Full Contact (Redemption #3)(16)

“Ready for me?”

Oh boy. Am I ready.

When we reach my station, I pull out the stencil of the original design I finished up after Jess left for work. We discuss shading and the best way to make use of the design to cover his scar—a nice, professional conversation, although the thoughts going through my mind are anything but nice. Or professional.

Once we’re done, I wash up and remove my sterilized equipment from the autoclave, then I pull on my gloves and bring the water, razor, and rubbing alcohol to prepare the skin I’m about to ink. By the time I return to my station, Ray has stripped off his shirt and is now lounging half-naked in my chair.

My breath catches in my throat. Dear God. His lightly tanned skin is stretched tight over rock-hard muscle and his tattoos shimmer under the overhead light. Seated, still, he is at the mercy of my slow, meticulous perusal. And boy, do I peruse.

After I’ve drunk my fill and calmed the raging desire in my blood, I adjust my artist’s chair and pull it up so I am only inches away from his breathtaking body. “You can put your arm across my lap.” My voice is remarkably calm. “It’ll give me better access.”

Better access? Cringe. I dip my head and swallow hard. How about I keep the mouth shut and just get busy?

He nods and places his forearm across my thighs, his clenched fist at my waist. Warm and heavy, his arm rests perilously close to the juncture of my thighs and I steel myself to keep my thoughts away from images of that hand between my legs, his fingers stroking my folds.

Taking a deep breath, I run a warm washcloth slowly over his skin. “Too hot?” I look up through my eyelashes and the intensity of his gaze as he shakes his head takes my breath away.

His muscles tighten when I dip the cloth again and gently wash his chest and shoulder. His skin is smooth and taut over rigid muscle. I silently curse the gloves that stop me from feeling his skin, and the soap that cannot mask the sinful, masculine scent that is driving me to distraction. When I pull out the rubbing alcohol, I curse that too because it means I have to stop touching him.

Except for the White Buffalo’s cover of “House of the Rising Sun” playing in the background, there is no sound except the rasp of Ray’s breath as his chest rises and falls under my hand. Although I’ve done shoulder and pec tats countless times, the intimacy of this position sends a shiver through my body. Longing grips me hard and fierce, and I scramble to regain some semblance of control. Maybe a little conversation.

“So, did you catch your bad guy?”

“No. Still after him.”

When I look up, Ray is watching me. He is so close I can see the stubble of his five o’clock shadow, the thickness of his lashes, his eyes deepening to an azure blue. I force myself to look into them and swallow hard. “Everything okay?”

Apparently not. Jaw tight, muscles quivering, he captures me with his glance. “Your hair.”

I give my head a slight shake and my ponytail swings back and forth. “What’s wrong with my hair?”

“Take it down.” He fingers a loose tendril beside my ear, his authoritative tone sending a wave of heat raging through me.

“I keep it up so it’s out of the way.”

“Down.”

“I’ll have to take off my gloves first, and then I’ll have to…” My words die in my throat when he strokes his hand over my hair, front to back. With one sharp jerk, he tugs out my ponytail holder and my hair tumbles around my shoulders.

“Beautiful.”

Trembling, painfully and desperately aroused, I pick up the razor and shaving gel from my tray. “I…have to shave you.” My voice drops to a throaty whisper, and if that doesn’t tell him what he does to me, nothing will.

Another curt nod. But then he’s not a talkative type. I’ve never seen him hanging out with the other fighters after the gym closes for the night, and not once has he ever joined us for drinks after a fight.

Taking a deep breath, I still my hand, then smooth the gel over his skin. But when I dip the razor, Ray tenses, his fist clenching and unclenching beside my hip.

A smile tugs at the corner of my lips. “Don’t worry. I’ve never cut anyone. I’ll be gentle.”

“Man lives the life I’ve lived, he’s not used to gentle.”

Tilting my head to the side, I meet his gaze. “You’ve never had anyone be gentle with you?”

“I usually scare the gentle ones away.”

“I can’t imagine why.” My hand relaxes and I stroke the razor across his skin. Stroke and dip. Stroke and dip. The rhythmic movement calms my fraught nerves, but with every touch, tension builds between us until it is almost a living, palpable thing. “You’re not so scary.” I tease the blade around his nipple and Ray sucks in a sharp breath.

“Sia—” He chokes off his words so I continue talking, keeping my voice low and even, soothing the savage beast trapped in my chair.

“I have to admit, in the ring, you’re pretty terrifying. You have so much power and yet you keep it so tightly leashed. But when you let it go”—I look up and my cheeks heat—“I think it’s thrilling. But you keep it in control. You never go too far. That’s where I see the beauty.”

Ray stares at me as if entranced, heaving his breaths, his gaze focused, intent. Even when Slim walks past to grab some supplies and then heads back to the private rooms, Ray doesn’t take his eyes off me.