by Stacy Gail
Then he shifted his weight onto his elbows, freeing his hands so they could move between her legs.
Oh, yes.
She tucked her loose hair under her head and scooted deeper under the arch of his body he held suspended over her. As always he was ready for her, his thick cock so hard it was almost touching his flat belly. Her innermost tissues throbbed at the sight of it, a helpless, needy response that left her cleft achy and wet. It was such a sweet agony she couldn’t help but let her hips twitch up to him in a wordless plea, even as she nudged his knee with her head. He accommodated her by placing his knees on either side of her head, while his one hand expertly parted her pink inner folds while the other went in search of her clit.
“There we go,” she whispered, and her voice shook with the weight of the need inside her. Just the sight of him was enough to unravel her, but when his touch was added into the mix, she felt like she might explode. Then she wrapped her fingers around his thick shaft, and knew that exploding from pleasure was in their near futures. “I love how hard you get for me, Rude. Your body’s so beautiful, and when you get this hard, knowing it’s because of me… it makes me crazy.”
“It’s nothing compared to how much I love the way you get so fucking wet for me, Sass. It makes me insane, knowing you want me as much as I want you. God, you’re a gift.” And with that admission, he lowered his head and tasted her.
“Yes.” Her fingers squeezed, even as pleasure uncurled deep in her belly. Feverishly she reveled in the sensation of his veins pulsing beneath satin-smooth, scorching hot flesh against her palm and fingertips, and with a thrill of anticipation she arched up to take the purpling head into her mouth.
His groan was low and long, reverberating against her exposed intimate flesh. Her attention became hopelessly divided between giving him all he deserved, and enjoying what he gave her. Though she did her best to fight it, the sweet pleasure of his mouth was slowly winning the war. She moved restlessly under him, her cleft throbbing while his tongue abraded her nub without mercy.
When she moaned, she could feel the vibration of it through her lips that were circled wetly around him.
A broken sound escaped him, something that could have been her name before he surged deeper into her mouth, his actions insistent yet careful. She didn’t want him to be careful. She wanted him out of his mind. She wanted him be lost in such intense delight he wouldn’t even be capable of thinking. She moaned against him again even as she rolled her lips over the edge of her teeth to optimize the slick gliding sensation, before toying with the head’s ridge with her tongue. Her heart leapt in unison with the flesh in her mouth, and the sudden rigidity of his body sent her excitement spiraling up into the stratosphere.
“Sassy… oh God, baby, I’m close.” His voice was ragged, tortured. She loved it beyond all reason. “You feel so good, but I can’t let you…”
For an answer, she reached up and gripped his ass to hold him in place, just in case he had any ideas about pulling away. She wanted him to know, to feel, that his pleasure was just as important to her as hers was to him.
The muscles beneath her fingers clenched to rock-solid hardness before his head dipped again and he devoted himself anew to worshipping her body. Helplessly her hips undulated in time with the sensuous rhythm his clever mouth set up, his tongue alternately circling and stroking her until she thought she would lose her damn mind. But it wasn’t until she cried out at the sensations tightening through her body that his intensity suddenly changed. His lips closed around her clit even as his hips began to pump harder, and the head of his cock hit the back of her throat even as he sucked her in hard.
The tension folded in on itself in ever-tightening convulsions before it snapped inside her. A flash-fire of madness consumed her, and she was only vaguely aware of how urgently he thrust into her. As warmth hit the back of her throat, the ecstasy he gave her shot through her until it colored her entire world.
Sass pushed through the apartment door after Rude dropped her off and headed to work. She was in the process of dumping her things on the credenza by the door when Aretha Franklin’s “Respect” sounded from the depths of her purse. In all honesty she’d been expecting a call from Scout sooner than midmorning, but when she answered after taking a moment to mentally brace for a battery of far too personal questions, her former foster sister greeted her with, “Dude, I need help.”
Instantly alert, Sass snapped up straight. “Name it.”
“I’m a fucking idiot and left my tablet, which is basically my brain, at home. Ivar took off to scout out prime photographic locations around town, and I don’t want to bother him since he’s doing what he needs to do to bring his photography business to Chicago. I hate to ask, but could you…?”
“Absolutely. I’ve got your spare elevator card key…somewhere.” For a second Sass blanked, then remembered she’d stuck it in a drawer of her work desk along with a bunch of other oddball things. It only took a couple moments before she surfaced with the card key that would summon the private elevator that went straight up to Scout and Ivar’s place. “Sweet. Found it.”
“I love you so much right now.”
“Thank me if I can get it to you. Do you remember where you left it?”
“It’s on the dining room table, which is still doubling as my desk at home, and probably will be until the end of time. And not to hurry you along or anything, but all hell has broken loose here at the House, so um… hurry?”
“Just call your doormen so they know not to arrest me for breaking in, or whatever. Oh, and I’ll bring Red The Skittish over and leave her food and water as well, if that’s okay.”
“Perfect. And thanks again.”
