Wicked Times Two

by Tina Donahue

  Tor muttered beneath his breath. “As far as I’m concerned, they’re great guys, but since I have no plans on dating them, what does my opinion matter? Do I think they’d deliberately hurt any woman? No. They’re better than that, but they are normal with one thing on their minds, same as you apparently. Could be everything will work out.” He patted her shoulder and fled the room.

  She wavered between her own excitement and Tor’s doubt, finally pushing away his misgivings. Guys screwed around all the time; casual affairs were practically a religion with them. Why couldn’t a woman be the same? Who’d decided commitment, marriage and kids was the only goal? She’d headed down that path with Brad and ended up with him mauling her dignity, treating her feelings with indifference. As far as she knew, the SOB was still having a good time even though he claimed to want her back. Why not? She’d listened to his career dreams endlessly, advised him on how to reach his goal, stroked his ego when a defeat bummed him out. Worst of all, she’d been loyal, like a damn dog.

  No more. Time for her to be as laidback about relationships as guys were.

  She turned and started. For the second time today, Lauren was practically on top of her. Talk about someone needing to wear a bell.

  “Hey. Feeling better?” Jasmina asked. After the PayDay episode, Lauren had haunted the bathroom for hours.

  “I’m great. Hungry.” She rubbed her belly and snatched one of Jasmina’s Dove bars out of the freezer.

  “Should you be eating that?”

  Lauren looked at the treat dumbly then longingly. “I’ll pay you for this today if you want. Or bring in a new box tomorrow, like I usually do when I eat your stuff.”

  “No. I meant, last week even the mention of ice cream had you hurling.”

  “Oh…that.” She tore off the wrapping, took a huge bite and sighed. “Doesn’t bother me any longer. You and I need to talk.” She slipped her arm through Jasmina’s and headed for the door.

  Jasmina held back, guessing Lauren had overheard Tor’s comments. “Talk about what?”

  “We can stay in here if you’re more comfortable.” She pulled back her arm but stood between Jasmina and the hall…and freedom.

  Good God. “What did you want to talk about?”

  Once again, Van Gogh chose the wrong moment to enter the breakroom. Poor guy…talk about lousy timing.

  “Can you give us a minute?” Lauren smiled, chocolate dotting the sides of her mouth, a few spots even clinging to her teeth.

  He puffed out a sigh. “Since when do staff meeting take place in here? I only want my Dew. I’m dying of thirst.”

  “Coming right up.” Lauren rummaged in the fridge and tossed the Mountain Dew to him.

  After catching the can, he grumbled beneath his breath and headed out.

  “He needs a girlfriend. Maybe we can find him someone.” Lauren bit off more of the Dove bar, sighed happily and wagged her finger. “I overheard what you said to Tor. You don’t mean it.”

  Jasmina crossed her arms. “Oh no?”

  “Don’t take offense.” Lauren licked chocolate off her thumb, moaning with more enthusiasm than a porn star during an onscreen orgasm. “I know you think all guys are dogs because of what happened, but they aren’t. Look at Dante.” She rubbed her belly. “He’s going to be the best daddy.”

  He was one in a zillion. So was Tor. Maybe being faithful was in their DNA since they were brothers. Could be their parents had found the secret to raising their boys the right way, to respect and honor women. At this point, none of that had anything to do with Jasmina’s life. “I agree, Dante’s awesome. Lucky you. Me, not so much.” She shrugged. “I’m out for a good time.”

  “Until it stops.” Lauren finished the treat and sucked the wooden stick. “Shutting down your feelings only makes things worse. Trust me, I know. I was a mess when I met Dante.”

  Jasmina nodded. “Yeah, I was there. I remember.”

  Lauren shot her a look. “I had far less to work with than you do.” She gestured to herself. “I’m plain, plump.”

  “Hey, hey, hey never say that.” Jasmina pointed her finger. “You’re beautiful.”

  No lie. Lauren’s curves were as awesome as the redhead’s on Mad Men were and exactly what men craved. Her features were better than pretty—they were sweet, her milky skin glowing with a faint rose tint, giving a hint of the fire burning inside.

