Skin Deep

by Evans, Anna J.

  “Some things are better with a stranger.”

  “Yes.” She nodded, grateful he understood. He didn’t seem angry or disappointed, either. In fact, he was amazingly casual about the whole thing. If she hadn’t felt how hard he’d been, she would never have guessed he was interested at all. Which was a good thing . . . though she couldn’t deny a certain disappointment.

  “But other things are better with an old friend.” He stepped a little closer, making Nicky tilt her head back to look him in the eye. When he spoke again, his voice was soft, almost a whisper. “Come on, let’s go for a ride.”

  “Go, Angel,” Cassandra said, flashing a knowing smile as she wiped down the bar. “I’ll finish closing up and Pedro’s still in the break room. He’ll walk me to my car.”

  Nicky hesitated for the barest moment more. There was still a voice inside her that urged her to forget she’d ever seen Jackson, to grab her purse and call a cab to take her back to South Pasadena alone. But it was a quiet voice, one that couldn’t compete with her curiosity. Why was Jack here? Why had he tracked her down now, after all these years? She had to know.

  Besides, Jackson was the most trustworthy person she’d ever known. Hell, the only trustworthy person she’d ever known. If he said he was cool with talk and nothing more, he meant it.

  “Just let me grab my purse,” she said, strangely exhilarated by the thought of just taking a drive with this man.

  But then, some of her best memories were of being in the car with Jack, racing down the desert back roads, imagining they were on their way somewhere, anywhere but back to Carson City, Nevada.

  Chapter Two

  So, tell me, what brings you to L.A.?” Nicky’s bare feet were propped on his dashboard, just like in high school. Her long legs were the same shade of tan, but this time the tiny moon-shaped toenails were painted a deep black instead of cherry red.

  Black like her soul, man. Don’t forget it.

  But it would be so easy to forget. To forget what he’d come for, what they’d been to each other, to forget the dreams she’d abandoned when she’d hauled ass out of Carson City the morning after his eighteenth birthday. From the second she’d jumped into his arms in the bar, he’d wanted to forget it all. To forget and to fuck. To strip away those black panties she was wearing and get balls-deep in Nicky.

  She’d been more than ready for it before she’d realized who he was. Even then, she’d still agreed to go for a ride. She might very well be up for heading to the nearest hotel. They could check in for the weekend and he could have her in every filthy way he’d imagined for the past eight years. Maybe that alone would be enough to get her out of his system. Come Monday morning, he could drop her back in the parking lot of the bar and be done with his obsession forever.

  “Is it business or pleasure?” she asked, reclining her chair until she was lying almost horizontal in the passenger’s seat beside him.

  Jack’s eyes flicked to the newly bared skin at her midriff and then quickly back to the road. Jesus, who was he kidding? One weekend would never be enough. The second he felt that hot, tight little pussy encasing him, he’d be a goner. Fucking Nicky Remington had been an unparalleled pleasure and he was sure fucking Angel Remington could become a bona fide addiction. She’d had eight years to perfect what had been an amazing natural aptitude for sexing a man’s soul from his body, and just the way she’d danced on the bar made it clear she’d been hard at work mastering the skill.

  “I’m guessing business if I know you.” Nicky let one of her knees relax outward, giving him a clear view of her panties. God. Damn. They were fairly modest as far as women’s lingerie went and looked like sensible cotton, not anything lacy. But just knowing Nick’s hot little cunt was beneath those granny panties was enough to get him hard enough to shatter glass.

  “Something to do with that show you’re in? I’ve never seen it, but I’ve heard you’re great.” Her legs squeezed back together, depriving him of that glimpse of black fabric.

  Probably a good thing, since he should be keeping his eyes on the road. California drivers took no prisoners. You were expected to be going eighty miles an hour and tailing the driver in front of you close enough to count the dents on their bumper or it was grounds for a drive-by. Even at past midnight, Interstate 10 was hopping, packed with cars headed to Palm Springs and destinations beyond. He needed his attention on the traffic, not his passenger.

  Thankfully the streetlights beside the highway would disappear in a few miles, once they were out of the city. Then it would be too dark to obsess about what Nicky was or wasn’t revealing.

  “So do you like being a reality television star?”

  Jack shrugged and moved the car into the car-pool lane. In California, two people counted as a car pool. No wonder the traffic was so brutal.

  “I thought you said we were going to talk while you drove?” she asked, a hint of amusement in her tone. “Don’t tell me you’ve turned into a real man and can’t do two things at the same time.”

  He smiled in spite of himself. Nicky had always been able to make him smile when no one else could. “You haven’t asked where we’re going.”

  “Maybe I don’t care where we’re going,” she said, following the words with a sigh that sounded sadder than anything he’d ever heard out of her mouth.

  It was just the tiniest exhalation of breath, but it spoke volumes. Even back in the day, when she’d been the new girl at Casa de la Hell—Jackson’s nickname for his final foster home—she’d never been anything but upbeat and sassy. Nicky defined sass. She’d more than done her part to earn the occasional backhand from their foster father, Phil.

  Phil. Such a fucking friendly name for such a demented bastard. Jackson wouldn’t have blamed Nicky for running away from that man, if only she’d told him where she was going.

