Page 10 of Stalked By Raiden

“It’ll sting, but it’s manageable,” he says gently, his voice sliding over my skin.

I nod, as the ache between my legs continues to grow. The tattoo machine hums to life, a low buzz that vibrates through my bones. The first needle contact is sharp, burning, but my mind goes elsewhere. Specifically, the heat radiating from his body so close to mine.

The occasional brush of his knuckles against my spine. The way my arousal has made me slick and swollen and empty. The pain becomes distant, almost irrelevant, swallowed by the throbbing need between my thighs.

I want his hands everywhere. I want to turn around and see if he is affected, if his pupils are blown wide, if the front of his jeans shows evidence of wanting me too. The shame of it burns almost as hot as the desire.

Time loses meaning. The buzz of the machine, the occasional murmur of his voice explaining what he’s doing, and the wet sound of him wiping away ink and blood—all of it weaves into a haze of sensation that leaves me dizzy and aching.

What’s happening to me?. I’ve never been attracted to a man or felt this intense an attraction before. I know I’m acting out of character, but I can’t stop.

“Almost done,” he says, and his breath ghosts over my neck.

I shudder, unable to stop it, and hear his low intake of breath in response. Then the machine goes silent. He sets it aside, and I feel the fresh snap of a clean glove before his fingers smooth something cool over my burning skin. Even through the latex, the touch is electric, intimate, and I tremble before I can stop myself.

“Easy,” he murmurs, and the word feels like a caress.

He offers me a hand, and I take it, sliding off the chair. My legs betray me. I stumble forward, and his hands catch me, one at my waist, one against my bare back, pulling me against him. His chest is hard against my breasts, his thighs solid against mine. And through the thin layers separating us, I feel him thick and hard and unmistakably interested.

I look up, gasping, and find his eyes dark now, blown wide with the same hunger I’ve been swimming in. The air between us crackles, heavy and charged, and I can’t look away. He lowers his head. I rise on my toes to meet him.

His mouth is hot and demanding, and I melt into it. He slides his tongue against mine, and that’s when I feel it. The coolness of a metal piercing sliding over my tongue, sending pulsating currents through me.

I moan low in my throat, and he pulls me closer, until I feel every inch of his arousal pressed against my stomach. I whimper into his mouth, clutching his shoulders, and he swallows the sound like he’s starving for it.

A knock shatters the moment. “Elodie? You almost done?” Sarah’s voice, bright and oblivious, comes from the other side of the door.

I jump back, my hand flying to my swollen lips, my face flaming. I kissed a stranger. I let him touch me, hold me. I was ready to let him do anything, and I don’t even know his last name. I’ve been kissed before, at school dances and once badly at a graduation party. But nothing that ever made me forget where I was standing.

Raiden’s chest heaves, his eyes still locked on mine, dark and fierce. “Come back,” he says, his voice rough. “In a few days. I need to check the healing.”

The idea of seeing him again, knowing his hands will be on my skin again, sends a fresh wave of heat through me. I nod, unable to speak, and pull my shirt back on with shaking hands.

⁎⁎⁎

The next afternoon reminds me why I love teaching. The end of the school day is always chaotic.

Children hug me goodbye, backpacks seem to multiply out of nowhere, and at least three students have already started campaigning about who gets to take the classroom turtle this weekend.

Yet it doesn’t stop my mind from wandering. Every few minutes, my thoughts drift back to the tattoo shop. Back to Raiden. To those impossible blue eyes and the way he looked at me. The memory warms my chest every time.

“Have a good night, Miss Doyle!”

“You too, Emma.”

I watch another student leave with her mother before turning back to enter the classroom. A few students still linger, including Teddy Krane. Like always, he is quiet, his small shoulders slightly hunched as though he expects trouble to find him.

His blond curls bounce when he moves, and his enormous blue eyes stay fixed on the ground. Teddy is one of those children who makes you want to wrap them in a blanket and protect them from the world.

He is sweet and polite, but he startles easily. Sudden noises make him jump. Raised voices make him flinch. And he never seems completely relaxed. After I met his father, I can understand why.

Teddy walks from behind me. Unlike most of my students, he rarely smiles during pickup. Today is no different.

I crouch to his level. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Teddy.”

He nods shyly. “You too.”

Before I can straighten, a shadow falls across the floor. My smile is gone before I finish turning around.