Unrepentant, she told him he could either get over it real quick or she’d never let Petal stay with him again. When he’d been a child, one of the hardest things to handle was the total lack of control over his situation. Not knowing whether there would be enough food, whether his mom would be there in the morning, whether he’d be safe. He hated the out-of-control feeling he had when it came to Petal. Amanda held all the cards, because even though Canada respected fathers’ rights, it would be hard to convince a judge to give him full custody of a baby. And while he didn’t want to rock the boat for Petal’s sake, he didn’t want the next twenty years to be a perpetual state of acrimony and what was tantamount to blackmail.
He shut down his laptop and packed it away, anxious to make a hasty exit from the plane. Sam had arranged for him to fly commercial, but the airport was aware he was flying in and was sending a representative to get him through the airport quickly. He looked at his phone. With a bit of luck, he’d be at Pixie’s condo by six. Just in time for her to get home from closing the studio. Thank heaven for Sunday hours.
It had been a week since he’d held her in his arms, and he was beginning to realize that all the time they spent video-messaging each other was a poor substitute for the real thing.
Miami airport cooperated with his mission. After the plane landed, Dred quickly made his way out of the airport with the agent’s help. The limo he’d booked sped across the city until he was standing by the buzzer at Pixie’s condo.
His phone vibrated and he checked it.
Nice ass.
He turned and found Pixie on the other side of the lobby grinning at him. His heart stuttered. She wore black leggings under a tight purple skirt. The black blouse she wore was slightly see-through and the sun set her purple hair on fire. She was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.
Pixie raced toward him and jumped, her feet leaving the ground. He caught her and held her tight while she giggled.
“I missed you,” she mumbled against his lips.
His hungry mouth covered hers for a long moment. “I missed you too, Snowflake. Let’s take this show upstairs.”
Pixie dropped down until she was standing on the tip of his toes and kissed him. Feelings of warmth and welcome trickled through him, the unmistakable feeling of coming home. “Walk me up there,” she said with a broad smile.
“Okay, hold on.” They laughed as he bent to pick up his case and bag. She wrapped her arms tight around him as he shuffled them into the elevator and up to her condo.
By the time the door was open, and they were safely inside, he was feeling all kinds of horny from the way her body brushed against his. He dropped his bags by the door, and lifted Pixie up into his arms. “I want to play, Pix,” he said gruffly.
“Me, too,” she said with the sexiest fucking smile he’d ever seen.
He hurried them to her room. One day, they’d have a place of their own. Somewhere he could take her over the back of the sofa if that was what he wanted to do, without the risk of roommates getting the unexpected surprise of his naked ass banging a two-beat rhythm into her. Or where he could throw her down and take her on the floor, carpet burns be damned, and then lie there afterward without having to worry about an audience. They were fucking grown-ups.
Without a thought or care, he pulled Pixie’s blouse over her head and she gasped when he wrapped his hands around her sides. He knew he wasn’t being gentle, but didn’t want to stop. She’d tell him if she had a problem, but maybe she needed a reminder.
“Rule two, Pix,” he growled before unclasping her bra and ripping it down her arms until her perfect breasts were displayed for him, her pink nipples already erect when he sucked them roughly into his mouth.
He groaned when he heard her cry and grab hold of his head, encouraging him on.
Ignoring the voices in his head telling him to go easy, he flipped her onto the bed and followed her. Urgency filled him as he swiftly removed her shoes, followed in quick succession by her leggings, skirt, and panties.
Holy shit. One look at her wet pussy and all ideas of slowing down fled.
Ripping his T-shirt over his head, he thought of how he wanted to take her. An idea had been haunting him of late. One where her hands were tied over her head and her legs were spread wide at his mercy. He only hoped she’d let him make it a reality. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the condom he’d placed there, dropping it onto her chest with a grin.
Kicking off his boots, he fumbled with his belt. When he was finally free of his jeans and boxer briefs, he lay down on the bed, his face between her thighs, and licked her in long wet drags.