  “I’ve got a cabin up in the mountains, not too far from Lake Arrowhead. I figured we could have some privacy, hang out and drink a few beers and watch the snow fall,” Jackson said, figuring now was as good a time as any to fill Nicky in on his plans.

  Even she wasn’t crazy enough to jump out of the car while going eighty on the interstate. It’s when they turned off the highway that he’d have to get out the rope, assuming she wasn’t any more accommodating to his in-person request than she’d been to his letters. Speaking of . . . or thinking of, anyway . . . might as well get that out in the open.

  “I got the letters you sent back to me. That was a mature response.”

  “I’m sure it was.” She laughed, but it was a short, bitter sound, not at all like the old Nicky. “Unfortunately it wasn’t mine. I haven’t been receiving my mail for a long time. Well, the past few weeks I’ve been getting mail at my new apartment, but nothing from you.”

  Jackson was quiet, taking in the information, knowing she would clarify if he stayed silent. Nicky always divulged information in bits and pieces. Stories burst from her like hiccups, interspersed with other random information totally unrelated to the matter at hand.

  “You hungry? I’m dying for a burger. With onions. Lots of onions, the grilled kind.”

  He smiled again. At least some things were still the same.

  She sniffed, then reached down and fiddled with the controls on her seat until she was nearly upright again. “My soon-to-be ex-husband intercepted all of my mail. He was very . . . controlling.”

  “That why he’s going to be your ex?” Jackson asked.

  “That’s part of it,” she said, her tone making it clear she would rather not talk about the man. Fine with Jack. He didn’t like to think of any man in connection with Nicky. Part of his own set of mental glitches. “So what did the letters say?”

  She sounded uncertain, and strangely . . . hopeful. Jack risked a look at her side of the car, but now it was too dark to see her expression clearly. “Just hello from an old friend.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “How do you know? You didn’t read them.” But he couldn’t keep from grinning. Thi
s might actually work out. If Nicky hadn’t been the one to rip up his letters, she could be open to having the angel tat modified.

  “My bullshit meter still works fairly well. Most of the time.” She laughed, a lighter sound this time. “So what else did the letters say?”

  Okay. Here was the hard part. He actually kind of wished they weren’t driving now that he knew Nicky hadn’t read his request. This was the kind of thing more comfortably discussed if you were sitting down, looking someone in the eye, not driving down the highway at a million miles an hour.

  But here is where they were.

  “I was asking if you would be open to having me modify your angel tat.”

  “Why?”

  Here was the tricky part, the part so much easier said in a letter. Good thing he wasn’t the type of man who could only do things the easy way. “Obviously things didn’t work out the way we planned when we decided to get identical tattoos, Nick. That’s fine by me. You made your own choices. But I’ve come to the place in my life where I’d rather not have a matching tattoo with a woman I don’t even know anymore.”

  “And you can’t change yours because of your dad,” she said. “That’s a pretty sucky position to be in.”

  “Only if the woman in question isn’t open to having me modify the tattoo.” Casual, just keep it casual. “I’ve got all my stuff in the car, ink and—”

  “This is hardly a car. It’s an Expedition, for god’s sake. It’s like half an eighteen-wheeler. Lot different than that Impala you had in high school. Bet it doesn’t die every three days.”

  “I’m one of the best in the business now,” Jackson said, refusing to be distracted. “I was an amateur when I did that work on your shoulder. Now, I’ve got the skills to give you something really beautiful and unique.”

  “Though I did actually like that car a lot,” she said, crossing her legs on the seat as she reached down to the floorboard for her purse. “It had personality.”

  “And don’t worry. I’ll do it for free.”

  She sucked in a deep breath and let it out through pursed lips. Even before she spoke, Jack knew he wasn’t going to like what she had to say. “No, you won’t. You won’t do it at all. I’m sorry, Jack, but I’m not going to change the tattoo.”

  “Would fifteen grand change your mind?”

  “You want to pay me to—” She seemed angry for a second, but when she spoke again her voice was soft, almost defeated sounding. “No, I’m sorry. It wouldn’t.”

  “I understand it’s become a big part of your professional persona, but—”

  “It is my professional persona.”

  “Like I said in the bar, I think you have a few things—”

  “My name is Angel now, for god’s sake. Not legally, but it might as well be.” She flipped down the visor and opened the mirror, causing light to spill across her face, showing him how sincerely troubled she seemed as she dug through her purse. “That’s what I’m known as and the tat is a big part of what I’m known for. I’m just now trying to get back in the business after two years. I can’t change one of the most memorable things about me.”

  “That’s understandable,” Jack said, not losing hope just yet. “What if I reworked it so that you still had an angel? I could lengthen the wings, change up the colors, maybe even add some darker hair on one side so it looks like she’s facing—”

  “I can’t,” Nicky said, as she smoothed on a coat of berry-colored lipstick. No, gloss, that’s what they called the stuff that made a woman’s lips shine like she’d just been kissed, or just had her mouth smeared with—

  Nope, not going to let his mind go there. Nicky was going to be pissed when she realized he didn’t plan to take no for an answer. There was no chance she’d still want to go to bed with him, and he wasn’t the type to take what wasn’t freely offered.

