Tattered Love (Needle's Kiss)

three vibrant red roses, all in different states of bloom, representing different things. The first in full bloom for the full life he had lived, the second wilted, though still bright with petals falling from it for the loss of his life cut so short, and the third a closed rosebud signifying the life events he would miss not being here, his children growing, falling in love, starting families of their own. Underneath this, a tiny little child’s hand held gently by a protective masculine one. This part I didn’t quite understand. I did gather it was of strong importance and Mace hadn’t seemed eager to explain, so I left it alone.
    Four long hours later, I took one last swipe of his ribcage with paper towel to remove the excess ink; the result was jaw dropping. Your own work is always the hardest to critique; however, this piece was breathtaking and made me a little bit proud. I reached over him, grabbed my camera from the shelf against the wall and asked, “You mind if I take a few photos?”
    “Knock yourself out, babe” His voice sent chills down my spine, the man had a fucking awesome voice, all dark and rumbling. It was like sex, covered in chocolate, decadent and so very bad for you, but so good you couldn’t deny yourself any of it, just like the rest of him.
    “I’m just going to put some tattoo cream on it and wrap you up. You know the drill, yeah? Take the covering off in an hour, wash it with warm antibacterial soap and pat it dry with a soft towel.” He just stared up at me with hooded eyes making my breath hitch. I started smearing the cream across his ribcage as I was talking, concentrating hard so as not to look at his face. Usually, I was all business when inking somebody, but having my hands on Mace affected me like nothing else. Feeling his steady heartbeat under my fingertips, the pure power that radiated off him, couldn’t be missed. There was something so erotic about my hands marking his skin. I was so turned on by then I could barely stop myself from licking him head to toe. “Make sure you keep applying the cream, morning and night until it’s completely healed. Don’t scratch or rub at it and try not to stretch the skin.”
    My fingers tingled every time they swept over the taut skin of his side, my nipples already hard peaks brushing against the cotton of my dress with even the slightest movement, my core muscles clenching with want, panties drenched. Mace had such an effect on me, his mere presence and the feeling of his watching my every move made me crazy with lust.
    Trying to be some kind of professional and not wanting to rip his clothes off and pounce on him in the middle of my very sterile shop, I turned away mentally shaking my head to clear the dirty thoughts running through it. I bent to retrieve the roll of plastic wrap from the bottom drawer in my rolling table. As I stood, Mace’s large hands gripped my hips and pulled me back into his body. He’d sat up on the table; I could feel his choppy breathing brushing across my neck and back, making my control slip just a little further. My back to his front, I could feel his racing heartbeat as his fingers gripped harder into my hips.
    “If I don’t taste you soon, Scar, I think I might go out of my mind.” His gravelly voice came close to my ear, sending an involuntary shiver through me. Mace’s lips came down gently just behind my ear. I felt rather than heard his deep inhale. “You always smell sweet, like cherries.”
    My pulse picking up speed at his hushed words, I murmured, “It’s my body wash.” Was I mentally challenged? That was the only thing that came to mind. He’d once again scrambled my brain with a touch and a few words.
    God damn him!
    “Mace, I need to wrap your side.” Mace of course ignored me, his hands roaming up my thighs p ainfully slow. When one hand reached the apex of my thighs, brushing across my soaked panties, a whimper escaped my parted lips.
    Mace groaned deeply from his chest. “So damn wet for me, baby. I need to taste you right now.”
    “We shouldn’t do this here,” I spoke, not sure who I was trying to convince.
    His fingers moved my panties across, and one of his long thick digits parted my folds, swirling the evidence of my arousal around my clit in a torturously slow circle. “Mace,” I whispered, not sure if I wanted him to stop or give me more. The moment his hand left my aching sex, his finger went to his mouth tasting my wetness. My body vetoed my brain and