Mad Dog

by Ophelia Bell

  “What tattoo?” I feign ignorance because I know he loves to explain it to me, even though there’s no way in hell I’ll follow through with his kinky request. It’s one of many he makes on a regular basis, but they’re all so ridiculous. I’m a grown woman with billions in assets. I’m not about to get my coño tattooed just because it would turn him on.

  As expected, he slides down my body and positions himself between my legs. I keep myself waxed for him, which I’ve decided I prefer. The sensations are all the sweeter when he begins pressing slow, warm kisses to the top of my smooth mound, his dark eyes watching and his scruff tickling lower down where his chin brushes over my clit. He darts his tongue out a little when he reaches the top of my cleft, then pauses to show me again what he wants.

  Propping himself on one elbow, he begins to draw a swirly pattern with one finger over my mound. “The tattoo should go right here. Something ornamental and pretty to accent this beautiful little pussy of yours that I adore so much. Will you do that for me?”

  “Maybe,” I say and half smile through the pleasure. His suggestion of a tattoo sends my mind one place. There’s only one artist I can imagine giving me such a tattoo. Even though Toni would do it for me, and is the more appropriate designer for what Leo is asking for, Maddox is the one I picture every time Leo brings it up.

  It’s all I can do to push the image aside, and I reach down to tangle my fingers in Leo’s thick curls as he parts my folds and nuzzles at my clit. He nips at the flesh on either side and my core pulses and floods with wet heat.

  I love how he makes me feel. Every day of the last few months, we’ve found both solace and happiness in each other, escaping grief within the bubble of my bed. I never see him sad when we’re here. The pain appears at other times when he thinks I’m not looking, so I know he still feels it, but I’m glad this one place allows him to forget. He is more and more insistent about trying new things though, and I’m more and more hesitant, though I don’t know why. The tattoo idea may be my mental block. If I can’t do something as benign as get another tattoo in such an intimate spot, how can I do some of the other things he keeps asking for?

  The teasing flick of his tongue against my clit is sufficient to drive other thoughts from my head, and I’m grateful they disappear. All that remains is the sensation of his thumbs gliding along my outer lips while he sucks and licks my center. He pulls away to look at me, enthralled by the wet, glistening, pink flesh that throbs for him now.

  “Leo, don’t stop.”

  His mouth quirks, and he glances up at me. “You’re so wet, ángel. So beautiful. Let me look at you.”

  I’m breathing hard, and his teasing only makes me more desperate. He pushes my thighs wide and urges my knees up toward my chest, gaze intent on my sex. I’m spread open, bared to him, desperate to be filled. But today, he seems determined to torture me. He rubs two idle fingers over my clit, then runs them down to my opening and pushes in, twists, and curls enough to tease my G-spot and make me gasp and buck. Then he lets out a breathless chuckle and slides his fingers out and keeps traveling south.

  When his fingertips graze my rear, I jerk upright and drop my legs. “Leo! What the hell?”

  His eyes have a wicked glint as he grabs me behind the knees and hauls me toward him so I fall on my back again, then he lowers himself over me. “Your ass is so goddamn tempting. It’ll feel good. Trust me.” His cock grazes my wet skin, and I part for him again, still more than eager for him to be inside me, but I’m more cautious now.

  “I said no. You keep asking for things I’m not okay with. I just want you to make love to me.”

  “And bite you, and spank you, and drip hot wax on your nipples, and tie you up . . .” He rocks his hips against me, teasing his entire length along my clit as he lists all the things we have done, each and every one something I asked for. He keeps up the torture as he lifts each of my hands above my head and pins my wrists. I gasp at the rush from being immobilized beneath his solid, muscular bulk.

  He keeps teasing me with his cock, rubbing faster but never entering me, and I writhe and buck when he dips his head and latches on to one nipple, biting hard.

  “Leo!” I beg, but he’s relentless. He rubs and bites and licks until my mind is about to explode, then with a slight tilt of his hips, he’s at my entrance and slams into me in a glorious, hard thrust that makes me cry out his name again. He works me up so well that I’m already at the edge, and it only takes two swift thrusts before my world explodes in a blast of pleasure. I don’t have time to come down, so I ride the high, in love with every second of how he makes me feel.

