Razor laughs, slapping his palm against Drew’s shoulder. These two must go way back. If I’ve learned anything about him though, it’s probably best not to ask questions that I don’t really want to know the answers to.
“So what can I do for you today?” Razor asks, eying me up, like he knows I’m an innocent vanilla cupcake, surrounded by red velvet, just waiting to be devoured.
“Well we are here for a very, very special tattoo for my lad.” Drew says with a sinful smirk, his forearm grasping my side, staking his claim.
Razor’s eyebrow arches. “What kind of artwork did you have in mind?”
“My signature blazed across his back.”
My heart races with a surge of adrenaline, epinephrine gushing to my noggin. Logically, I know I shouldn’t go through with this, but when Charlie sees it—the permanent ink of his brother’s claim. It’ll be worth the sting of a burning tattoo gun. To show him what a pussy he was to leave me in the woods. He didn’t dare to venture out to try and rescue me.
“Oh wow, a bit possessive aren’t you.” Razor jokes, his eyes twinkling in comprehension of our dynamics.
“I suppose you could say that,” Drew replies, tilting his head toward me. “But look at this—”
His hand grips my chin, forcing me to meet Razor’s gaze. My cheeks burn under the scrutiny, my heart ticking loud enough that I’m sure all three of us can hear it over the screams of the death metal.
“Tell me he doesn’t deserve it,” Drew says, his voice spiked like barbed wire. “Tell me he’s not begging to be marked by his King.”
“Don’t give me any thoughts like that, unless you are asking for a threesome.” Razor snickers in quite a jagged manner.
My stomach lurches, bile preparing to release over his putrid face. I can’t imagine what he would like under his clothes. No offense to Razor, but he’s definitely not my type. No way in fucking hell would I engage in anything of that sort with this mohawk son of a bitch.
I would rather march back to those woods and offer myself as tribute to those starving wolves. At least their bite would be clean.
“You able to knock this out, old chap?” Drew asks, steering the conversation away from Razor’s grotesque suggestion—me hypothetically swallowing his metal rings.
Because that’s all I can picture now. There’s no way Razor isn’t pierced on his nipples, belly button, and likely his cock. Probably a whole horseshoe down there… This man looks like the poster boy for self-inflicted pain, a junkie for needles and torture.
Could you imagine accidentally swallowing a cock ring?
Ooof. I cannot.
Now that would be the most awkward emergency room visit in modern memory.Hi, yes, sorry, I choked on a stranger’s hardware—mind fishing itout?Christ.
“Alright I can take ya over at this chair.” Razor points at a worn leather vessel, probably from the heyday of the 80s. The black leather could probably use some alcohol wipes to ward off the hepatitis seeping through the rips.
With Drew’s not-so-subtle encouragement, I reluctantly settle myself into the chair. My hesitation growing with every passing second.
“Come on boy, take off your shirt,” Razor clamors, way too eagerly for my liking.
Eww. This guy gives me the heebie-jeebies. If I had half of my brain that wasn’t under Drew’s gospel, no way would I be here stripping for Mr. Mohawk McCockRing.
But then I look over at Drew—he gives me this look. Not the usual predatory smirk, but a tenderness in his eyes that practically purr,I love you. So of course I comply, freeing my back for Razor to begin his artwork.
“Good boy.” Drew whispers in my ear, causing my cock to thicken half-way, aching for more, so much fucking more.
Razor slinks behind me, his voice turning slightly wheezy. “What a precious backside you’ve got here. Unstained canvas like this doesn’t come through the door every day.” His tongue slithers in his mouth, as if he’s salivating over the thoughts behind those rings.
My stomach twists in disgust.
“Oi,” Drew says, shooting Razor a lethal glare to knock it off. “He does—and it’s all for me.”
Those words are enough to shut up Mr. McCockRing. He angles in, the tattoo gun etching into my skin. I shudder at the first kissof the needle. The first time ever having one touch my skin. The sensation is strange, not like when you get a vaccine, but between a mosquito bite and a sliver penetrating your outer layer.
I exhale, trying to keep my body steady under the pressure of the gun.
“Oh that looks good. Add a few serpents in for my touch. And a puck alongside the S for some added flair.” Drew nods his skull approvingly as the black ink makes itself permanent on my skin. A devilish smirk overtaking his face as I withstand the repeated buzzes. “Doing so well, baby. Here. Hold my hand.”
