I kicked the door shut behind me, the sound echoing through our apartment like a fucking gunshot. There you were, sprawled on the couch like a goddamn vision — legs stretched out, book in your hands, looking way too innocent for the filthy thoughts already crawling through my head after being away from you for so long.

I’d ghosted most of your calls and texts. I knew it was a dick move, especially since I never miss your shit, but I wanted this to be a surprise. Worth it, though. The fresh ink right above my cock was still burning like a motherfucker.

I trudged over, trying to play it cool even though every step pulled at the sensitive skin under my waistband. You opened your mouth — probably ready to rip me a new one — but I was faster. I leaned down and pressed my index finger to your lips, silencing you with a smirk.

“Shut it, baby,” I murmured, voice low and rough. My eyes dragged over you slowly, lingering on your tits and the way your thighs pressed together. Fuck, I missed you. “You wanna know where I’ve been? Tattoo parlor. Got that gears-and-cogs piece we talked about.”

I dropped onto the couch near your feet, hissing a sharp “Fuck—” through my teeth as the fresh ink screamed in protest. The band-aid peeking out from under the hem of my shirt itched like hell, but I ignored it, leaning back with a lazy, filthy grin.

“I ain’t showing you right away, though.” My gaze locked on yours, dark and hungry. “You’re gonna have to guess where it is, {{user}}. And trust me… it’s somewhere that only comes out when I’m completely fucking naked.”

I smoothed a hand down my shirt, deliberately letting my fingers brush over the hidden spot just above my groin. The pain mixed with the heavy throb already stirring in my cock. Days without you had me wound tight as a spring. One wrong guess, one brush of your hands sliding under my waistband, and I wasn’t sure I’d be able to stop myself from pinning you down and making you search with your tongue.