INK: Sketches (Book 0 - parts 1 & 2)

by Bella Roccaforte

  “You can have four,” he growls, kissing down my neck, pushing my robe onto the floor.

  In a hasty effort I unbuckle his belt, unfasten the button and push down his zipper. My motions are hungry and urgent, like if I don’t hurry this moment will pass. He turns around and uses the counter to brace me on while he wriggles his pants to the floor. He slides himself inside me and his entire body shudders, then stills. His tall frame crumbles down slightly while he whispers in my ear. “Being inside you is the kind of sublime words could never express.” His eyes are closed and he’s pulling me in tighter and closer to him, pushing deeper inside me.

  Heat and excitement travel in waves down my spine. I run my fingers through his thick hair and nibble on his ear and then bite down hard on his neck. His scent fills my senses, sweet and tantalizing, making me even hungrier for him. I want more; I want him even closer to me. He knows it and his strong hands grip my ass, pulling me to him, creating a rhythm that’s driving me out of my mind. Feeling this close to him, letting go of everything with Eli is divine.

  His breath is ragged as a moan rumbles from within his chest. He calls out my name in a labored whisper; the tone of pleasure in his voice sends me over the edge. “Eli, don’t you dare stop fucking me.” My voice is rough and demanding.

  Eli’s movement becomes more erratic and less controlled. He releases a roar that brings me with him in pleasure. “I love you Eli, God I love you.” I volunteer it, scream it, the sound and the emotion pure and real.

  He wraps his arms around me while quivering. His breath is heavy with satisfaction. Resting his head down on my shoulder gently nibbling on my skin, he breathes the words, “You fucking own me.” I can hear the smile in his voice. For a moment we are locked in an unbreakable embrace, trembling in time.

  He rests my feet down gently on the floor. I never unlock my fingers from around his neck. Pulling back to look into his gorgeous blue eyes I raise a brow, biting my lip as I say, “Do it again.”

  He flashes a killer smile that could ‘do it’ all by itself.

  “Jesus Christ, please no.” Trish’s shrill voice pierces the air in the house. “I was nice enough to let her ride the happy trails of your 'Man-azonian' rainforest once. I’m not sitting quiet for round two.” Her eyes travel down Eli’s body and round out in shock at the sight of him standing there at ‘full attention.’

  “Trish! What the fuck?” I yell out, grabbing my robe, not sure who needs covered up more, Eli or me. He becomes acutely aware that he’s half naked and reaches down for his pants, covering himself.

  “I let myself in.” She purses her lips and cocks her head to the side. “I didn’t know it was dinner and a show.”

  That explains Rex running through the doggie door with his tail between his legs. I thought it was because of the noise we were making. Eli shifts his stance and looks at me. “I’m going to get ready for work.” Poor Eli, his face is completely red.

  He squeezes by Trish and she slaps his bare ass. “Go get em’, tiger!”

  “Trish!” That pisses me off. “Hands off, bitch.” Eli hastens his pace down the hallway, covering his ass as he trots away.

  “What? No big deal.” She waves him off. “Besides, he’s the kind of complicated even I won’t touch.”

  “Seriously Trish, how many times have you been married?” I remind her of her own set of complications.

  “Only twice that actually matter, you know the other two were annulled because I was underage. So they don’t count,” she says with pride while walking over and grabbing a piece of bacon.

  “I’ve had to wear four ugly-ass bridesmaid dresses, so they do count.” I tie my robe closed.

  Eli walks into the kitchen, avoiding Trish’s glare at all costs. He puts his hands around my waist. “I love you babe, don’t forget, tonight seven PM!”

  “How could I forget?” I smile and reach up to kiss him. “I love you.”

  He winks at me with a huge grin while walking out the door. “See you at seven.”

  As soon as the door closes Trish raises her eyebrows and says with wide eyes, “Shay.” She pauses for effect with a bewildered look. “Why didn’t you tell me he was…” she’s looking for the right word, “um, so um—”

  I put my hand up in front of me. “I’m not having this conversation with you, Trish. You should’ve cleared your throat or said something. He’s going to die of embarrassment.”

  “You have to spill; I mean, from the sounds of things he seems to know how to drive that monster truck,” she says, biting into another piece of bacon.

  “No, no, no.” I have to get her back on track quick. “Did you bring the clothes?”

  “Yes I did.” She rolls her eyes at me. “You are no fun at all. We’re best friends, you should talk to me about things like…that.” She stops and looks up at me from the bag she’s digging in. “And by ‘that’ I mean the size of his dick, Jesus.”

  “Just stop.” I am so uncomfortable with this conversation. “What have you got?”

