Good, Bad…Better

by Cindi Myers

  She studied her reflection in the mirror. That was better. The soft shirring at the bodice made the most of her cleavage. Her nipples pressed against the satin, their outline barely discernible. She felt sexy and daring—not like her usual self at all.

  All the more reason to buy this and wear it. She traced the low neckline with one finger and imagined Zach’s tongue following the same path. Her nipples stood out clearly against the satin now, advertising her arousal. What would Zach think if he saw her in this?

  “Did you get lost in there?” Theresa’s question broke through her fantasy. “Come out and let me see.”

  She smoothed the satin over her stomach and straightened her shoulders, then took a deep breath and emerged from the dressing room.

  Theresa let out a low whistle. “You’ll stop traffic if you go out like that.”

  Jen blushed. “Do you think it’s too much?”

  “It looks great.” Shelly joined them. She was wearing a red angora sweater that clung to her generous curves like plastic wrap. “Think this would get Aaron’s attention?”

  “I think that would get a dead man’s attention,” Theresa said.

  Shelly grinned. “Then I’m buying it.” She nudged Jen. “What about you? Are you getting that top?”

  Jen looked down at the audacious display of cleavage. “Yes. Yes, I am.” One day soon, maybe she’d wear it to the shop and give Zach something to think about.

  6

  JEN FELT A LITTLE self-conscious, sitting in her car parked down the street from Austin Body Art, waiting for the last customer of the evening to leave. Theresa had gone home at ten, followed shortly by Scott, leaving Zach alone with one older guy who, judging by the copious illustrations up and down his arms, was a frequent customer.

  It had taken her three days to work up the courage to do this. Her plan was to wait until Zach’s customer left, then slip into the shop before Zach locked the doors. They’d have time alone, away from his house and his bedroom, to talk. He might think she was in this only for the sex, but that idea had fled the minute he’d held her in his arms after they’d made love. She wanted to know as much as she could about him. To learn everything he could teach her about being her own person and creating the life she wanted, instead of the life her father wanted for her.

  And if one thing led to another after they talked…She smiled and smoothed her hand across the blue satin top. There was no doubt her seductress skills needed work. This evening was as good a time as any to refine her technique.

  The door opened and the man emerged, a square of white bandage over one hand. She was out of the car, walking briskly to the shop, before he’d turned the corner.

  Zach’s back was to her when she slipped inside. The temple bells jangled and he started to turn around. “We’re cl— Jen! What are you doing here?”

  “Hi, Zach.” She put her hands behind her back, making the most of the low-cut top. His gaze zeroed in on her cleavage. How was it just a look from him could engender a reaction in her? The minute his eyes found her, her nipples pebbled, straining against the satin. She cleared her throat and tried to look unmoved. “I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d stop by.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m just closing up here.” He turned back to his workbench and reached for an open sketchbook.

  “What are you working on?” She sauntered to the workbench and looked over his shoulder at the page, brushing against him as she did so.

  Again, there was that silent communication between them—little shock waves dancing up and down her spine when she touched him. She focused on the sketchpad, and reached out to keep him from closing it. “Wait. I want to see.”

  He hesitated, then laid the book flat on the workbench. “Just some stuff I’m playing around with.”

  She’d expected to see a design for a tattoo, like the flashes pinned on the walls around the room. Instead, she was startled by a portrait of an old woman with a kitten. The woman’s face had the texture of a crumpled paper bag, startlingly clear eyes peering from the many folds of wrinkles. The kitten lay on its back in her hands, playfully swatting at her dangling necklace.

  “Is that Delilah?” she asked, recognizing the yellow-striped tabby.

  He nodded. “Yeah. And my neighbor, Mrs. Sayers. She was sitting on the porch, playing with the cat, and I decided to draw her.”

  “This is so good.” She brushed her fingers across his signature, almost hidden in a fold of the woman’s dress. “Honestly, I’ve seen stuff at art shows that wasn’t this well done.”

  He closed the book and slid it into a drawer. “It’s just something I mess around with.”

  “Don’t be so modest. You’re really a talented artist.”

  He busied himself cleaning off the counter, throwing away empty ink cups and scraps of transfer paper. “I didn’t say I wasn’t talented. I’ve won awards for my work. But I don’t brag about it.”

  “I mean you’re good at more than tattoos. Have you thought of trying to sell some of your drawings? Or paintings?” If some of her father’s art-collector friends saw Zach’s work, they’d snap it up. “I’ll bet you could find a gallery to exhibit your work. I could help you. My father—”

  “No thanks.” He glanced over his shoulder at her. “Fine art’s not my bag. Sorry to disappoint you.”

  She frowned. She’d done it now. She’d insulted him, when really she’d intended a compliment. “If I was disappointed in you, I wouldn’t be here,” she said.

  He turned and leaned back against the workbench, arms folded across his chest. “Why are you here?” he asked. “With me? I’ve been trying to figure that out.”

  She trailed one finger along the edge of the workbench and watched him out of the corner of her eye. “You don’t think the other night was worth coming back for more?”

  “Was it?” His eyes darkened, though whether with arousal or anger she couldn’t be sure. “You got what you wanted, didn’t you? Great sex, and daddy pissed off at you to boot.”