“Oh, Dred,” she cried out, grabbing a handful of his hair and grinding against him. He sucked on her clit hard, her moans becoming louder. He had no fucking clue if Lia was home or not, but he wanted her to scream for him. Wanted to hear that almost violent explosion of pleasure that came from good, hard sex.
He slipped a finger inside her and continued to flick against her with his tongue. Pixie started to grind against his face, and he could feel her start to contract.
“Ah . . . Dred,” she screamed as she came hard against him. He let her ride out her orgasm, but quickly reached for the condom and put it on.
He didn’t stop to wipe his face, wanting Pixie to taste herself. He kissed her firmly as he entered her. The feel of her hot flesh wrapped around him, still fluttering with the aftermath of her orgasm, nearly sent him over the edge. Her tongue dove into his mouth, driving him wild. Unable to resist, he started to slide in and out of her, withdrawing all the way out before slamming home.
Grabbing one of her hands, he lifted it, and placed it over her head, then reached for the other. Christ, Pixie was moving frantically against him, it was the hottest thing he’d ever experienced. He gripped both wrists in one of his hand and thrust harder.
“Rule two,” she cried, and he realized she wasn’t enjoying it, she was fighting him off. “Please, don’t . . . my hands.”
Dred pulled out of her and rolled them so she was up against his chest, shaking in his arms. “Snowflake. I’m sorry. What? Did I hurt you?”
If she said yes, it would break his heart in two, because he’d never deliberately hurt her.
“I’m sorry . . . it’s . . . I . . . just not my hands.”
Dred’s heart thundered, his body flooded with adrenaline and disappointment. How could he have not paid more attention to what was happening? How she was feeling? Was he really so caught up in his own pleasure that he could completely disregard hers? Man, he was an asshole. He stroked her hair. “You don’t want your hands restrained?”
“No,” she whispered quietly. “But everything else was perfect.” She ran her fingers across his chest and placed little kisses against his shoulder.
“I’m sorry, Pixie, I should have—”
“Rule three, remember. I asked you to stop. You did. I told you why. Now I’m asking you to not treat me like glass.” Pixie climbed on top of him and looked him straight in the eyes.
“Then ride me, gorgeous,” he said to her, putting his hands on either side of her face.
She pressed her lips to his. “I intend to.”
Lifting her hips and using her hand, Pixie lowered herself over his cock. He groaned as she took him inside her. She raised off him and pressed down hard, repeating the action over and over until she was riding him with such a frantic rhythm he was moments away from exploding. Pixie might be inexperienced, but shit was she a fast learner.
“Pixie, I—”
“I want this. I want this side of you. Take me, Dred.”
He grabbed her ass and pistoned his hips off the bed in long fast strokes until he was so delirious his head spun.
“Dred,” she cried out and dropped her fingers to her clit.
The sight of it sent him over the edge. “Ah . . . fuck . . .” he shouted as he came, drowning in emotion as she followed him over the edge.
* * *
Between the giant lighti
ng system that had been installed around Second Circle and everyone involved in filming the show all crammed into the small space, the temperature had risen twenty degrees in the studio. Pixie had kicked the air conditioning into gear, but it was struggling to make any real impact.
It was strange to see Trent and Dred in show mode. Dred had more makeup on than she did, and she’d watched him grumble as it was applied.
Close to wrapping for the day, the final sequence needed for the next episode of Inked was underway. Trent and Harper were filming a personal segment on why tattooing over scars meant so much to them. The episode contained a challenge where each competitor had to tattoo over a scar on their volunteer. Watching the way Trent held Harper’s hand, the way he looked at her when she was speaking, the way he’d taken her to one corner to whisper how proud he was of her, made her heart feel whole.
“Kinda beautiful, isn’t it?” Dred whispered as he wrapped his arms around her waist from behind.
“Yeah. I remember her first appointment,” she said quietly. “She sat on that bench outside for ages before she could walk in. I kept telling Trent to start someone else, but he was having none of it. I think he knew then.”
“Knew what?”
“I think he knew she was it for him.”
