Tonight the shop smells like wintergreen and s*x before I even cross the threshold. Knox locks the door, kills the front lights, and points to the table.
“Strip. Everything. On your stomach.“
I obey, heart hammering. The leather is cool against my n*****s as I stretch out, arms folded under my head. He doesn’t bother with pleasantries. He wipes a huge rectangle down the center of my back with icy alcohol, slaps the stencil on, and the needle bites into my spine before I can take a full breath.
The pain is electric, sharp, perfect. I moan without meaning to.
Knox’s gloved hand lands on the back of my neck, pinning me. “You’re gonna take every line,” he growls. “And you’re gonna take my c**k even harder.”
The machine buzzes, carving thick black outlines from my shoulder blades to the to
