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Pierce Me
TOP TEN BESTSELLER
She’s never had an Orgasm, and I’m going to make up for that.
When Eloise walks into my tattoo parlor, she thinks she knows what she’s after — a piercing to help take her where no man can.
But I don’t want to help her the way she thinks.
I had a crush on her all the way through grade school.
The last time I saw her was seventh grade, when my life was falling apart.
Now she has the same cute pony tail as always but the rest of her grown-up body makes me hard just looking at it.
I’ll give her a piercing alright, and it will be the deepest one of her life.
Never had an O, welcome to Oh My God!
*** A steamy STANDALONE contemporary romance with a sizzling hot hero. No cliffhanger, no cheating, and a guaranteed happily-ever-after.***
1.Eloise
Trouble having orgasms? You need to read this!
The headline on the magazine cover catches my eye. It certainly applies to me. But I have no time to read it now.
I carry on laying out the new magazines in the waiting room. We’re about to open. My first patient will be here soon and I still have to go over his notes.
“Hey, sweetie,” my mom says as I pass her in the hallway. Her hair is the same almost-black color as mine. Like every day, it’s pulled back in a neat bun, and her glasses sit on the end of her nose.
“Morning, Mom,” I say, smiling at her.
“Are you coming for dinner tomorrow?”
“Don’t I always come for dinner every Saturday night?”
“I didn’t know if you had a better offer.”
“Unfortunately not. I have to settle for you and Dad.”
I haven’t had a date in months. After I broke up with Chet, my last boyfriend, I lost interest in dating and men in general. Probably because none of my ex-boyfriends ever satisfied me.
Marcy, our nosy receptionist, pokes her head around the corner and says, “Eloise, your first patient is here.”
“Okay, thanks. Send him to my room. Talk to you later, Mom.”
I quickly re-tie my ponytail and review his notes while he’s in the room. It’s not a complex case. He broke his shoulder two months ago and is now rebuilding the strength in his muscles. This is the third time I’ve seen him and I hope he’s been doing his exercises.
The most frustrating thing about being a physiotherapist is that half the time the people never do their exercises. There’s not much I can do to help them if they don’t.
My parents are both doctors, with their own medical practice. After I finished school, I joined the medical practice as an in-house physiotherapist.
It’s great that the three of us get along well and can work together. We are a close family, and I’m good friends with both my parents and my sister, Sophie.
Sophie’s currently studying medicine at the University of Rochester and plans on joining the practice when she finishes school. She still lives at home with them. I have my own apartment, but we all have dinner together once a week.
No matter how close we are, I still can’t discuss my inability to have an orgasm with them. I don’t know if it’s a medical issue or not anyway. I doubt it.
I don’t know what my problem is.
No boyfriend has ever been able to get me off. And I can hardly get myself off. It doesn’t matter what type of vibrator or sex toy I buy, nothing seems to help.
On rare occasions, I think I have an orgasm. Maybe. I’m not sure. It feels good, but not this mind-blowing experience our society makes an orgasm out to be.
For the rest of the day, I focus on my patients. Half of them have done their exercises, mostly the ones who’ve had broken bones or sprains.
After I finish, I casually walk into the waiting room, and slip the magazine that promises new information on orgasms into my backpack.
“Good night, Marcy,” I say, hoping she didn’t notice me take the magazine. She’s a stickler for the rules, and she’d probably tell my mother on me. I’ll bring it back first thing Monday.
“See you Monday,” Marcy says.
When I get home, I flop down on my couch and pull the magazine out of my backpack. I doubt it’s going to offer me any real solutions, but you never know.
I flip past umpteen glossy perfume and fashion ads until I come to the article.
Can a genital piercing solve your orgasm woes?
Genital piercing? I clench at the very idea.
Clitoral hood piercings are reported to dramatically improve a woman’s ability to climax because they stimulate the clitoris. We’ve talked to three women who have them to find out their experiences.
I read through the interviews, and all three women talk about how their piercings changed their lives.
“I’d never had an orgasm before my piercing, but now my boyfriend is able to give me at least one every time we have sex. It’s life-changing.”
“I didn’t know what I was missing before — now I encourage all my friends to get one!”
“Before I got my piercing I had small orgasms, but now the intensity is unreal.”
I sit up straight, my heart speeding. I’ve never heard of this before. It sounds too good to be true, and I’m always skeptical about these things. But I have to know more. Is there any truth to it?
Grabbing my laptop, I Google genital piercings. I spend the next hour reading and researching them. Everything I find backs up the magazine article. There are countless testimonials from women who’ve had them done and describe them as being life-changing.
There are three types of clitoral hood piercings. The most effective for increasing orgasms is something called a triangle. But apparently only a few women have the right shape of lips to get it.
Could I really get one? I start to wonder more and more. How much would it hurt? There are a lot of testimonials, but no one claims it works in one hundred percent of women. Would it work for me?
After eating a western omelet with toast for dinner, I flick on my Kindle and get back into the book I’m reading. Normally any book engrosses me. But this time when I get to the sexy bit, and it’s talking about mind-blowing waves overcoming her, my mind keeps wandering to the idea of a genital piercing.
