Hide: Downunder Ink Book 2

by Bronwyn Stuart

  “Hi,” he says when I open the door. He looks me up and down and nods his approval.

  I do a turn on the spot like I need it from him, but I also do it because I’m not sure if we’re meant to kiss or shake hands. “Like what you see?”

  “Those boots are hot. You look beautiful.”

  I’m used to hot. Interesting. Unique. Beautiful throws me. “I’ll just grab my purse.”

  He’s the perfect gentleman all the way to the car with his hand on the small of my back. He opens my door and then waits for me to climb in which is kind of awkward but I get there in the end.

  The jeep is lovely on a warm evening and the breeze in my hair is nice. “Where are we going?”

  He squeezes my knee in a tight grip and says, “It’s a surprise.”

  I can’t even speak. Everything is heightened. I’m nervous about not wearing pants. I’m wound up tight not wearing underwear. I feel like if he pulls my trigger, I’ll explode and it won’t be pretty.

  “Relax, Jen. You’ll like it. I promise.”

  I nod and gulp and turn my attention to the city passing by in a blur. We’re heading right into the heart of Brisbane and it’s been a while for me. My sisters and I tend to live local, shop local, play local. We’ve never heard the call of the big smoke, preferring our little touristy corner of the world to bustling streets and honking cars.

  Ben pulls up at the end of a narrow lane way, leaves the car running and hops out, rounding the hood and opening my door for me. He offers his hand and I take it. I do love chivalry. A waiter dressed in black materialises out of the alley, hands Ben a ticket stub and then drives off in his car.

  Valet. Fancy.

  We head down to a door under a maroon awning with no name or signage. “Sex club?” I guess, and he chuckles. It feels like we’re heading into a strip joint or brothel where you have to give a secret code to get in the door. “Illegal poker game? Ooh, tell me you’re some kind of James Bond by night.”

  He’s still chuckling when he opens the door and hands me through. “Not even close.”

  Another waiter dressed in black greets us with a, “Good evening, Sir, Miss. Table for two?”

  “The reservation is for Benjamin.”

  He checks his book and asks us to wait a moment.

  “Gentleman’s club?” I add to the list of guesses.

  Ben wraps an arm around my waist and pulls me in tight against his suited front. I stumble when the toe of my boot catches on the floor. He ignores it and murmurs in my ear, “Just dinner, Jen.”

  A female waiter approaches us. I smile when I see the tattoos peeking from her starched shirt. I love her shaved hair style too. Hipster and loving it.

  “Any food allergies?” she asks both of us without making eye contact.

  Ben looks to me first and I shake my head.

  “None,” he tells her.

  “Follow me then. I’ll get you seated.”

  Long black curtains separate where we stand and wherever we’re going. Ben once again puts his palm to the small of my back but he also takes my wrist so he can guide me. I don’t know if I like this but I go with it. The waitress takes my other wrist and puts my hand on her shoulder. Super weird. Am I going to be the meat in some kind of sex sandwich? I mean, she’s cute but I don’t really do chicks. Not that I’d rule it out completely if the moment was right, I guess.

  We move through the curtains and two things hit me at once. It’s pitch black and it smells delicious. I keep following the waitress because I have very little choice. Soft music and the hum of voices meets my ears so I know there are other people here but anxiety fills me over not being able to see a damn thing.

  Another curtain is soft on my face as we emerge into a dimly lit booth. When I say dim, I mean the light of a single battery-operated candle dim. There’s shadows everywhere here but at least I can see something. A table is set with crockery, cutlery and stemless glassware. Nothing else.

  The waitress steps back and allows us to take a seat. Ben slides in first. I sit next to him, our thighs touching in the intimate space.

  “Familiarise yourself with the layout of the table,” she tells us. “When you’re ready to be served, blow out the candle.”

  I look to Ben. “We’re going to eat in darkness? I don’t understand.”