  Lauren waved away the compliment. “Dante likes how I look. That’s all I care about.” She pursed her lips. “Don’t you want a relationship like I have for yourself? A guy you can count on? Someone to always be there for you?”

  Who didn’t? Not everyone was able to luck out though. “I need to have some fun right now. No strings or expectations.” She lifted her shoulders. “I’d like to see the other side for a change. You know, what guys experience.”

  Lauren pulled another Dove bar out of the freezer. “That’s kind of like saying you want to bang your head against the wall because when you stop you feel so good.”

  She laughed. “You have a point. But I gotta try.”

  “Both guys?” She stopped ripping the wrapper from the treat. “At once?”

  The thought should have brought a pang of disquiet, possibly a hint of embarrassment or shame, given Jasmina’s upbringing. Heady images of Noah and Kyle filled her instead. Their mouths hungry for every part of her, tongues probing, biceps bunching as they pulled her close. Her lips sweeping across their hard pecs, the salty taste of their skin, the rasp of their hair-roughened thighs and calves, the musky sweetness of the thick pelts above their cocks, those rods jutting from their nest of curls. Their shafts burrowing deep in each of her openings. Them taking her orally, vaginally, anally. Behaving like the cops they were, the masters she wanted.

  She wrapped her arms around herself and whimpered.

  Lauren patted her on the shoulder as Tor had. “Whatever you want, I’m here for you.”

  She squeezed Lauren’s hand. “I’ll be careful.”

  Though not by much. Once she had a chance to cut loose with Noah and Kyle, watch out.

  * * * * *

  The following week, Noah was back at the parlor, Kyle too, both of them cooling their heels in the waiting room with a couple of old guys and two biker types. Jasmina wasn’t behind the counter though she’d been here. Her fragrance surrounded Noah like an impassioned caress, spiking his testosterone to a dangerous level, muddying his good intentions.

  For days, he’d debated whether to make a move on her, desire nagging him until he’d jacked off numerous times to get relief. A poor substitute for her hot, tight pussy but he was only human—flawed, needy of physical contact. Emotional too. No matter what Tor had thought, Noah wasn’t a dog. He liked women, loved flirting, joking around and sharing intimate moments. Not enough to spend the rest of his life with any of the women he’d dated but he enjoyed being friends. A close connection made romance much easier. He could be himself. The woman could too. What in the fuck was wrong with that?

  Where was she?

  He leaned over, craning his neck to check the counter again.

  Van Gogh rounded the corner, his pace slower than a mortally wounded animal, his expression bleak. He gestured to Kyle. “Let’s go.”

  “Hold it.” Noah grabbed Kyle’s upper arm. “Who do I get?”

  “Me.” Tor, his smile stiff, came up behind Van Gogh.

  Shit. Noah had hoped to avoid a lecture today about staying away from Jasmina.

  “Over there.” Tor swung his hand to the chair facing the window and the street.

  Noah shook his head. “Tell you what, I’ll go in back with Van Gogh.” Maybe see where Jasmina was hiding out, steal a couple of moments with her. “Do Kyle over there.”

  Kyle yanked his arm free. “He can’t and I won’t.”

  Noah frowned. “Why not?”

  “He’d get arrested.” Van Gogh rocked on his heels. “I would too. Maybe by you.”

  Noah turned to Kyle. “What are you two planning to
do back there?”

  One of the bikers laughed, his huge stomach jiggling with the sound. Kyle bared his teeth at the man.

  “Kyle’s tat is in the front of his body.” Van Gogh gestured to his own chest and torso in demonstration. “Goes all the way down to here.” He dipped his fingers to below his fly. “Can’t do stuff like that in the window.”

  Tor pointed at Noah. “You, on the other hand, chose a tat for your back. Perfectly decent and legal to ink you in front of an audience. That’s why you’re going in the window chair.”

  Why hadn’t Jasmina warned him of this before he’d slogged through a gazillion designs? When he’d been debating which tat to choose, his main concern had been having his duty uniform cover the ink so he met regulations.

  “Come on.” Tor’s smile warmed. “Get over there and take off your shirt. Unless you’re shy.”

  “Him? Them? No way.”

  Noah turned at Jasmina’s steamy greeting.