Pixie wanted that. She looked down at the tattooed arms holding her securely, and realized she might already have found it.
They’d talked some more the previous evening as they’d lain in bed. She’d considered telling him the truth. About her father and what he’d done. But how could he want her after that? After she’d . . . No. She hadn’t been able to tell him, or even find the words. So instead, she’d told him she felt out of control and needed the freedom of her hands to feel comfortable.
Dred had been sympathetic, and they talked at length about exploring their respective limits. It had been no surprise that Dred was incredibly liberal when it came to sexual preferences. “Try anything once,” seemed to be his motto. She wondered if she could be that girl, with all of her hang-ups. She loved the idea of broadening her experiences with him, yet was terrified by where it might lead.
“And . . . cut,” shouted a young man with a clapperboard.
Trent stood and pulled Harper against him, burying his face in her dark brown hair. Harper rubbed his back gently, whispering sweet words with a smile. Pixie coughed and looked away. It was a deeply intimate moment. She turned in Dred’s arms and he pulled her closer.
“Yo, pussy. Can we get on with this shit?” Cujo slapped Trent on the back of the head, making everybody laugh. His status of guest judge had him on his A-game. Drea rolled her eyes at his behavior, but everyone knew that as best friends, only Cujo could get Trent to wrap up his emotions.
Pixie lifted her face to Dred. There was something different between them today. A good thing. Likely caused by their conversation the previous evening, but there was an undeniable frisson.
“Want to go to the New Music Press Awards with me in two weeks?” Dred asked.
“The . . . what. The NMPs?”
“Yeah. It can be a date. I’ll meet you in L.A. from wherever I am. It’s kinda boring, but I think it would be fun with you.”
“You want me. To go to the awards. With you?”
He’d said it like he was asking her to meet him at Denny’s for breakfast.
“Yes, Snowflake. Come with me, in all the possible connotations of the word, to the New Music Press Awards.”
Pixie nodded. She was going to the freaking NMPs. “Yes.”
He kissed her slowly.
“Oh my God, Drea!” Cujo yelled. “Everybody is kissing. I think I just barfed in my mouth. Pass me some water.”
Dred couldn’t contain the laugh. “You’re an asshole,” he shouted to Cujo.
Cujo tutted. “You got your hands on my goddamn sister’s ass, and I’m the asshole.”
“That’s a wrap for today, let’s clear out,” clapperboard-guy shouted over the ribbing.
Pixie noticed the garbage can was overflowing and needed emptying. “I got some work to do,” she said, slipping out of Dred’s arms. She laughed when he pouted at her. “Go take all that crap off your face.”
She tied up the garbage bag and took it out back, flinging it into the giant Dumpster.
“Have you got my money?”
Her stepfather slinked out from a small gap between the tattoo studio and the place next door. Pixie’s heart raced as she looked back toward the rear exit of the studio. “You shouldn’t be here,” she whispered to him. “I told you, I’m not giving you money.” It was a risk, calling his bluff, testing him to see exactly how far he’d really go. But her suspicion was that he didn’t want to end up in trouble anymore than she did.
He stepped closer. “And I told you, you can’t keep me from going anywhere. If you don’t have the money, I’ll step inside and tell them what you did.”
Pixie’s head spun as she wiped her sweaty palms on her jeans. “Please . . . don’t . . . I have no way . . .”
“Yes, you do. Ask him for the money.”
It wasn’t about the money. She could afford to pay him, but if she did, she’d be paying him for the rest of her life, so she played along. “And tell him what? How do I even begin to explain what you did to me, asshole?”
“What I did to you? There was nothing I did that you didn’t want, you ungrateful bitch. The drugs, all of it. I saw you get off on it, remember. Why I should—”
Pixie gasped at the sickening sound of Dred’s fist hitting Arnie’s jaw. Where Dred had suddenly appeared from she had no clue, but she watched in horror as Arnie stumbled backward and fell to the ground. It took her a moment to process what happened, and by the time she had, Dred was already standing over Arnie, lifting him up by the collar, ready to hit him again.