  My lingering annoyance at his incessant requests for ass play makes me bold today. I don’t think he grasps how off-putting and invasive it is whenever he tries it, so in my haze of uninhibited pleasure, I decide to show him instead. I slip my hands down his back and squeeze his ass, enjoying the flex of both solid mounds of muscle as he drives deep. Another orgasm threatens to break, my body already thrumming with it, my hips moving on their own to chase it. When I get close, I take the chance before I can chicken out and plunge one finger into him.

  He jerks in surprise, then gasps and freezes as if he’s lost his breath. A second later, his body seems to catch up and he releases a desperate groan. But rather than object to the invasion, or pull away, his tight ring of muscle squeezes my finger. He shudders, grunting as his cock explodes inside me in a series of violent pulses more intense than I’ve ever felt. I completely forget about my own orgasm but get an unexpected rush that what I just did to Leo’s ass actually pleased him.

  At least, I think it did. I’m frozen in uncertainty until he gives me a long, languid kiss, his chest vibrating with a contented hum. He pulls away with a lazy smile and flexes his ass around my finger again and I realize it’s still inside him. I pull it out quickly, my face going molten. He grins.

  “That was . . . unexpected.” He falls to the side with a happy, sated sigh, and pulls me close. I’m still too mortified for words.

  Finally, I clear my throat. “You’re a kinky bastard, Leo Reyes.”

  Leo barks out a laugh that turns into an amused rumble as he turns to me and hooks his leg over mine. “It takes one to know one, ángel.”

  I tangle my legs with his, enjoying the warm friction of the way our bodies slide together. He rests his cheek on his upper arm and gazes at me in that way he has that makes me feel like I’m the center of his universe. My insides warm, but the contentment doesn’t untangle the knots of resistance.

  “Have you always been this . . . adventurous?” I ask, not sure I want to know the answer. We don’t talk about our sexual pasts, mostly because I didn’t really have one before him. He still doesn’t know about the few experiences I’ve had, but he knows every adventurous thing we’ve tried were firsts for me, and he loves that he’s the one who gets to share them with me.

  He clears his throat, and his expression darkens. I know I’ve hit a nerve, but I’m not sure why.

  “Honestly? No.” He swallows. The introspective look in his eyes is tinged with pain—the way he gets when I know he’s touching recent hurts and is bracing himself for raw honesty.

  I love this about him—that he works so hard to bare his secrets even though it isn’t easy. I remain silent and still, as if even a twitch will frighten him back into the dark cave he hid inside for the first few weeks after his brother’s death.

  It was during those weeks that we tried the kinkiest things. He bit me a little too hard one night, and I loved it so much I asked him to do it again. Later, he confessed that doing it had made him hotter than he’d ever been, so I tested my limits on other occasions, discovering I liked a little pain mixed with the pleasure. The more I invited, the more he opened up, and the hotter we were when we made love.

  This intimacy is more than I could have imagined I’d have, and I’m tempted to tell him he doesn’t have to tell me whatever he’s about to say when he begins to speak.

  “It’s like there�
�s a monster inside me, Celeste.” He looks into my eyes, his expression tinged with pain and fear. He isn’t finished speaking, so I just tilt closer and comb my fingers into the hair at his temple and stroke while he continues. “Ever since Manny was shot, I have this rage that builds and builds every day. Seeing him die, asking myself why . . . why wasn’t it me? Or, why didn’t I get to pull the trigger that put the bullet into Gustavo? I shouldn’t channel it into our bed, but I’m afraid if I put it somewhere else, I’ll self-destruct.”

  “I disagree.” I scoot closer until our noses nearly touch. “I love what we do. I love that being with me calms you. I wish I could do more. Besides letting you screw my ass, anyway.”

  He snorts and wags his eyebrows. “You don’t know what you’re missing.”