  Ben smiles his thanks and the waitress leaves us alone. “It’s a sensory experience. When you can’t see anything, like the food you’re eating, it allows your other senses to take over.” He lifts my hair from my neck and licks the skin below my earlobe. “Like taste.” His other hand moves to my thigh. “And touch.”

  Jesus. Christ. I tuck my hair over my ear and hope he didn’t see my cheeks heat. Is this dinner or a show? “Okay. Have you done this before?”

  His green eyes are curious but then he nods. “Just once.”

  “With a woman?”

  “With several.”

  I frown and he chuckles. “Relax. It was a work dinner. Team building exercise. Hands above the table at all times.”

  He keeps telling me to relax but how can I? I’m way out of my depth here. All I wanted was a full-service massage with a happy ending and now where are we? Dating? ‘Seeing’ each other?

  “What is it?” he asks.

  My fingers tangle in a tight mess and I stare at them to avoid looking at him. “I don’t know what we’re doing. Is this a date date? Or two friends having dinner?” Like the massage, two friends, no money changing hands, no client-OT relationship.

  Ben leans in so close I can smell his aftershave despite his unshaven cheeks. I want to run just the tips of my fingers over his chin. His breath is hot and moist against my ear. “Would a friend ask another friend to leave her underwear at home?”

  I shake my head.

  “You did leave them at home, didn’t you?” His hand travels higher up my thigh, between my legs. I shift slightly but he withdraws. He picks up the candle, his stare is intense as he makes eye contact over the artificial flame. Then he flicks the switch and we’re in total darkness.

  I gulp.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Ben

  I’m a confident guy. Sure of myself. But I haven’t dated for a long time. I haven’t shown this side of myself to anyone in a long time. It can be frightening. It can be off-putting. I thought Jen would be turned off by my caveman routine, what she’s seen of it, but judging by the shallow breaths she’s taking and the glazed look she keeps giving me, I’d say she’s more than turned on. I bet if I were to find her pulse point right now, her heart would be hammering in her chest.

  My voice is pitched low as I walk her through the experience. I find her shoulder in the dark and let her hair wash over my knuckles. “First the appetiser will come. The waiters are vision impaired. No one can see anything at all. Then there will be a main course and then dessert. You can use a knife and fork. Or you can use your fingers.”

  “They didn’t take our orders.”

  “You don’t place one. You eat what comes out. Part of the experience is trying to guess what you’re eating.”

  “I’m not sure about this.”

  I want to reassure her but it isn’t vulnerability in her wavering voice, it’s sass. I squeeze her thigh and say, “You’re going to love it, don’t worry.”

  She’d make a terrible submissive if I was into that, but I was serious when she asked me if I was a dom and I said no. I don’t need to dominate. I just need her to do what she’s told every now and then. She keeps asking ‘what am I doing here’ and I don’t have an answer for her. Not yet. I don’t even fully understand this attraction I feel towards her. She’s everything I’ll never be. Reckless, head strong, full of attitude and…abstract, without order. Her tattoos anyway. And the way she lives her life. If she asks me what I’m doing next Sunday, I can tell her. Tuesday. I can tell her that too.

  I wonder if she learned anything about delayed gratification. I didn’t know much about it, only that there was something inside of me that wa
sn’t quite satisfied with jerking off for the sake of it. Having sex for the sake of it. Like the ejaculation was a hollow victory. Easy gratification. Exactly what Ian’s life was about. His short life.

  So I went the other way. Work hard, play hard, get rewarded. In all things. No instant gratification, no hollow victories, no easy wins.

  I shift my focus back to Jen because as disciplined as I have been in the last ten years, she’s testing my resolve with every feathery breath, with every squirm she tries to hide, even when she licks her lips, swallows, blinks.

  I can’t see the last three in the dark but I know she’s doing them all and I know they’re sexy. I slide my palm over her knee and lower. “Did you have trouble finding boots?”

  Silence meets my question. “You have to say it out loud, Jen. I can’t see you.”

  She clears her throat first. “No problems.”

  “And they’re comfortable? You’re comfortable?”

