This is a short, high-heat, no-plot, unrealistic spicy story. Pure filth and ownership. Nothing else.
Jody keeps coming back to the same tattoo artist.
Each session the pieces get larger. Each placement gets closer to the most private parts of her body.
Chase notices. He has been watching the way she shifts in the chair, the way her breath changes when the needle hits a sensitive spot, the way she leaves already wet.
What starts as professional work turns into something far more possessive.
The ink becomes a claim. The sessions become longer, more intimate, and far less professional.
He marks her skin while keeping her on edge, then takes what the needle has prepared.
Every new piece is another reminder that her body is being covered—and claimed—by him.
There is no long story here. No emotional journey. No realistic consequences. Just escalating heat, detailed scenes, and a man who uses his art to own the woman under his needle.