  Clearing my throat, I tilt my head and tease a finger over the dark ink that covers his shoulder, marred now by the pink flare of his bullet scar. “Was that the first time you’ve had someone touch you there?” I ask, keeping my eyes averted from his.

  “I was no virgin when you jumped me in Maddox’s bed, but yeah, that’s a new one for me. I’m guessing you were hoping I’d hate it, but your plan backfired.” He smirks at me.

  I roll my eyes at his joke, but he sobers.

  “Celeste, it’s all right if you don’t want to. I do believe you’re missing out, and I love making you feel good. Not to mention your ass drives me wild. But I’ll drop it.”

  I exhale a long breath. “Thank you. I’ll make it up to you if you want. Is there anything else I can do? Try me.” I peer up at him, positive he has other ideas—he seems full of them—and wanting to make amends in some way. Most of the things he suggests are well within my comfort zone.

  His eyes grow distant, and my anticipation ramps up because he definitely has an idea, and it must be a doozy. After a second, he clears his throat and gives me a tentative look. “You might think it’s crazy, but I want a tattoo of you.”

  My eyebrows shoot up. “You mean of my name? Yeah, it’s crazy but also romantic.” I grin, but he shakes his head.

  “Not your name. Your face. Your face at a very specific moment in time. Not that we could recreate the moment without a time machine, but the image is plastered on my brain. The first time we fucked, I will always remember how you looked when you came. I want your O face, ángel.”

  I’m sure I heard him wrong because I stare at him for several seconds, uncomprehending. Then I think about how he looks when he comes, and my brows draw down.

  Leo laughs. “See, you do think it’s crazy.”

  “No!” I insist. “I’m just trying to understand—why? What do I even look like? Ugh!” I cover my face with my hands, positive what he’s asking is for some screwed-up version of my face to be plastered somewhere on his body.

  “You’re fucking gorgeous when you come. Trust me.” His tone is gentle as he tugs my hands away from my face and strokes my cheek. “And it’s been so long since I’ve had new ink. There’s always been something therapeutic about the process. I’m long overdue.”

  “Does it have to be my face though?” I ask, warming to the idea but prepared to convince him a simple portrait in a frame is preferable. “You could just get more tribal art. Papá has some new Mayan artifacts in the collection for the upcoming auction that might give you inspiration. Have you seen the one with the eclipse? Don’t you think something like that would make more sense?”

  “You make sense to me. I want it here, where it’s hidden, but I can look at it when I’m away from you.” He turns his arm to display the bare section inside his left bicep. The outsides of both his arms are covered in ink down to the elbows but no farther, except for the tiny cross on his hand. Seeing that tiny design makes me think of Maddox and how he displays his own identity in the same place. The tattoos are vastly different, but both are silent announcements of a lifestyle that is part of each man’s blood.

  With the thought of Maddox, my mind strays to his photographs and it occurs to me to finally ask, “How do you intend to get a reference? Are you going to hold a camera up while we’re having sex?”

  “Ah, not exactly. I was going to ask a friend to photograph us.”

  My heart thuds hard because I know who he means almost instantly, yet I’m ashamed of how the idea affects me.

  “Leo . . .” I say in a scolding tone as I pull away. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Not after the confession Maddox shared. I’ve stayed away because I didn’t think it would be fair of me to visit, knowing how he feels about Leo and me. It’s the only kind thing to do. My feelings for Maddox are moot, at any rate. Even if I had the freedom to choose between him and Leo, Papá would never tolerate me having a relationship with him. And I wouldn’t risk hurting Leo to try it. Maddox gave his blessing out of love for both of us. That detail was not lost on me, and I have no intention of rubbing his face in it.

  By contrast, it took very little time for Papá to accept Leo as part of the family. His insistence that Leo move in immediately threw us both off-balance for several days, but we adapted quickly. It wasn’t long before Leo moved into my room completely, though Papá still turns a blind eye to that development. Papá’s tacit acceptance of our relationship probably accounts for half of my own happiness now, because I’m free to love Leo openly.

