He is so talented. He has a way of making such simple drawings come to life with color. The girl gave him explicit instructions to make it as “colorful as fuck,” in her exact words. And did he ever.

Even with the redness of her skin from the needle, the pink and purples in the unicorn’s mane are practically moving with life. Her skin is radiating, and I can’t help but feel a little jealous. And not just because he’s had his hand all over her leg for the past two hours.

We both wave the pair off as they leave. Neither of us neglect to realize that we are now alone in the shop. I drop my book on the chair and give Logan my full attention.

Within a second, his hands are on my hips and he’s pushing me against the wall. “There’s another way we can draw attention.” He growls against my neck as his fingers trace the edge of my skirt.

I love the feel of his body against mine. It truly makes me feel alive, like the heat that flushes through my core is what gives me life, a lustful breath of deliciousness.

“I like it,” I giggle as his lips take mine, and we hum together, devouring each other like a meal we’ve been waiting for. And when he pins me tighter against the wall, I feel my legs part of their own accord to allow his broad hips room to fill the empty space.

“I have an idea,” I whisper as his mouth leaves mine to roam over my neck and collarbone.

“That scares me,” he says with a throaty laugh.

“I want a tattoo,” I answer, looking over at the empty chairs on the other side of the room.

“No way.” His response comes out in a deep tone vibrating against my skin.

“Why not?” I pull back, but he latches back on like a magnet.

“Because tattoos are forever.”

“Isn’t that the point?” I gasp as his hand finds its way to the bottom hem of my skirt, lifting it enough to glide his hand up my thigh to squeeze the flesh.

“Stop trying to distract me,” I breathe, but he doesn’t listen. His hands roam their way along the edge of my panties until he’s right back to where he was yesterday. Part of me wants to stop him, only because he’s being far too generous, and it’s starting to feel unfair. But the other part of me wants nothing to do with that plan because Logan’s hands on my body is like a special kind of magic that makes every inch of me hum with pleasure.

My head falls back against the wall, my eyes falling closed as he plays my body like a musician plays his instrument.

But something makes me open my eyes. Maybe I hear the voices before I see the familiar faces walking down the sidewalk outside of the shop. And just as Logan’s fingers are about to dip between the gentle folds, I let out a quick yelp and drop to my knees, hiding myself behind the counter.