An hour later with tablet in hand, Sass headed toward Scout’s office located on the second floor of the hottest tattoo studio in the city, if not the world, House Of Payne. Unlike every other tattoo place on the planet, House Of Payne had been deliberately fashioned after exclusive art galleries, complete with a downstairs exhibit area with white modular walls and stark black marble flooring, an array of overhead floodlights as well as pinpoint lights that could be moved to highlight specific works. There were two twelve-foot tall towers of stacked HD screens that displayed pieces of award-winning body art and the faces of the artists who created the works, and each name was as famous in the world of ink as the art itself. In the absolute center of the open, avant-garde art gallery was a 3D holographic plinth, displaying a hand pushing against something membranous, and she could well imagine how that tattoo, placed on a human body, would give the realistic appearance of a hand pushing against skin from the inside. It was both creeptastic and genius, and she’d bet real money the House had already sold a monster-ton of that very tat, just from having it on display.
Upstairs was where the real magic happened. Aside from the executive offices, tattoo booths made of thick frosted privacy-glass bearing the House Of Payne logo took up one half of the open-plan upper level. Within those booths could be an everyday soccer mom, to a European Royal, to a kid who had saved all year for their first tat, to an internationally-known star of the silver screen. Everyone who was anyone came to the House for their ink.
Overheard, the moody strains of Staind smoldered, adding to the sense of edgy disturbance that Sass could sense in the air. A tattooist with shoulder-length black curly hair and a supreme amount of scruff paced outside one of the booths, his sleeves rolled up to reveal arms covered in Gothic black designs. He was scowling, a phone pressed to his ear. She was too far away to hear what he was saying, but it looked intense, whatever it was. With a polite nod in his direction when he looked up and caught her staring, she quickly turned her attention to the familiar ground of Scout’s office. But as she reached for the door, the man raised his voice from behind her.
“Hey, I wouldn’t go in there right now if I were you.”
Sass glanced back at him. So her take on the atmosphere had been right on target. “Any particular reason why?”
“
Mainly because anyone who goes in there right now would be taking their life into their own hands.”
Yep. A definite disturbance. “I’ll keep that in mind, thanks.”
“Your funeral.” He shrugged and went back to his phone conversation.
Braced now for anything, Sass rapped two quick knocks against the door before pushing inside, just as two men headed straight for her. She got out of the way double-quick, as neither of them seemed inclined to acknowledge her existence.
The man bringing up the rear was someone Sass recognized from way back before House Of Payne was even an idea. Sebastian Payne, or simply Payne, had been Scout’s best friend since about the time Scout had come into her life. When Sass had first met him, she’d assumed a hot guy like Payne was Scout’s man. With spiky brown hair, hazel eyes and a business acumen destined to bring House Of Payne into international fame, anyone would have thought Scout and Payne made a great power couple. But they made better friends than lovers, and together they had built the House into the legendary name in the world of ink.
But obviously, especially on days like today, it was never easy.
Payne nodded her way. “Sass, good to see you. Mind holding that door open nice and wide for this gentleman so that he can make a clean getaway?”
“What the fuck,” the man in front of Payne muttered, and while clearly pissed in a passive-aggressive way, he was not confrontational. He was dressed in a security uniform that no doubt came off a rental rack, and shoes that squeaked with every left step. Sass did as she was asked, hopping out of the way and closing the door behind them after they’d passed.
“Yikes.” Wide-eyed, Sass backed away from the door, half-expecting the negative energy to somehow blow it open again. “What the hell is going on around here? Some smoldering Jon Snow-lookalike outside just told me I’d be killed if I walked in here.”
“For once, Twist wasn’t lying. The shit hit the fan while I was gone and sprayed absolutely everywhere.”
“So that’s the resident wild man, Twist.” Making a sympathetic sound, Sass moved to the desk and held out the tablet. “He looked like he was on the phone with his lawyer or something. He’s not being a pain again, is he?”
“Believe it or not, that bad boy has been tamed. Well,” she amended thoughtfully, “maybe not tamed, but calmed by the woman in his life. And may I add a hearty thank God to the end of that statement.”
“Feel free.”
“Thank God.” Taking the tablet from her with a grateful hug, Scout waved her into a seat opposite her. “I’m hoping Twist is on the phone to his sister Essie, and not his lawyer. Apparently little sis is some kind of a graphic artist and budding fashion designer wunderkind, currently gracing Texas with her talents while wrapping up an arts degree. She’s the head costume designer for the university’s theater department, which means she might be exactly what we’re looking for, as well as the answer to a personal prayer of mine.”
Sass frowned. “You’ve lost me. What are you talking about?”
“Branding,” came the flat reply. “Sass, would you say we’re a pretty well-known company?”
She blinked. “Um, yeah.”
“Famous, even?”
“Of course.”
“Internationally?”
“I can’t think of another tat studio in the world like the House.” Baffled, Sass frowned at Scout. “Do you have a point, or do you just need to have your ego stroked? I mean, I can stroke you, no prob. I just need to know how hard you like it.”
To her surprise, Scout didn’t crack a smile. “What are we known for, Sass?”
For crying out loud. “House Of Payne is known for being the best tattoo studio in the world. Everyone knows this.”