  “That’s not all I want from you!” Is that how he saw her—as a spoiled, shallow user? She put her hands on his shoulders and looked him in the eye. “This isn’t about my father. This is about me.”

  “Yeah, well, I still don’t get it. What do you want from me?”

  “Maybe I just want to be with you.” She slid her hands down his arms, stopping at the elbows. “Is that so bad?” She studied the tribal band encircling his right bicep like a chain barely restraining his muscles. “I envy you.”

  He stiffened. “What?”

  “I envy you.” She looked into his eyes again. His hard look had receded, replaced by wary curiosity. “You know what you want, who you are. I’m not sure of any of that. I just…” She shook her head. “Maybe you can teach me that kind of confidence.”

  He opened his arms and gathered her close. She rested her head on his chest, hiding her face from him, embarrassed that she’d shown him her weakness, afraid he wouldn’t understand.

  “I think you’re stronger than you give yourself credit for,” he said.

  She raised her head once more. “Help me to be stronger.”

  His answer was the one she’d been wanting all along: his lips covered hers in a surprisingly tender kiss. He held her a little away from him, his hands at her waist, treating her as though she were fragile. As if he was afraid of hurting her.

  She stood on tiptoe, satin sliding against leather as she put her arms around his neck. She wanted to feel his body hard against hers. Feel his lips crush her mouth, his tongue taste her fully. None of this treating her delicately, as if the kind of passion he had to offer was too much for her. “Hold me tight,” she whispered against his mouth. “You don’t have to be gentle.”

  He deepened the kiss and slid his hands down to cup her bottom, drawing her tight against the hard ridge at the front of his pants. “Is that what you want?” His voice was a low rumble against her throat.

  “Yesssss.” The word ended in a sigh as he laid a trail
of kisses down her neck. Some still-functioning part of her brain wondered why steam didn’t rise up with each touch of his wet mouth against her feverish flesh. She felt on fire, her skin too tight for her body.

  “I like this shirt.”

  She started to answer, to explain she’d bought it with him in mind, but words deserted her as his mouth closed over one satin-covered nipple. The sensation of his heated mouth and the cool satin sliding over the sensitive peak reduced her to incoherent moaning. Only his strong hands kept her from dissolving at his feet.

  He transferred his attention to her other breast. She clutched at his head, her fingers twined in his hair, as if she were a drowning person holding on to a life rope.

  He slid one hand around to the front of her shorts, teasing at her thigh. She brought her leg up, hooking it over his hip to allow him easier access. When he pulled aside her shorts and underwear and slid his fingers into her, she groaned. “Zach, you’re making me crazy!”

  He stilled. “Do you want me to stop?”

  “No! Please, no!” She opened her eyes and stared at him, alarmed, but the sly smile he gave her betrayed the seriousness of his words. She punched him halfheartedly in the shoulder. “Don’t tease me.”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Teasing can be fun.” His smile broadened. “You don’t call it teasing when you walk in here dressed like this?”

  She followed his gaze to the front of her blouse, twin wet patches of satin clinging to her breasts. She felt exposed and incredibly sexy—powerful even, in a way she’d never felt before. “Dressing in a certain way isn’t teasing,” she said. “But this—this is teasing.”

  Easing out of his grasp, she trailed one finger slowly over the ridge of his erection, watching his eyes lose focus and his breathing quicken. She knelt before him and leaned in close, exhaling hot breath along the line of his zipper. He braced himself with hands on her shoulders. “What are you doing?”

  “I told you. I’m teasing.” She found the zipper pull and eased it down, slowly. She could feel him straining against the leather, ready for her.

  She’d never thought a man could be so hard and, yet, so soft and smooth at the same time. She cupped his balls with one hand and ran her tongue down the length of his shaft. He grunted and widened his stance, his hand tightening on her shoulder. She felt a tightening in herself in response, a growing tension aching for release.

  When she took him in her mouth, she could have sworn his hand trembled. Then he went very still, as if consciously holding back. When she looked up at his face, his eyes were closed and his jaw was clenched. What would it be like to make him lose control? Was it even possible?

  She was considering the possibilities when he gently pulled away from her and drew her to her feet. “That’s enough,” he said. “I want to see you naked. And to be naked with you.”

  She told herself to take things slowly, to make him wait as she undressed and revealed herself to him. But the urgency inside her had no patience for a leisurely striptease, and with his help, her clothes were soon in a heap on the workbench, alongside his.

  It was only then that she remembered the large front window of the store, only ten feet away. She glanced over her shoulder; at the moment, the street was deserted and dark, but who knew when someone would pass by and look inside. “Don’t you think we’re a little…exposed?” she asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

  “I can fix that.” He grabbed a screen that had been folded in the corner and set it up between the window and the tattoo chair, then eased her back toward the chair. “No one will see us now.”

  She lay back and watched as he pulled his wallet from his pants and took out a condom. He flipped the packet to her. “You do the honors.”

  She stared at the foil square. “I’ve never—”

  “I think you can handle it.” He came and stood beside the chair, his arousal distractingly near eye level.

