Ryder;

I locked the front door at 7:55 p.m. on Friday, the neon “Open” sign flickering off like a signal. The studio smelled of fresh ink and pine cleaner, the same scent that always settled in my lungs before a session and stayed there for hours after. My cock was already half-hard just thinking about her—Mia. The way her breath had caught when I touched her last week, the soft swell of her mound under my gloved fingers, the faint sheen of arousal I’d seen between her thighs when she thought I wasn’t looking.

I leaned against the wall in the private room, unzipped my jeans, and pulled myself out....