Tattered Love (Needle's Kiss)

shoulder?”
    “Left, right’s taken,” he advised.
    “Okay, shirt off. I'll get this stencil on, and you can have a look, yeah?”
    Mace lifted one arm up and pulled his grey cotton shirt over his head, exposing strong, thick arms, and a ripped-to-hell chest. My eyes scanned down, damn ! He didn’t just have a six pack, he had an eight pack, and those delicious V muscles that you just wanted to lick. I briefly noticed, before he’d turned his large, solid and nicely muscled back to me facing the large mirror on the only wall without sketches in front of him, that he had more tattoos scattered all over his upper body, along with a nipple ring Thoughts of running my tongue along the outlines of those tattoos invaded my head, making the temperature in the little room jump a few notches and my breathing pick up.
    Come on, Scarlett, get a grip and stop drooling; he's just a man for crying out loud. A hot man admittedly, but just a man, my brain whisper hissed at me.
    I plonked myself down onto my rolling stool, pulled on a pair of black latex gloves, and wiped Mace's left shoulder with alcohol to clean it. Placing the stencil right where I wanted it, I tried not to let my hand linger longer than was professional. I held up the hand mirror slightly to the side, so he could see in the larger one and asked, “That where you want it?”
    Mace’s breath caught as I spoke near his ear. He nodded his head and grunted, giving me the go ahead. I briefly noted his eyes trained on my cleavage in the mirror.
    Wait, was he checking me out? Only one way to find out.
    I leaned forward a little letting the girls pop out a bit, his eyes instantly honed in confirming my suspicions.
    I can work with that.
    Clicking on the gun and taking the needle to the ink pot, and then to the sinewy muscle of his skin, I took a deep, calming breath, concentrated and put myself in the zone.
    My God, Mace was all man, the kind of man every warm-blooded woman would love to take home for the night, tie to her bed and let loose on. Sitting this close to him, my mind conjured up a long list of things I could do, just with my mouth. I was single and had been for a fair while. If the mere presence of him could have me this turned on, I would praise the Lord above for a ticket to that ride.
    “You're in the Army then?” I’d asked quietly. If I was to say I was trying to make conversation for any other reason than to hear his voice, I’d be full of shit.
    “Just got out.” I was rewarded with his deep rumbling voice that had my panties instantly damp.
    “Are you planning on hanging around town for a while now?”
    “Mmm,” he grunted out.
    Hmm, not really a definitive answer there. Clearly, Mace wasn’t a big talker.
    I knew Mace had two younger sisters, Milla who was twenty-four and Haven, the baby of the family, was twenty-two, both beautiful girls—good genes ran in the family obviously. Although currently both were a handful, definitely living life to the fullest.
    Their dad had died about ten years earlier from cancer leaving their mother, Marcy, working two jobs to take care of four kids. Hector was the definition of her other half, her soul mate. They had what most people spent a lifetime trying to find. She'd never remarried, hadn't even gone on so much as one date, was happy to just raise her kids the best she could, but there was an air of sadness at times; you would see her eyes go vacant, and a soft look would fall upon her face. She missed him often.
    She'd be pleased Mace was home, no matter the length of time.
    He made a sound in the back of his throat that put my body on instant alert, and my mind dropped straight back to the gutter. I wanted—no, needed a night of unadulterated fun, and who better to have fun with than a sexy beast like Mace? It'd been far too long since anybody had affected me the way he did. Besides, who in their right mind wouldn’t make a play for a guy like that? The room basically crackled with the power in his body and the sexual tension in the room. I really didn't care if I got to keep him for a night, a week or a month; the wetness in my panties attested to the fact. I was down for any kind of fun he wanted to have.
    Finishing off his ink, I put my tattoo gun down on the small metal table and wiped the excess ink away with paper towel. I held the mirror in place and softly spoke by his ear. “All done, how's that look?”
    Mace's head snapped up. His eyes, hooded and slightly darker, met mine in