  “Sure. I can handle it.” She opened the packet and took out the condom. From a college health class, she knew the object was to roll the condom on, but frankly, she had her doubts about this little scrap of latex stretching to fit.

  She grasped him firmly, smiling at his sudden intake of breath. This might be a little fun. Taking her time, she fit the condom over the head and began to smooth it on, stroking the length of his shaft, relishing the hard heat of him.

  “I think that’s enough.” His fingers bit into her shoulder.

  She smiled up at him and started to lie back, but he kept hold of her shoulder, stopping her. “No. Sit up,” he said, and straddled the chair, facing her.

  She looked at him, puzzled. He urged her closer still, arranging her thighs across his so that they were pressed against each other and she could feel his erection pulsing against her swollen sex.

  “What now?” she asked.

  “This.”

  She gasped as he eased into her. “How do you like this?” he asked, rocking gently into her.

  Sensation skittered through her with each slight thrust, intense, but deep. Less frantic than before. “I…I like it,” she said, and thrust back, more a gentle nudging. Teasing in a different way.

  They rocked together, arms around each other, letting the tension build. She kissed his neck, tasting salt, and laid a leisurely path of kisses across his chest, pausing to flick her tongue across his nipple, feeling him twitch deep within her in response to her tongue.

  He brought his hands forward to cup her breasts, cradling her in his palms, dragging his thumb across the sensitive tips. She moaned and rocked against him, more insistent, need escalating toward urgency. “H-how long can we keep this up?” she asked.

  He smiled. “A long time.” He quickened the tempo of his rocking, bringing her close, but not close enough, to exquisite release.

  She smoothed her hands across his shoulders and down his arms, feeling the muscles tense at her touch, reveling in his strength. She’d been attracted to his body from the first, but it was his artist’s soul that drew her. How did a man who at first glance seemed so coarse on the outside create such beauty and emotion in his drawings? And why was she so sure that discovering his secrets would help her find her own mix of grace and toughness?

  She looked into his eyes, searching in those dark depths for some clue to what he was feeling right now. Did his feelings for her go beyond mere lust? Did he want to know her secret self as much as she wanted to know his?

  She saw the moment desire overtook him, the instant he crossed the line from holding back to giving in. His eyes darkened to blackness and his lips parted, while at the same moment his thighs tensed beneath hers.

  Hands on her shoulders, he eased her back against the chair until she lay flat and he stood over her. The first slow, deep thrust stole her breath, while the next, and the next, made her vision fog and coherent thought flee.

  She closed her eyes and clutched at his arms, arching her back to receive him fully, every sense focused on the sensation of him filling her then withdrawing. “Faster,” she breathed, and he complied, increasing the pace. He covered her sex with one hand and began to stroke her clit, matching the rhythm of his thrusts.

  Her climax shuddered through her in waves, filling her with heat and light. She was dimly aware of his release as he drove against her, hearing his low, keening cry through her fogged senses.

  He collapsed onto her and she put her arms around him, holding him close, scarcely noticing the weight of his body, until the warmth gradually seeped away, leaving her chilled.

  She must have made some small sound of protest, because he pulled away and withdrew altogether. She wanted to call him back, but her strength had deserted her, so she lay there, naked and uncaring, the thought coming to her that this was yet another thing she would have never done before the day she’d made her own declaration of independence.

  He returned with a blanket, which he draped over her, then he crawled onto the chair, beside her.

  She had to turn and face him to make room on the n
arrow platform. He pulled her close and she wrapped one leg around him, ignoring the stickiness between her legs and the distant nagging of her bladder. She didn’t want to do anything to break the spell between them.

  She might have dozed. When she woke, she could just make out Zach’s face in the glow of the security light over the door filtering around the screen. He was watching her, one hand cradling her cheek. She smiled. “Hey, there.”

  “Hey, there.” He slid his thumb along the curve of her jaw. “You have a perfect face,” he said.

  She blinked. Considering the hour they had just spent exploring one another’s bodies, she wouldn’t have expected him to comment on her face. “I’m not sure I like that word, ‘perfect.’ I think I spent too many years trying to be someone else’s idea of perfect.”

  “I meant that it’s perfectly proportioned.” He cradled her face in both hands. “In classic figure drawing, the eyes are in the middle of the head itself. The nose is perfectly centered. The end of the nose is in the bottom quarter of the face.” He traced each feature as he talked. “The mouth is in the next quarter.” He slid both hands around to cup her ears. “The ears are in line with the top of the eyebrow and the tip of the nose.” A hot shiver skittered down her spine as he stroked the curve of her ears. He leaned forward and kissed her again, a slow, languid union of tongue and lips, as if he was memorizing her by taste, touch and sight.

  She sighed and snuggled closer. As far as she was concerned, she never wanted to leave this chair. “Where did you learn so much about art?” she asked.

  “I took a few classes, a long time ago.” He caressed her hip, then smoothed his hand down, along her thigh. “It isn’t important.”

  “Mmm.” She lay her head on his shoulder, enjoying the feel of his hands on her. “But it’s interesting.”

  “I’d like to draw you sometime. Like this.”