I want mind-blowing waves.
Like every night, I go to bed at ten. I’m probably the only twenty-seven-year-old in the country who goes to bed so early, but I need my sleep.
Normally I’m out as soon as my head hits the pillow. Not tonight. I can’t stop thinking about the piercings, and if it really would mean having mind-blowing orgasms.
I flick on my phone, blink from the sudden brightness and Google more.
It says it’s also important to make sure you use a person who knows what they’re doing. No kidding.
Apparently it’s something you get done at a tattoo parlor. I’ve never been to a tattoo parlor. I don’t even think I know anyone with a tattoo. I turn off my phone, and roll the idea around in my head.
By two am, I’m convinced I have to do this. I have to try. The potential payoff is too high not to.
After an hour of tossing and turning I grab my phone and Google ‘Where to get a genital piercing in Rochester.’
There are two options — Hell in a Needle and Incredible Ink.
If I’m really going to go through with this, I don’t think it’s going to be in a place called Hell in a Needle. Besides, Incredible Ink is near the art galleries and studios in the Village Gate Square. I can maybe handle that, it makes it arty. Somehow, I’ll find the courage to phone Incredible Ink in the morning, before I have time to change my mind about going through with this.
Satisfied, I fall into a deep sleep and don’t wake up until nine-thirty. Nor
mally I’m up every day at seven, even if it is a Saturday.
The first thought in my head is about the piercing. I’m just as determined as before to go through with it.
I Google the phone number for Incredible Ink. They open at ten. I have thirty minutes to work up the nerve.
Over two cups of coffee and a bowl of Cheerios, I get more and more excited by the idea. I want it now. I hope they can fit me in today. At one minute past ten, I hit dial.
2.Eloise
“Incredible Ink. Kaylee speaking,” a woman’s voice says.
Hearing another female on the line helps ease the tension in my body.
“Hello, I am interested in a piercing. A genital piercing.” I can’t freaking believe I just said that out loud. My heart pounds in my chest.
“Sure. What kind?”
“A clitoral hood?” My voice goes sky high as I say the words. I don’t know what’s more embarrassing, that I’m asking about this, or that it’s so obvious I’m out of my comfort zone.
“Do you have any other piercings?”
“My ears,” I say, my voice rising as if it’s a question.
There’s a pause at the other end of the phone before she says, “Do you mind if I ask why you’re interested in one?”
I swallow, working up the nerve to say it out loud. Finally, I say, “I heard it makes sex more satisfying.”
She chuckles, and says, “More satisfying is an understatement. Trust me.”
“Oh, you have one?”
“I have all three types that rub against your clit. Trust me, you want at least one. Your mind will be blown.”
“I could do with having my mind blown.”
“You know, before I had my first piercing, I’d never even had one before,” she says in a hushed tone.
“Me too,” I say, excited at this newfound sisterhood.
“Trust me, this’ll be the best thing you ever do.”
“Do you do them?” I ask, thinking it’s fate that Kaylee answered the phone.
“Absolutely. I have time at one o’clock.”
“Today?”
She laughs and says, “Yes, today.”
“Does it hurt?”
“It’s quick. A little pain for a lifetime of pleasure.”
“Really?”
“Yep. Would you like to come in then? I can see which type of piercing you’re suitable for. If you’re lucky, you can get the triangle. But don’t worry if you’re not, the vertical hood is good too.”
My heart hammers against my ribs. Can I do this? I need to do this. And now, before I chicken out.
I clear my throat and say, “Yes.”
“Great. I’ll see you at one.”
I give her my name and number and then I sit there for a few moments stunned that I did it. My hands are trembling so much it’s a struggle to hang up the phone. At the same time, heat blooms between my legs at the thought of my issue being solved. And today.
Rushing into my bedroom, I select my favorite vibrators and put in brand new batteries. I wonder how long it will be before the piercing will be okay to test out.
I spend far too long deciding what outfit to wear for my appointment with Kaylee. In the end I select a long peasant skirt because it’s loose fitting. I figure if it’s really sore, I can do a cowboy walk out of the tattoo parlor.
For the next three hours, I alternate pacing around my apartment with futile attempts at reading my book.
By the time I get in my car and drive to the tattoo parlor, I’m so nervous that even my toes are filled with butterflies.
I manage to park my Ford Focus right in front of the door. As I turn off the engine, I stare up at the Incredible Ink sign. I don’t know what to expect inside.
Part of me wishes I’d brought Sophie with me. But I could never explain why I’m here to her. At least not while keeping any of my dignity.
It’s okay, I keep telling myself. The person who works here is another woman. One who’s experienced my problem. I have nothing to feel scared or awkward about.
I take a deep breath, and step out of my car. Without breaking my stride, I push open the tattoo parlor door and step inside.
It’s empty.
The walls are covered with what I assume are tattoo designs. A black counter juts into the room. An opening is in the center of the back wall through to another room.
“Hello?” I call, moving towards the counter.
