Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 93961 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93961 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
Living with a female was completely different. They smelled good. Looked good. Everything about them was good. But fuck me, they were messy keeping themselves that way. Honey had a bottle for everything. Hair care. Skin care. Hair removal. Skin removal. Makeup removal. Hair gel. Eye gel. Skin peels. What the hell was a skin peel? And they all cluttered the bathroom. Me, I had a toothbrush, a shaving kit, deodorant, hair product, and a comb. I was allocated one drawer. One drawer out of six. Whereas, Honey had an entire drawer for makeup alone.
Not that I was complaining. Living with Honey was a breeze. In fact, living with her was proving to be a lot of fun. We got along well. And the place seemed quiet without her if she wasn’t home.
Since moving in I had gone along with her demands for keeping our relationship strictly as friends, but damn, if it wasn’t for my right hand I’d be suffering the biggest case of blue balls known to man.
She was sexy as fuck. And because we lived together I’d accidentally caught her in various stages of undress a few times. Like last week when I’d walked in on her after a shower. Hell, I didn’t know she was in there. I came around the corner and there she was, butt naked. Gasping, she’d quickly wrapped the towel around that beautiful body of hers while I’d made some witty comment. I mean, I think I did, to be honest I couldn’t really remember because, at the time, all the blood in my brain had gone straight to my cock and all I could think about was making her gasp again.
Then this morning when we’d collided in the kitchen. She’d snuck out of her room wearing nothing but a tiny pair of panties and a tank top, thinking I was still in bed, and raced to the kitchen for a glass of water. But I was leaving the kitchen and we ran smack into each other. Literally. Our bodies collided. And I’m not going to lie. The sight of Honey in those tiny panties and the fleeting touch of her hips against the palm of my hand made me hard. And after an awkward apology, I’d returned to my room, closed the door, and jerked off.
It was going to take time to get used to not being able to touch her. And I was going to get some serious wrist cramps.
I hated the whole friends thing, but I wasn’t going to pressure her when she had our baby growing in her womb. Stress, I was told, was no good for the fetus. So I made a vow to myself to keep my goddamn hands off her until the baby was born.
Instead, I focused on my work. Things were going well at the studio. My reputation as an artist was growing and I was frequently booked out. I was enjoying it. Some days I got to work on some really interesting pieces where I got to test my ability as an artist, as well as my skill with a tattoo gun. Other days it was standard designs, or something simple like quotes, birthdays, or song lyrics.
Like the one I was working on now. She was my last client for the day. Her name was Lulu and the tattoo I was inking into her skin were lyrics to a Justin Beiber song. I loved doing lyrics, it was interesting to see what songs and words spoke to people enough to have them permanently stained into their flesh. I’d done a lot of them over my ten years as a tattoo artist. But a Bieber song? Not until now. Usually the lyrics came from more classic rock ’n roll or grunge anthems—less pop and more cool. My own lyrical tattoo was down my left arm and quoted a line from Led Zeppelin’s “Stairway To Heaven”.
Lulu chose to put her Bieber lyrics down her right outer thigh.
After I finished, she stood in front of the mirror, admiring my handiwork. Her legs were long. Her dress short.
“I love it,” she gasped breathlessly. “You’re a genius.”
“Thanks, sweetheart. Happy I could satisfy.”
She climbed back on the bed so I could dress it. While I applied antiseptic cream and covered it in wrap, I went through how to look after a new tattoo, not that she needed it. This girl knew the drill. She had a sleeve and a massive dragon down the other thigh.
“All done,” I said. “How does it feel?”
Dark brown eyes gleamed up at me. “It feels real good.”
I stood up and went to my desk to gather the paperwork for her to hand to Pandora out at reception. But when I turned around, Lulu was off the bed and standing next to my ink station, completely fucking naked.