“Dred, no. Don’t!” she shouted.
Dred turned and looked toward her, a blazing look of fury aimed straight at her. Oh my God. How much had he overheard?
With a hard shove, Dred let go of Arnie and dropped him to the ground.
“Fuck you, asshole,” Arnie shouted. “If you won’t give me my money, Sarah-Jane, I’ll sue his fucking ass.” Arnie stood, a little wobbly on his feet. He didn’t attempt to retaliate, clearly knowing when he was physically beaten.
“Go ahead and sue, motherfucker. I can afford to out-lawyer the shit out of you. Leave. Pixie. Alone.’
“She was mine long before she was yours,” Arnie yelled.
Pixie felt sick as she witnessed Trent and Cujo rush outside. Arnie was going to tell them, and she was going to be ruined. Trent and Cujo would no longer look at her as they did right now, with concern for her and absolute fury at Arnie. She reached out her hand to Dred, who took a step further away. The rejection cut through her. Witnessing it, Cujo stepped in and pulled her close under his shoulder.
“Yeah, well, she’s ours now,” Trent said calmly, coming to stand by her other side, although she could see from his fighter’s stance and clenched fists that he was anything but.
“Yours?” Arnie spat. “Used fucking goods is what she is. You want a fucking washed-up druggie for a pet, take her . . . for a price.”
Dred looked from Arnie to her, and she couldn’t bear to see the look on his face at the mention of drugs.
“Arnie, please.” Begging was the last thing she wanted to do, but she was all out of options. She would never ask the men in her life for the kind of money Arnie wanted to go away and leave them alone. And involving the police would likely see her charged with Brewster’s murder, but she would rather do that than allow these wonderful men to pay for Arnie’s silence.
Arnie straightened his collar and wiped his forearm across his mouth to wipe away the blood. “I’m going to ruin you, Sarah-Jane. And I’m going to ruin lover-boy too. You had your chance to pay up and make this go away. Now you better be prepared to face the consequences.”
* * *
He couldn’t have heard right, because Dred could have sworn he h
eard the man yelling at Pixie say she was a washed-up druggie. And there was no way the universe was playing such a cruel fucking trick on him.
But the look of abject horror on Pixie’s face told him his hearing was perfectly fine. And when Trent had stepped between the two of them to hug her and tell her that everything was going to be okay because the guy hadn’t told them anything they didn’t already know, his stomach churned like waves hitting the sand down by Hermosa Beach Pier.
The whole time, Cujo glared at him. Dred could feel the penetrating stare, and the weight of the expectancy that he would snap out of it and step up to Pixie any minute to hold her. Or perhaps Cujo was waiting for him to repeat Trent’s words that it was okay, when it wasn’t. It was so fucking not okay.
With a deep breath, he reached for his anchor, gripping it in such a way that the anchor’s bill dug into his palm. But even the sharp pain couldn’t detract from the sheer devastation he felt that Pixie was a junkie like his mom.
Cujo wrapped his arms around Pixie and whispered something that made her cry. He rubbed her back and continued to speak words muttered so low Dred couldn’t hear them.
He felt like an outsider, like he was having an out-of-body experience.
Pixie wiped her face, and Cujo let her go before walking toward him, coming to a stop when their faces were inches apart.
“That’s your fucking girl, and she’s hurting more than you can imagine,” he growled. “You make her feel worse and I swear on Drea’s fucking life, I will pound the crap out of you so fucking hard you won’t know whether to shit or go sailing.”
“You want us to stay out here with you, Pix?” Trent asked all the while glaring at Dred.
“No. Please. Go inside.”
Dred watched Cujo and Trent disappear back into the studio.
“You’re an addict,” he spat.
Pixie walked over to the steps to the studio and sat down. Her movements were jerky. Like her body was about to give out on her. But he’d seen that before with his mom.
“Yes,” she said, her eyes looking like they’d had all the sunshine ripped out of them.
The Purest Hook (Second Circle Tattoos) Page 19
