“Undo your pants,” he instructed.
She looked back at him, wide-eyed.
“You want it on your lower back, right?”
Wilson grinned, watching as Carrie undid her jeans, inching them down her hips so they could both see the black triangle of the thong she was wearing.
“Perfect.” Brad pressed the temporary tattoo to her back, applying the warm washcloth, which actually felt really good. “Now just hold still for a few minutes.”
“How long before it wears off?” She twisted, trying to see, but it was no use.
“A few days.” Brad lifted the edge to check it. “If you want it to come off before then, just rub it down with baby oil or vegetable oil.”
“Oh man, Doc is going to have a fabulous time doing that,” Wilson muttered, his gaze never leaving her ass.
Carrie laughed, blushing, asking him, “How does it look?”
“Sexy as hell.”
Brad nodded, agreeing. “Tattoos like you.”
“Can I see?” She rolled to her side, going over to the full length mirror hanging on the wall and turning so her back was to it. Her jeans were still undone, open in front, revealing the black lace top of her panties, but she was focused on her back where the tattoo had transformed her skin with black swirls, the pattern drawing the eye toward both dimples on each side of her ass. It was far sexier than she had imagined, and when she looked up at Brad and Wilson and saw identical looks of restrained hunger on their faces, she knew Doc would love it.
Brad cleared his throat. “Like it?”
“Love it!” She pulled her jeans all the way up, buttoning and zipping. “Thank you so much!”
“No problem.” Brad led them to the front of the shop. “Come back when you want a real one.”
She smiled, waving as they pulled on their coats and pushed open the door. “Maybe I will.”
Wilson’s Camaro got them back to her apartment in record time.
“Do you still want to order dinner?” she offered, her hand on the car door handle.
“Do you want to?” Wilson shrugged, rubbing at his goatee. “I don’t want to impose. This was supposed to be a threesome sort of thing.”
His words hung there, the suggestion in them palpable.
“Come on.” Carrie reached over and turned the key in the ignition to turn off the engine, sliding it out and putting them in his pocket. “It will be fun. Mexican food and reruns of I Love Lucy. What’s better than that?”
“Can’t think of much.” Wilson followed her into the apartment.
As promised, the little Mexican place around the corner delivered hot tamales and quesadillas in under an hour. Wilson ate four burritos while Carrie ate only half her quesadilla, putting the tamales away for Doc.
“He hasn’t called me yet,” Carrie pouted, glancing at the clock. It was already late-going on ten-and she’d hoped he’d be back in time to at least hang out with them for a while.
“Emergency rotation is crazy.” Wilson wadded up his napkin and sat back with a groan, patting his belly. “That was so good. I’m stuffed.”
“Hey, can I ask you something?”
He raised his pierced eyebrow, glancing at her. “Sure.”
“What do you think of Daphne?”
“Nice girl.” He closed his eyes, sinking lower in the couch. “Cute. Why?”
“Just wondering.” She couldn’t help but wonder, after seeing them together. Daphne hadn’t answered her phone that morning and she hadn’t had a chance to call her again to see if Wilson had actually stayed a while at her place-or if she had gone to his. She found herself thinking about them together, wondering if Daphne knew just what Wilson had tattooed on his cock.
He squirmed on the couch, making a face. “Damn thing’s really starting to sting.”
“Your tattoo?”
“Yeah.” He sat up, pulling off his shirt and looking over his shoulder. Carrie looked too, she could help it. He was just as well-built as her husband-a little leaner, lankier, but still, nice washboard abs and a broad chest. Daphne could do worse, she thought.
“This is why I’m a fan of temporary ones.” She leaned over to inspect the damage on his bicep. “No pain at all.”
“Want to do me a favor?” Wilson reached into his jean pocket, pulling out a little packet. He tore it open with his teeth and squirted something gel-like onto his bicep, starting to rub it in. “Can you put some of this on my back? I can’t reach.”
“Sure.” She spread the grease all along his shoulder where the snake coiled, each scale a dark, almost glowing green singed with black.
Wilson hissed through his teeth, glancing back at her.
“Hurt?” She tried to do it more lightly, although she found herself wanting to really massage it into his skin, dig her fingers deep into his muscles. She smirked. “You must have had fun after you got the tattoo on your cock.”
“Unfortunately, I wasn’t dating anyone at the time.” He laughed. “But I did have a bit of fun all by myself.”
She grinned. “I bet.”
“Thanks.” He pulled his shirt slowly back on and they both got up to wash their hands.
“What a waste of lubricant,” Carrie remarked, soaping up.
“I’ll say.” Wilson dried his hands on the kitchen towel, glancing at her standing at the sink. “That tattoo is so sexy peeking over your jeans like that.”
She glanced behind, pushing her bottom out, trying to see. “Is it?”
“Doc’s gonna have fun all over that thing, isn’t he?”
She laughed. “I sure hope so.”
As if on cue, the phone rang. She grabbed it off the wall, sure it was him, and it was.
“Another hour?” She sighed, looking over at Wilson, still fiddling with the towel. “Yeah, he’s still here. Do you want him to wait?”
“I gotta get going anyway.” Wilson tossed the towel onto the counter. “I’m on call tomorrow.”
Carrie listened as Doc talked to someone in the background. Then he said, “I love you, baby. I gotta run,” and hung up.
“Well I guess I’ll watch my I Love Lucy video boxed set all by myself.”
Wilson hesitated, his coat half-on. “Do you want me to stay?”
“No, it’s okay.” She smiled. “Doc will be home soon.”
“Well, thanks for dinner.” He stopped at the door. “Tell Doc I said goodbye.”
Carrie went over and put her arms around him, giving him a hug. “Thanks for taking me home. And thanks for talking me into a temporary tattoo. I think Doc’s really gonna like it.”
“I’m sure he will.” He gave her a lop-sided smile and then he was gone. She heard the engine of the Camaro start up outside, a loud roar subsiding to a gentle purr.
Carrie peeked out the blinds, watching him pull away, and then, instead of putting in a VHS tape, she turned off the lights and settled herself on the couch in the darkness. She couldn’t stop thinking about the tattoo on Wilson’s cock. Was it Celtic, like the one on her back? A snake? He seemed to like snakes. Maybe something funny or silly?
She undid her jeans, easing them down her hips, all too aware of the temporary tattoo on her lower back, like a brand. She smiled, imagined Doc’s reaction, rubbing her fingers over the wet, black crotch of her panties. They were soaked-she hadn’t realized how excited she was, how very turned-on. The sexual tension between she and Wilson tonight had been almost tangible.
Not that she would ever do anything about it, she chided herself, fingers circling her clit, sending hot ripples through her body. She started like Wilson’s car-fireworks and then a low, purring rumble, a slow, hot revving up that swelled toward something more.
She wished she’d gotten a chance to ask him about Daphne. Had he fucked her? She could call her friend, of course, and find out, but she decided to ease the sexual tension before satisfying her curiosity. Besides, she could imagine them together, imagine Daphne’s mouth stretched over his tattooed cock, his fingers playing in her red bush. That was fun.
It was more fun to imagine herself between them, though, she discovered. Her pussy fattened at the thought, heating up nicely under her hand, imagining Wilson’s cock sliding into her own pussy, oh yeah, just like that-she shoved three fingers in, imagining taking him like that, Daphne kneeling over her face, presenting her with her own wet pussy.