No one answers and I stand awkwardly, wondering what to do. On the counter is a small case of jewelry for piercings, and I stare into it.
Most of the jewelry is heavy and manly, but there are few pieces with jewels and pretty shapes.
“Coming,” a man says from the other room, his low voice gravelly.
I look up to see him emerging from the opening in the back wall. He’s pulling a T-shirt on over his head, and the first thing I see are his washboard abs, framed by a deep V. My eyes flick around taking in the rest of him while his T-shirt covers his face. Tattoos cover his strong chest and arms. Both of his nipples are pierced.
I don’t know whether to be scared or turned on.
My breath quickens and heat blooms through me, but my brain tries to calm my anxiety.
He’s definitely got the best body I’ve ever seen, and I say that as a physiotherapist who deals with bodies for a living. But all those heavy tattoos that coat his muscles make me wonder what kind of person he is.
As he pulls his shirt down and reveals his face, he catches me staring at him and smirks. My cheeks burn, but I can’t look away from his scruff-covered jaw and piercing brown eyes.
“I’m looking for Kaylee,” I say.
“You’re Eloise Hutchinson and you’re here for the genital piercing to help you orgasm.”
My heart stops and my eyes widen in horror. How did he say that so casually?
“Yes, I’m looking for Kaylee.”
“Kaylee’s gone. I’m Gabe, and I’m going to do it for you.”
My body freezes and I can’t speak. He holds my eyes in his, and I’m filled with a mix of fear and amazement.
No, not fear. Uncertainty and discomfort. Intimidation at being alone with a heavily tattooed, pierced man. In a tattoo parlor, of all places. Even though he’s the sexiest man I’ve ever seen, and my body is betraying my brain.
“Don’t worry, I’m very professional,” Gabe says, his voice somehow deeper and more gravelly than before.
“I can come back when Kaylee’s here.”
“Kaylee isn’t coming back.”
“What happened to Kaylee?”
“Does it matter? I said she wasn’t coming back.”
“Oh,” I say, confused. “Do you have any other female piercers?”
“Nope.”
“I think I’ll feel more comfortable going somewhere with a female piercer.”
“Not in this town. There aren’t any.”
“Maybe I’ll have to drive somewhere then. Buffalo?”
“Could be a sore drive back.”
“I don’t think I can do this. Is it even safe for me to be here with you? Alone?”
“I told you, I’m a professional. This is my job, and I’d never do anything to risk the business I’ve humped my ass to build. You don’t need to feel awkward. I’ve done tons of clitoral hood piercings.” Gabe’s eyes bore into mine as he says the word clitoral, and I flinch.
Turning my head, I look at the jewelry case. I don’t know what to do. Can I go through with taking off my panties and letting a strange man touch me, pierce me, in my most intimate place?
“I need more time to think about this,” I say.
Before he has the chance to say anything else, I turn and move towards the door. I grab the handle and open the door.
“Just promise me you won’t go to that jackass at Hell in a Needle,” he says. “I’d hate for him to do a botch job on a nice girl like you.”
I turn back to him. Once again my heart pauses at the sight of him. “Don’t worry. There is no c
hance of me going someplace called Hell in a Needle.”
He smirks, and says, “I can do it with my eyes closed, if you prefer.”
My brow knits together. “Huh? How would that work?”
“It wouldn’t. But if it makes you feel any better, I can pretend I never saw anything.”
3.Gabe
Close my eyes like hell. When I heard Eloise Hutchinson was coming to my parlor for a genital piercing I had to be damn sure I was the one to do it.
At first, I didn’t think it would be the Eloise Hutchinson, the one I crushed on the entire way through grade school. She was so straight laced I thought there must be another Eloise Hutchinson in Rochester.
It’s definitely her. Her hair and big eyes are almost black, a sharp contrast to her porcelain skin. I used to think she looked like the doll my mother had in a display cabinet in our living room.
Her dark hair is pulled back in the same ponytail she wore every day when we were kids. I wonder if she’s worn it that way every day since I last saw her.
In seventh grade, I used to sit behind her and I’d tickle the end of her ponytail with my fingers and pencils and pens every chance I could.
I hated her guts the last time I saw her. It was my last day of school before we moved away. And as far as I was concerned, it was all her fault I had to move. Everything in my life was her fault.
I wasn’t sure how I’d feel when I saw her. But damn, she’s grown up even better than I’d imagined she would. One look at her, and the feelings of a childhood crush came right back.
Along with more grown-up feelings. I’d like to wrap my hands around her tight waist and back her up against the wall.
Hell, I don’t even know where I’d start with her. I’d wrap her ponytail around my hand and tug it, just to hear her squeal the way I used to make her squeal when I pulled it. Then I’d silence her with my mouth, and taste those delicate pink lips I’ve always loved.
Most of all, I want to show her what it’s really like to be fucked right. I want to turn her into a quivering mess, and make her brown eyes roll so far back into her head she’ll see her brain. Is she doing this for a mind-blowing orgasm? I’ll give her one so intense it’ll blow her head off.
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