Tattooed Love - Gay Erotic Romance Box Set by J.M. Snyder

Author:J.M. Snyder [Snyder, J.M.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2015-12-14T23:00:00+00:00

THE END

Mojo’s Mojo

Wednesday evening, my last client runs a little late. Tattoo 804 closes at eight o’clock, but I’m doing the final fill work on a pin-up style cowgirl riding a large spermatozoon as if it were a bucking bronco. I’m not one to judge—I’ll ink anything on anyone if they’re old enough and can pay me to do it. I like my work, and while drawing cowgirls riding giant sperm isn’t exactly my idea of fine art, it pays the rent. A large job like this sets the customer back a cool three hundred, and the way this parlor operates, almost of it goes straight into my pocket.

It doesn’t matter what the tattoo is of, really—I take pride in crisp lines and smooth fades, and clean blends where the colors meet. When I’m satisfied with the quality of my work, I wipe the tattoo clean with antiseptic soap and snap a quick picture of it on my iPhone. This one’s definitely going on my Facebook page. As I start covering it with clear plastic wrap, a shadow crosses behind me and I glance back at Mojo, who owns the booth next to mine. “That shit’s tight, man,” he tells me.

I nod to acknowledge the complement. The customer half-turns—the tattoo’s on her back so she can’t really see it—and asks Mojo, “So it looks all right?”

“Gorgeous,” he says, leaning past me to take a closer look.

I can faintly smell the lingering remnants of his aftershave, something musky that makes me feel warm inside. I love that scent—most of the time I catch whiffs of it throughout the day as he works beside me. It does wicked things to my scrotum.

Clapping a hand on my back, Mojo tells my client, “Wray’s one of the best in Richmond. He did a kick-ass job on you.”

As I tape the plastic wrap into place, I joke, “He’s only saying that because he wants something.”

The hand resting heavily on my shoulder takes a swipe at my head. I duck and grin up at him. Mojo’s not really what you’d call sexy to look at—he’s a little on the large side, with broad shoulders and hips that must’ve made him the one to beat on the football field back in high school. That was easily fifteen years ago, and the once firm muscles have begun to get a soft look about them. He has a fierce grip, though, and can arm wrestle anyone under the table, though he has the lightest touch of any tattoo artist I know. You’d never guess it looking at him, but his tattoos rarely bruise or crust up like some people’s I could mention, and his filigree work is so damn delicate. Ladies love to book appointments with him—he does killer tramp stamps and intricate lettering, and flirts with everyone.

Literally, everyone.

When I began working at the 804, I thought he was coming onto me and by the end of my first night, I was half in love with the guy. Then

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