  I think I hear a gulp and I smile to myself. She’s so nervous. What does she think is going to happen?

  The swish of curtains seems loud here, followed by the muted clink of crockery against the tablecloth.

  “Your first course,” a voice tells us, followed by the sound of liquid pouring into glasses. Then the swish of curtains again and I think she’s gone.

  I’ve done this before but it can get messy. “Slowly reach for the plate. It should be in front of you. If you get food on your hands, lick it off. Or I can.”

  It’s not long before I hear a crunch and chewing. A moan of delight comes soon after. “I don’t know what this is, but it’s delicious.”

  My mouth waters. “Feed some to me.”

  “You have your own.”

  I growl. “Not the point.”

  “How do I know where your mouth is?” she asks.

  It should be on you, I want to say. “Find me by touch.”

  Her first touch is tentative, low, on the knees of my trousers, not on my shirt front where it should be, between the lapels of my jacket or higher. “Way off,” I tell her with a warning in my voice.

  “My bad,” she replies with a breathless chuckle but she doesn’t sound apologetic. Both of her hot little hands slide up my thighs and I have to physically stop her before she reaches my erection. Thank god for the dark.

  “So, there are rules?” she asks.

  My voice is like rough gravel and it gives my arousal away. “Don’t start something you can’t finish.”

  She chuckles. “Does that go for you too?”

  I guide her higher. To my pecs. She walks her fingers up until she reaches my chin. She grazes over my cheek and then touches my lips. I cover her hand with mine and suck her thumb into my mouth. It’s tame but also erotic.

  Her lips find mine and she presses a brief kiss, then she’s gone.

  “Open wide,” she tells me.

  I comply. A flavour explosion greets my senses. I crunch on something crispy but there’s something soft too. A sauce? Pate or dip? I can’t tell. “Hmm,” I murmur. “That is good.”

  “Best thing you ever put in your mouth?” she says with that soft laughing voice. I like the sound. She’s having fun despite the obvious sexual tension.

  “Not after yesterday,” I tease but it’s a bad idea. We should just eat.

  “If you keep making everything about sex, I won’t be able to eat the meal.”

  “And that would be a shame. I’ll keep my hands to myself. For now.” I find my wine and take a long mouthful of it. We should make small talk but it seems wrong somehow to not keep the tension high. This is part of the gratification to come. Heighten the tension, heighten the senses, make the payoff all the better. It’s why I brought her here.

  But we also need to eat.

  “What do you do when you’re not tattooing? Any hobbies?”

  Silence meets my question but then she answers with, “No hobbies. I don’t really ‘do’ anything right now. I guess I walk.”

  “Don’t you get bored?”

  “I’m an artist. As long as I have my tablet or even a notebook, there’s no time to get bored.”

  “That’s a hobby then.”

  “It’s a business. Drawing new designs isn’t a hobby. It’s a career.”

  Idiot. Why do I have to keep doing that? “Sorry. I’ve never met an artist of any kind before. Not a professional one.”

  “Do you have hobbies?”

  “I surf. I love being on the water. I fish sometimes too.” I hear her crunch on another appetiser and do the same.

  “You said I’d be able to surf. Did you mean it?”

  “Plenty of amputees hit the waves. It would take a little longer to learn if you didn’t do it before your accident but it’s possible.”

  “Is it probable?”

  There’s vulnerability in her voice now. I don’t like it. “I can help you. Give you some lessons. You’d need to work on your balance for a bit first.”

  “Notice that, did you?” Her chuckle has lost it’s warmth.

  I feel for her hand in the dark, twine fingers with her. “It’s perfectly normal to be off balance. A lot. But if you work on your core strength, it’ll help. If you strengthen your good leg, it’ll help a lot too.”

  “I’ll need the physio then? Or a gym?”

  “The actual exercise you can do around your house. I can design a plan for you or put you in contact with a personal trainer.”

  “And the rest?”

  “In the water. It’s the only way.”

  She makes a noise of frustration. “Ugh.”