“Exactly. We’re known for tattoos. Just tattoos. That’s it.”
“Isn’t that enough?”
“We could be so much more, because tattoos aren’t just tattoos. They’re art. Beautiful, significant, soul-stirring, wearable art, and we’re always trying to find new ways to present that art to the world. When it comes to tattoos, we’re good at that—the best. We’re the studio that everyone in the tattooing industry watches. But that’s a small world, Sass. If we expanded in the same way that Ed Hardy and Sailor Jerry have done, we’d be able to reach everyone, not just people who are ink fans.”
“Retail.” Sass’s brows drew together in confusion. “You’re talking about merchandise.”
“Exactly.”
“But I thought you already did that, both downstairs in the gift shop and online.”
Scout groaned and looked for a moment like she wanted to claw her eyes out. “We do, but it’s nothing special. We were hoping to get something special this past Fashion Week, and while the unveiling of Angel’s new ombre-watercolor tattoos was tremendous—seriously, her new tattooing technique and designs have gone over like s’mores at a campout—no one liked our new line of clothes. Do you know what that means?”
“You’re going to have a half-off sale?” She was so in, if that was the case.
“Sass, it means that for the first time ever, the House has had a flop. A very public flop. Critics in trade magazines the world over are sneering at House Of Payne’s attempt to broaden its market reach. Which… is kind of my fault.”
“Whoa, stop. How could that possibly be your fault?”
“Because I’m the one who came up with this idea to branch out. I’m also the one who chose the designer who came up with our latest line, but I didn’t really pay that much attention to it when it finally became a reality, because I had a wedding to plan and a honeymoon to go on when it all went down.”
“Oh.” Well aware that she wouldn’t convince Scout that there was enough blame to spread around, primarily to the designer, Sass shifted her focus. “That doesn’t explain why Payne seemed so pissed at that security guard who was in here now.”
“In a way it does, and it also leads to another thing we haven’t been able to get right around here—security.”
“What do you mean? What happened?”
“Apparently last Friday was the day that Payne snapped, and by that I mean he called the designer in and terminated business relations with him. This dude was given the same contract that all the other artists are given here at the House—create what you want on your own time and premises, and whatever you’ve created belongs to you. But what you make for the House is copyrighted and owned by the House. Pretty clear, right?”
“Yeah. Crystal.”
“Well, it wasn’t clear to this designer dude, who threw a major hissy at being fired, and was heard to be screaming at Payne that he wanted all of ‘his’ creations back. That’s when Payne told him that he couldn’t have it back, because Payne was going to do a public burning of that merchandise and make a big media day out of it, complete with the roasting of marshmallows over the flaming carcass of this dude’s work.”
Sass winced. “Ouch.”
“First and foremost, Payne’s a temperamental artist. When his buttons are pushed in just the right way, he’s capable of acting as bad as this designer dude, who acted seriously, seriously bad.”
“I’m almost afraid to ask, but what did he do besides try to go against his contract?”
“The next day, Saturday, Payne was called in because our now-former designer had come into the House with a couple of friends, told the security guys that he was there to collect his belongings after being fired, and to please open the shop.”
Sass saw what was coming. “Oh my God, no.”
“Yep,” Scout nodded, mouth grim. “That asshole wiped out the entire fucking gift store. And the security team that Payne hired held the fucking door open for him.”
“That explains the ‘hold the door open’ comment Payne made when I came in.” Sass grimaced, shaking her head. “Hard to believe your security company helped in what sounds like grand theft.”
“They’ve been horrible, but we had to do something. One of our tattooists got attacked five feet from the do
or in the fucking parking lot just a few weeks ago.”
Sass whistled. “I’m almost beginning to think you guys need to hire Rude’s security firm in order to keep the peace around here.”
Scout’s eyes went huge. “Shit. Why didn’t I think of that?”
“Whoa.” Sass held up a restraining hand. “I was kind of kidding. I don’t even know if they do little jobs like a private business.”
“Little? House Of Payne isn’t little.”
Good grief. “Let me put it another way. PSI is currently flying their commandos in and out of Canada to prepare for some international science symposium. It’s a high-risk target for terroristic-minded zealots of every religion on the planet who dispute all things of a scientific nature.”
Scout rolled her eyes. “Okay, I get it. But we’re still not small potatoes. Would you at least talk to him about it? Like, immediately? We’ve got a lesser member of the Kuwaiti royal family slated to come in next week, and this place is about as secure as a leaky tub.”
“What I can do is head over to PSI and talk to the people who would know if they could do the House’s security, and that’s Mary Jane and her dad, the dude who started the company. The worst they can do is say is no and maybe send me in the direction of someone reputable who can do it,” she shrugged when Scout looked doubtful. “I’m not going to twist Rude’s arm into doing something the company doesn’t normally handle.”
The tension in Scout face melted into a wicked grin. “My, my, aren’t we protective of our darling new treasure?”
“Whatever.”
“Just tell Rude that if he can help me out here, I’ll do everything I can to help him finish up whatever planning he wants done on Mama Coco and Papa Bolo’s anniversary party. That should make your man happy.”