  A rush of desire slammed into him, snatching his response. She was beyond luscious, better than a sip of water on a blistering day. Her tank top molded to her curves like skin, the red color matching her ankle tat. He’d seen brief cut-offs in his day. Jasmina’s were decent, though not by much, the denim cut high to show an amazing expanse of leg, leaving a few sweet strings to dangle over her creamy thighs. Her scent wafted toward him, carried by the air-conditioning. If his cock and boys could have sung with joy, they would have. “Hey.”

  She winked. “Ready for this?”

  If she’d ask him to crawl naked over rusty nails, he would have grinned like a loon while doing so. For her, he was ready for any fucking thing. “Uh-huh.”

  She focused on Kyle. “How about you? Ready?”

  “If I say no, will you hold my hand?” He extended his arm.

  Noah considered punching him. Jasmina laughed throatily. “Van Gogh’s gentle as can be. Tor is too. Both of you will do fine, you’ll see. Then we can talk about what happens later.”

  Like Pavlov’s dog responding to what she’d said, Noah pushed up on the leather sofa. So did Kyle.

  “Later?” Noah asked.

  “We’ll discuss things then.” Smiling, she strolled to the counter, her ass bouncing merrily with each step as she approached a waiting customer.

  Noah’s balls crept farther toward his body.

  Van Gogh jabbed his thumb toward the hall. “Kyle? Now?”

  Kyle’s attention remained on Jasmina rather than where he was going. He knocked his heel into the molding and bumped his shoulder against the wall when he cut the corner too short.

  Tor cleared his throat. “Noah?”

  He nodded. Who would have guessed he’d be lucky enough to choose a tat that’d keep him up here, stripped to his jeans with Jasmina right across the room. Faster than a gigolo, he pulled off his tee, baring his chest.

  She ran her finger down a form, her attention on the paper not him, as she spoke to the customer, a woman in her late twenties or early thirties.

  Damn. He wanted Jasmina to look at him. Tor patted the back of the chair. Noah straddled the thing, arms crossed over the top, head turned to her.

  She held up her finger to the woman and then left the counter to jog down the hall. Minutes later, she returned with the binders she’d given him and Kyle. The client paged through the first couple of designs. Jasmina smiled, exchanging small talk. The bikers and the old guys discussed Obamacare of all things, each claiming single payer would have been better and how Medicare ruled. Romeo Santos sang the Spanish version of Hilito. Jasmina’s fragrance disappeared beneath the scent of beef and spices, one of the staff possibly nuking a burrito in the breakroom.

  She looked up and caught his eye.

  His heart jumped to his throat, his pulse beating out of time. She smiled. So did he.

  Tor stepped into Noah’s line of sight, blocking the view. Frowning, Noah held back an oath.

  “Shouldn’t you be behind me since you’re inking my back?”

  “Not until you approve this.” He held up two long sheets of paper. On them was the tribal design Noah had chosen, one that would run down the right side of his back, the other down the left, mirror images of each other. A series of thick black lines, graceful swirls and sharp points that would cover his back and the tops of his shoulders. Simple yet powerful.

  The design brought to mind how ancient warriors might have decorated their bodies before they pillaged, raising all kinds of hell. “Looks great. Go on, do your thing.”

  Tor didn’t move. “I need to explain the process before I start.”

  “If you’re behind me, I can still hear you.” He inclined his head toward Jasmina. “Looking isn’t a crime, you know, even if the woman’s an almost sister.”

  Tor inhaled deeply and leaned down. “Hey, man, she practically chewed off my balls for interfering. So do what you want. Your funeral.”

  Yeah? Good for her. Good for them.

  “Don’t hurt her though, or you’re a dead man.”

  So much for not interfering.

  He tried to catch her eye once more but she was either busy on the computer, answering the phone or quoting prices while Tor explained the process. Noah grunted periodically to prove he was listening. First, Tor would shave Noah’s back—even though he wasn’t hairy there—then Tor would disinfect the area and transfer the design…and finally he’d ink Noah’s skin.

  “Shouldn’t take more than a couple of hours.” Tor dragged the razor down Noah’s back. “The design’s easy. Try not to pass out from the pain.”