  “I know you want to hide your injury but you don’t have to. It’s part of the journey.” The part I’ve been trying to get her to understand better.

  “Please don’t get preachy on me. Let’s roll back a step or two. Exercises? Like what?”

  “Squats. Wall sits. Some floor work.”

  “And you could do these with me? Take me on as a client.”

  Our conversation is interrupted with the next course and a wine refill. I hope it’s the same wine because I didn’t drink all of the first one. I’ll need all of this one. I take three gulps and then put the glass back down. I feel for her again in the dark. “If you become a client of mine, on the books, we can’t touch each other. Not like this.” I like the feel of her bare leg, smooth and soft. She has very little muscle tone where she should. I can help her. But I’d rather touch her. She doesn’t stop me so I travel higher. I use my other hand to find her mouth. I kiss her, slide my tongue between her lips and add some heat.

  Her knees part so I keep going. I absorb her moan as I reach my destination, swiping over her clit and barely dipping into the moisture between her legs, teasing.

  She breaks contact and hauls in a ragged breath. “We can’t do that here,” she whispers.

  I do it again. “Why not? No one can see.”

  “The food…” she starts but then trails off.

  “You can eat,” I tell her as I ease a finger into her. She tilts her pelvis and opens her legs more, as far as the sexy dress will let her.

  “This is not fair.”

  I flinch when she reaches for my cock, unprepared. I should stop her there. At least she has the dress to hide under. I have a flimsy tablecloth. Her palm rubs me up and down and I hiss through my teeth.

  “You don’t want me to?”

  I cover her hand with mine and increase the pressure but that means I’m not touching her anymore.

  I can hear her movements and I curse the dark and myself for bringing her here.

  “Fuck,” she swears softly but my mouth goes dry and I can’t admonish her.

  She’s on the floor.

  Between my knees.

  “Jesus, Jen, get back up here.”

  “Make me,” comes her reply before she finds the button of my trousers and slides the zip down with exquisite slowness.

  My cock is hard but her grip is harder when she pulls my boxer shorts back and takes me in hand. “You do not have to
do this,” I tell her.

  She licks me. Another curse as something bumps the table. “Was that your head?”

  “Not much room but I’ll make do.”

  She pumps my shaft, tests the length with those little fingers and that tight grip. Then I’m in her mouth. The angle is different but no less sensitive, no less amazing. She sucks, then retreats. Sucks, retreats.

  “Jesus, woman, that is pure torture.”

  “Mmhmm,” is mumbled around my dick as she sucks but this time doesn’t retreat. My kneejerk hits the table and there’s a rattle of glass. I’m holding on to the tablecloth for dear life.

  A voice sounds in the dark and it isn’t Jen’s. “Is everything all right in here? Can I get you anything?”

  I have to breathe deep before answering but Jen doesn’t stop. She’s taking the ‘no one can see you’ for granted. “We’re fine. We just need a little more time with the mains.”

  “Of course, Sir. Just call out when you’re ready for dessert.”

  “Yep, will do,” I manage and hope like hell she leaves quickly.

  The pressure in my balls intensifies and the pleasure she’s giving me is insane but I don’t want it like this. Dark, clandestine. “Stop, Jen, please stop.”

  “Relax,” she tells me, and I hear the smirk. “Live a little.”

  I reach under the tablecloth and hold her face gently. “Not like this.”

  “If you say so. I was enjoying that.”

  Once I think she’s back in her seat, I try to tuck back into my pants but I’m too hard. I’ll have to wait a sec. “You’re killing me.”

  “I’m killing you? All this teasing is giving me blue balls, I can’t imagine how you’re feeling.”

  She’s outrageous. Sexy. Exhilarating. Dangerous. But I already know that. That’s the second time she’s almost made me lose control. “Finish your dinner so we can get out of here.”

  “For real?” she asks.

  “You’re not enjoying the meal?” I’m disappointed. I honestly thought she’d enjoy the experience.

  “The meal is superb. I’d just rather be somewhere more private. With the lights on.”