  Except control over what she’s going to have tattooed on her skin for the rest of her life. Isn’t that just as bad? How can you do that to someone, even someone who—

  “You can, Nick, and you will. I’m going to modify your ink this weekend.” He forced the words out through his clenched jaw, refusing to listen to the voice of reason. “If you decide what you want by Sunday afternoon, I’ll do my best to accommodate your request. If not . . .”

  “You wouldn’t.” But the way she flung her lipstick back into her purse with enough force to make it bounce back out again revealed she thought he would.

  “This is something I feel very strongly about.”

  “Yeah? Well, I feel very strongly about getting the hell away from—”

  His hand whipped out, closing tight around her upper arm, not hard enough to bruise, but firm enough to let her know he meant business. “Don’t touch that door handle. You’ll kill yourself if you jump out of a car going seventy. Do you understand me?”

  “Yes.” She shivered lightly in his grasp and then Jack felt the tension suddenly leave her body. She slumped slightly in her seat, her lips parting and her eyes sliding closed.

  Goddamn, but she looked almost . . . aroused. Like she’d gotten off on . . . like she enjoyed the feel of . . .

  Oh, no, no way. It wasn’t possible. Nicky was one of the toughest girls he’d ever known, pure steel beneath the sass. She was a fighter, a scrapper, not a submissive, and there had been nothing in their early relationship to hint she wanted to be dominated.

  But then . . . she’d said her ex-husband was “controlling,” and there was no denying how her entire body language had changed when he’d pulled out the scary voice, the one the girls around the Vegas parlor jokingly called his “Yes, Daddy” tone. It was also the one he’d used in the Vegas bondage clubs when he needed to indulge that part of his personality, the part of him that needed to command another’s pleasure to fully experience his own.

  Could Nicky . . .

  There was one way to find out.

  “Put your purse on the floor,” he said in the same firm voice. She obeyed immediately, making his cock twitch with excitement inside his pants.

  Down, boy. She might just be scared. It might have nothing to do with sex.

  It was true. She might just be intimidated. Sometimes he forgot his mere size alone was enough to frighten people, even without the scary voice. He’d never been the kind of person to use his bulk as a tool to get what he wanted. Still, it was something he had to consider.

  He loosened his grip on her arm slightly and softened his tone. “I have some questions. Will you answer me honestly?”

  “Yes,” she whispered, her voice ripe with feelings that certainly didn’t sound like fear.

  “Are you turned on right now?”

  She shivered again and her breath caught, but she didn’t speak.

  “Answer me, Nicky. Are you turned on? Tell me the truth.”

  One beat, two, and then the word he didn’t realize he’d been afraid to hear until she said it. “Yes.”

  Oh. Fuck. This wasn’t good. He’d been right about what Nick wanted, but it would be so wrong to act on what he’d learned. A dominant and sub relationship should be based on trust. He would never enter into even a casual scene with a sub with an agenda other than shared mutual pleasure. To use this to control Nicky, to persuade her to let him alter her tat, would be way beyond wrong.

  But then . . . he didn’t have to abuse the knowledge. Once they arrived at the cabin, he could go back to treating her like an old friend and keep all persuasive efforts aboveboard. Or at least above the waist.

  Right now, however, he had at least thirty more miles before he’d be out of urban areas and onto the dark mountain road leading to his cabin. He couldn’t afford to have Nicky jumping to her freedom or risk the chance someone might notice a girl tied up with rope in the back of his car as he drove through downtown San Bernardino. And he could think of the perfect way to occupy her busy little hands, to keep those fingers so focused on their work she wouldn’t even think about going for the door handle.

  “Is your pussy wet?” h
e asked, before he had the opportunity to talk himself out of his decision.

  “Yes.” Nicky moaned softly and Jack saw her hands clench into fists on her lap. Oh, yeah. She was more than ready for what he had in mind. It was clear in every tense line of her body.

  “In a few seconds I’m going to tell you to touch yourself, Nicky. When I do, I want you to slide your fingers in and out of your cunt. Play with yourself, make your pussy hotter, wetter. Can you do that for me?”

  “Yes.” She spread her legs wider and Jack had to fight the urge to turn off at the next exit and find the nearest motel.

  His cock was already ridiculously hard, his balls aching like he’d been sucker punched between the legs. He was going to walk like he’d been riding bareback by the time they made it to the cabin. But then, that was only fair. He deserved to suffer, especially considering what he had in mind for Nick.

  “I want you to touch yourself everywhere and anywhere it feels good.” He paused for a moment, his own desire spiraling even higher when Nicky stayed perfectly still, waiting for his command before she moved a muscle. She was obviously no newbie to the scene, and understood the kind of pleasure that came with bending her will to another’s. “But don’t touch your clit. That part of you is mine for the next hour. If you come without touching it, that’s fine. But if you disobey me, if you run even a pinkie finger over that nub, I’ll know. And you’ll be punished. Do you understand?”

  “I didn’t agree to punishments and we don’t have a safe word,” she said, her voice breathy with excitement.