don't want that. The last time she had sex before me would have been when she was a teen, for fuck's sake. I'm assuming the guy she was with was a kid, too. I want to show her the difference between being with a kid and a man, which won't happen if I lose it too soon.

I pepper feather-light kisses on her lips and pull away, so I can see her face properly. Her lids peel open slowly, revealing her lust-drunk gaze. Slipping my fingers through her silky hair, I secure it behind her ear, watching how her breath catches when I brush the sensitive spot there and the way her pulse flutters as I trace the column of her throat with the back of my hand. Her lips are puffy from our kisses and her eyes study me as intently as I'm studying her. She's so damn beautiful. It's a miracle I've kept my hands to myself this long.

"What do you want me to do to you, Shortcake?" I whisper.

I watch as she swallows. "Everything," she murmurs confidently.