  I asked Papá to explain his change of heart after our discussion of how love is a weakness. Wouldn’t my relationship with Leo diminish my ability to do my job, by his standards? It was the first time I’ve ever heard my father admit he might be wrong. “Love made that boy take a bullet for you, mija. I suppose there are two sides to everything.”

  There are two sides to Leo’s request now too. How do I weigh Leo’s desires against the need to protect someone else? Or against my own desire to see Maddox again in the first place?

  “You know Maddox is the best option. We can trust him. And you’ve seen his photographs, haven’t you? He’s not a stranger to that kind of work. He told me he does it regularly.”

  I frown at the pang of jealousy that shoots through me at the thought of him actually in the room with the couple in the photos I saw hanging on his wall. Does he have sex with her? With him? I don’t even know their names, and I can’t shake the heavy weight that settles in my gut at the thought of him with either of them. Or, God forbid, both of them.

  “I’ll do it,” I say without even thinking.

  Leo grins wildly and bear hugs me. He’s hard again, and the embrace turns into a deep kiss followed by another round of languid lovemaking during which he doesn’t try a single thing out of the ordinary. I’m the center of his attention, but I can’t say the same for myself. He’s reawakened feelings I didn’t have long enough to put to bed, and I’m positive I just made a huge mistake.

  24

  Maddox

  The bell over my door jingles at ten p.m. on a Saturday night, and my spine prickles with Pavlovian recognition. I shake it off because there’s no way my instincts are that good. It’s just wishful thinking. Saturdays at this time were when Leo always scheduled his sessions, but I haven’t seen him in a few months, haven’t had any expectations to see him again despite Toni’s visit.

  After she dropped in, days passed without any peep from Celeste or Leo, so I gave up hope. I’m better off if they stay away.

  I swipe the remnants of ink off the skin of the gangbanger in my chair, then add one final touch. My ears twitch at Sam’s enthusiastic greeting. “Leo! Dude, you are my second-favorite person in the world! Did you really send Toni Valentine to interview me?”

  Nothing after that registers beyond the buzz of excitement thrumming in my veins. The motherfucker is here. For what, I have no idea, because he didn’t make an appointment. I rush through cleanup on the client, covering the tattoo with ointment followed by a layer of plastic wrap to protect it. I recite the after-care instructions by rote and almost forget to take payment before I kick him out.

  The man looks vaguely worried when he glances toward the bat-wing door
s.

  “We’re done here, my man,” I say with mild impatience. Out in the reception area, Sam is regaling Leo with a recounting of his meeting with Toni, which the kid hasn’t shut up about since it happened a couple weeks earlier.

  “I didn’t know el Rey León was your client,” my client whispers, as if speaking the name of the devil himself and not the title of a Disney flick.

  I stare at him. “Leo Reyes?” I bark a laugh. “You seriously call him that? Jesus, what a fucking ego the bastard must have by now.”

  “He’s a scary bastard is what he is,” the man says, darting a wary look toward the doors. “Some say scarier than Gustavo because he’s so nice most of the time, so when he gets angry it’s even worse.”

  “Anyone can be scarier than a dead man. That isn’t saying much.”

  The man’s eyes widen and he shakes his head. “No, hermano. Didn’t you hear? Gustavo’s alive. Word on the street is he’s working for Amador now and on the hunt for whoever stole all that money from him. I don’t want to be caught on the bad side of either of those dudes.”

  A chill skitters up my spine at the news, but I maintain my calm stoicism. “Well, this shop is neutral territory. Trust me, he won’t do more than look. You’re safe to go.”

  I stand and push open the doors, then step aside and gesture for the man to exit. He casts one glance toward the back before I brush past him and block the way to the garage. No way for him to go but straight out the front doors. Finally, he turns and hustles out the door while Leo chats with Sam, oblivious to the presence of anyone else until I belly up to the counter.

  “Long time no see. How’s the shoulder?” I keep my tone casual, but my insides are a mess. I need to check in with J.J., but talking to Leo again after all the silence overwhelms every other emotion. He looks good—definitely better than the last time I saw him, still pale and groggy from pain pills, his hair a tangled mess.