The Purest Hook (Second Circle Tattoos #3)(22)

Cupping his balls with his other hand, he stroked faster, let out a huff of air as the tingling down his spine increased. Yeah, like that.

He imagined spreading her legs, running his hands up the back of her thighs, and sliding into her. Christ, she’d be so wet for him, and, given his size, he’d physically cover her. The reel played in his mind. Pixie turned toward him, her face spectacular in the throes of orgasm. He pumped faster, imagining taking her harder, until he came.

Head spinning, Dred took a moment to catch his breath. It had been a long time since jerking off had felt that good. If only Pixie was there in the flesh. He wanted to talk to her, find out if she was feeling the same frustration.

Dred made plans to call her as soon as he got out of the shower. Hopefully the studio was closed because he wanted her alone for what he wanted to say.

And he wasn’t going to make it easy on her.

*

“I’ll finish up. You guys need to go.” Pixie shoved Trent and Harper out the rear door. Thanks to some strategic thinking, Trent had decided to start closing the shop earlier Monday through Wednesday, but stay open longer on the weekend.

“I don’t want to leave you here, Pix. Let me just—”

She cut Trent off. “Nope. No. Nada. I am fed up of you two looking at each other all sexy-eyed. We’re done. It’ll take me ten minutes to get everything finished. Please, go.”

Harper hugged her. “Thanks, Pix.”

Pixie laughed as Trent rolled his eyes at her. She shooed him away.

“Have a good night, Pix. See you tomorrow.”

Pixie heard the rear door of the studio close. With a quick change of music, this time Sarah Brightman’s “Think of Me” from The Phantom of the Opera came over the speakers. Fortunately, Trent kept a really tidy workspace, and Lia had cleaned hers before she had headed out, so straightening up didn’t take long. With the stations returned to the clinical state she preferred, Pixie was almost ready to go home.

She let out a yawn. It had been a long day. An exciting one. E-tickets had arrived for her trip to Canada. Trent had encouraged her to take an extra day if she wanted to, but she was happy coming home on Monday. The trip was just long enough to get a sense of where her feelings were really at.

As she waited for the computer to shut down, her phone pinged.

Go somewhere private.

Dred.

Pixie looked around the studio and decided on the office. Within moments, her phone buzzed and she opened the video chat.

“Hey, Snowflake.”

Holy guacamole. Talk about not playing fair. Dred was naked. At least, as much as she could see was uncovered. He was sitting at a table or desk in a really bright room. His hair was wet, slicked back from his face, which was shadowed with scruff. Water dripped down his body like it had the first time she’d seen him at the hotel.

“Hi.” Her voice cracked and she coughed to clear her throat that suddenly seemed drier than the Sahara. “How are you?”

Dred’s simple smile tugged at her. “Better now I can talk to you. How was your day?”

Nothing remotely interesting. “Went to yoga this morning before work. Came here. Nothing very exciting. You?”

“Don’t play that down. The idea of you doing yoga is very exciting. How flexible are you?” he teased.

“Very.” During drug withdrawal, hot yoga had been a blessing. It occupied her mind when she was itching to find something to take the edge off.

Dred reached out of sight of the camera, and then returned to the screen with a bottle of beer. “Wanna play a game with me, Pix?” He tipped his head back and took a drink.

“What kind of game?” If he was about to ask her to take her clothes off and get naked, that was a definite no. Because, well, work . . . and she really wasn’t ready for that kind of thing.

“I want to know more about you. So we exchange. I ask you a question, and if you answer it, I have to answer it, too.” Dred placed the beer bottle back out of sight and ran a hand through his hair. The dark lengths were starting to dry, and it was falling over his shoulder. His brown eyes were clear of the black eyeliner he wore to perform, and wholly focused on her.

“Okay. Why don’t you go first?” Pixie offered.

“Let’s keep it simple. Favorite movie?”

“Oh, easy. The Sound of Music and The Wizard of Oz. You?”

“The Shawshank Redemption. Your turn.” Dred grasped his hands behind his head, his biceps flexed, his shoulders were . . . gah! What was the right word? Jacked? She closed her eyes for a minute and looked away.

She gazed back at him, and tried to ignore his grin. “What place would you most like to visit?”

Dred paused thoughtfully. “I want to go skiing in the Alps. Or maybe travel around Australia. Really see the country and not just tour it. Where do you want to go?”

“Easy. London’s West End or Broadway. I’d see as many shows as I could possibly squeeze in.”

“I sense a theme. Okay. I’m changing gears. Favorite part of your own body?”

Pixie narrowed her eyes at him. Uncertain of where he was going with it, she was reluctant, but a small part of her was curious.

“Not doing anything more than talking, Snowflake. Favorite part of your own body?”

Taking a mental inventory, Pixie thought about her better assets, critiquing and dismissing them until she settled. “I don’t know. My arms, maybe. I have tiny wrists.”