บททั้งหมดของ Yes Sir: Steamy BL Shorts: บทที่ 191 - บทที่ 200

JULIAN P.O.VThe moment the elevator doors closed, I returned to my studio and pulled out my phone.I opened the folder of photos I'd taken at the gallery last night. Candid shots of Adrian examining the paintings, talking to his friend, leaving the building.I'd been watching him for weeks. Had seen him at a tattoo convention where he'd been demonstrating his technique. Had tracked down his portfolio, his social media, every piece of information I could find.Adrian Volkov. Twenty-six years old. Russian immigrant who'd come to the US as a teenager. Self-taught artist who'd apprenticed at one of the best tattoo shops in Brooklyn before opening his own small studio three years ago.Talented. Beautiful. Struggling financially based on the eviction notice I'd had delivered this morning.I'd created the perfect situation. The perfect offer. The perfect trap.And he'd walked right into it.Over the next year, I would mark his skin. Would spend hundreds of hours touching him, learning him,

ADRIANWhat the fuck had I just agreed to?After Julian left, I sat in my studio staring at nothing, trying to process what had just happened.I'd let him touch me. Had agreed to dinner. Had basically admitted I was attracted to him despite knowing it was a terrible idea.This was going to end badly. I knew it. But I couldn't seem to stop myself from walking into the disaster anyway.At 7:45, I changed into clean jeans and a dark gray henley, left my hair down, and tried to look like I hadn't spent the past two hours freaking out.I arrived at Joe's at exactly eight to find Julian already there, standing outside looking completely out of place in his expensive clothes surrounded by hipsters and working-class Brooklynites."You came," I said."Did you think I wouldn't?""I thought you might change your mind once you realized what kind of place I picked."Julian looked around at the shabby pizza joint, the plastic tables, the paper plates. "It's perfect. Authentic. Real.""You say that n

JULIANI didn't hear from Adrian for four days.Four days of silence. No texts. No calls. Nothing.I told myself to be patient. That he needed time to process. That pushing him would only make him retreat further.But patience had never been my strong suit.Wednesday afternoon, I broke and texted him.How's the back healing?Three hours later, a response.Fine. Following aftercare instructions. No issues.Professional. Distant. Exactly what I'd been afraid of.When's our next session?Saturday. 10 AM. Same place.Looking forward to it.No response.I stared at my phone, debating whether to push harder. To demand we talk about what had happened. To force him to acknowledge the kiss we'd shared.Instead, I went to my studio and painted. Violently. Aggressively. Slashing color across canvas like I could exorcise the frustration building inside me.It didn't work.By Saturday morning, I was wound so tight I could barely think straight.ADRIANI'd spent the past four days trying to convinc

JULIANOur second session was different from the first.Not in the quality of work—Adrian was as meticulous and professional as ever. But in the silences between us. In the way his hands lingered a fraction longer than necessary. In the heat that seemed to pulse between us every time we made eye contact.We'd seen each other twice during the week. Once for dinner at a quiet restaurant in the East Village. Once for coffee that had turned into hours of conversation in my studio.We hadn't slept together again. But the tension was

 ADRIAN My first client of the day was a regular. Sarah, a graphic designer who'd been coming to me for years. We were working on a sleeve of botanical illustrations. She didn't mention the photos. Didn't ask questions. Just made small talk while I worked, giving me the space to not think about Julian or the scandal or any of it. I was grateful for the normalcy. For the familiar routine of tattooing. For the meditative quality of the work. Until my second client arrived.