  Noah looked over and stared, catching the scene outside the window. A blonde in a hot-pink bikini top and white cut-offs, far shorter than Jasmina’s, wiggled her fingers at him. Surrounding her was a group of women of all ages, their smartphones lifted, taking pictures of his back or selfies with him in the shot.

  “Tor, Tor, Tor,” one young voice chanted.

  The others joined in.

  Okay, so the pictures were of Tor, not Noah’s shaved back.

  “Take it off, take it off,” the women cried as a group, many of them blowing kisses at Tor or licking their rosy lips.

  Wow. Noah had his share of groupies as a cop and so did Kyle, though nothing like this. “What a shitty job you have.”

  Tor laughed. “It gets old after a while. Ladies, no.” He waved his hand. “Don’t knock on the glass. You make any sudden noises and I’ll screw up this guy’s tat.”

  “I’ll talk to them.”

  Noah turned in time to see Jasmina leave his side and trot outdoors. He twisted in the chair, trying to catch a glimpse of her from the window.

  Tor clamped his hands on Noah’s shoulders, pushing him back into place. “Keep moving and you’ll fuck up your ink.”

  So? He didn’t care and figured Jasmina wouldn’t either. Once she got an eyeful of his equipment, no way would a tat hold her interest. He would have argued the point with Tor except she hurried back inside, face flushed.

  “Wow, hot out there.” She flapped her hand, fanning herself.

  Noah drank her in, buzzed by what he saw. “You okay? Anyone give you trouble? If they did, I’m armed.”

  She stared at the top of his service weapon, carried in the waistband of his jeans. Her slender eyebrows lifted slightly, her attention drifting. She took in his shoulders and arms, what she could see of his chest, the thick ridge behind his fly, a King Kong erection with her name on it.

  Her delicate nostrils flared slightly, eyes glazing over. “You certainly are.”

  He beamed, pleased beyond words at her response to him as a man. “Don’t you worry, you’ll never get hurt around me or Kyle.”

  Tor stopped shaving Noah, no longer moving…possibly not even breathing. But no matter how surprised Tor was, his reaction didn’t come close to Noah’s at blurting those words. Funny thing, he’d meant them deep down in his gut. Jasmina, he and Kyle would have a great time, no regrets. He’d make certain everything between them was magic.

&nb
sp; Her expression was pure wonder wrapped in a heavy dose of lust. She ran her forefinger down his cheek.

  He gripped the chair to keep from moving, her delicate touch sending a riot of sensations to the back of his throat and every other part of him.

  “Don’t forget later.” She traced his upper lip, driving him nuts. “As soon as you and Kyle are finished.”

  * * * * *

  Kyle turned his head at the sound of footfalls in the hall. Too heavy to be Jasmina’s though he still hoped. Concentrating on her kept him from feeling the worst of the pain.

  One of the ink artists breezed by, headed for what Kyle guessed was the breakroom. The scent of garlic and spicy Spanish fare was strongest here, Van Gogh’s workstation dead last in the hall. He hadn’t closed his door even though Kyle lay on the leather table, shirt off, jeans and stretchy boxers shoved past the thick hair on his groin.

  The tat he’d chosen adorned the left side of his body with swirls and curls resembling flames. The design covered the top of his shoulder, his entire pec, hugged his ribs, sank past his navel and dipped to his pelt. All in chocolate brown, the same shade as Jasmina’s eyes.

  She’d come in a few hours ago, searching for a binder. At the time, Van Gogh had been showing Kyle a long sheet of paper with the design, explaining how he’d transfer the image to skin, after which he’d gone on about something else. Kyle hadn’t listened. He’d been too busy watching Jasmina. She’d thrown him a quick glance and left with the binder.

  He’d been dressed then. Now he wasn’t and wanted to see her reaction at what he had to offer.

  “Getting stiff?”

  He stared at Van Gogh. “What?”

  “You keep squirming. Are you in pain again?”

  “No. I wasn’t before.”

  Van Gogh put more ink in his tattoo gun, not challenging the lie. “If you want, you can stretch. Won’t be much longer now. We’ll—”

  The rest of his words failed to register as Jasmina slipped into the room, walking so softly Kyle hadn’t heard her approach in the hall.

  She stared at his chest, torso, the dark hair in his pits and between his legs. Color bloomed in her cheeks, interest in her expression.