  She pulls a few small pieces of fabric out of the bag and hands them to me. “I mean seriously, that was like…” She looks down at her hands, trying to measure how big he was.

  “Trish, you are so gross. It’s not like I have a lot of comparison, like some of us.” I glare at her.

  “There’s no way Aiden is hung like that.” She clicks her tongue.

  She sucks in a breath when she sees the look on my face that says she crossed a line by mentioning Aiden. “I’m sorry, honey. I didn’t mean to…” she says quietly.

  “Just let’s get on with this.” I snatch the bag from her and head for the bathroom. Fuck Trish, that’s the last thing I need is to have the pain of Aiden Roth brought to the forefront today.

  Chapter Eight

  Taking What I Want

  The entire drive to Orlando I’ve been trying to psyche myself up. The plan is to go in there and tell them to hire me and it will work, right? I’ve heard this guy is a total misogynist and I don’t even care. He’s just going to give me the job. I want a paycheck and I’m going to publish this comic.

  Even though I’m parked in the garage of the office building my hands are still white-knuckling the steering wheel like it might try to get away. “Shay, you can do this. Your work is good,” I chant until I mostly believe it.

  “You will be published.” A voice in my head I apparently developed to give me confidence sounds off. It may seem a little weird, but it’s been working. Before getting out of the car I nod my head a few times and take a bunch of deep breaths until I’m light headed. I pull my portfolio case from the trunk and with intense resolve head for the building.

  For a moment after I step out of the elevator I stop to psyche myself up some more. When I’m done adjusting my skirt and shirt, and fluffing my boobs up in a feeble attempt to have some cleavage, I’m as ready as I can be. Oh well, I flip open the top button on my shirt exposing just a little more. The tall glass doors with the Blood-borne logo splashed across them loom in front of me. My feet feel like they are made of concrete. As if it wasn’t hard enough trying not to fall on my face in these heels, my feet have developed an inability to move.

  “Shay, you can do this,” I say out loud, rocking a little toward the door.

  “Can I help you?” A deep warm voice with the hint of a Cuban accent sounds behind me.

  Startled, I turn to see a man standing there with dark hair and eyes wearing a welcoming smile. “Oh God you scared me.”

  He looks at me expectantly. “You okay?”

  “Oh, yes.” Color rises in my cheeks. “I, um, I was just—”

  “Talking to yourself?” He’s containing the laughter that I can see in his eyes.

  “Well, yes I was.” My lips pull into a thin line; I’ve been caught. “I’m going in for a job and I was mentally preparing myself.”

  “Over there?” He points toward Blood-borne.

  “Yes.” I swallow hard.

  “Well good luck. I hope you get
it.” He offers his hand to shake. “I’m Jorge; I work over here at Twenty-eight Engineering.”

  “Shay, and I’m an artist.” I motion to my portfolio case.

  “Very nice to meet you, Shay.” He leans in closer to me. “Good luck.”

  “Thanks.”

  The elevator doors open and a small boy about six years old and a total mini-me of Jorge runs and latches onto his leg. “Daddy!”

  “Hey buddy.” Jorge looks toward the elevator door. “Hey honey, thanks for coming by.”

  A very pretty woman steps off the elevator holding an infant car seat and a briefcase. “No problem.”

  “This is my wife Rosa, Rosa this is Shay. She’s applying for a job at the comic place.” Jorge makes the introductions.

  “Nice to meet you, Rosa.” I shake her hand.

  “You too.” Her attention turns toward the baby, who’s starting to fuss

  “This is Samuel.” Jorge pulls the little boy in by his shoulders. “And little Juanita.”

  “It’s very nice meeting you all.” My insides are warmed by the love in the hallway. Someday Eli and I will have a family like this.

  Rosa turns to Jorge. “Did you want to get some lunch?”

  “I would love to.” He wraps his arms around her and kisses her cheek.

  She waves him off, embarrassed. “Jorge, stop it.”

  Time for me to make an exit, or an entrance, either way will work. “It was nice meeting you; hopefully I’ll see you around.”

  “Good luck,” he says as he ushers his family onto the elevator. They look so sweet together, and even though I’m nowhere near ready to start thinking of becoming a mom that baby was adorable.

  The heavy doors open without as much as a creak. This sucks, no one is here to witness my grand entrance. I look around for a few minutes, hoping someone will come and greet me. It looks as though no one has manned the reception desk in some time. There isn’t even a phone there. The minutes tick by and my confidence is waning. I’m going to talk to the owner; I’m not leaving until I do. My resolve solidifies and I check the name on my notes.

  The hallway feels like the inner sanctum and I’m invading it. There are beautiful women sitting in all the offices; they barely regard me as I walk by. I will never fit in here.

  I’m startled back when a tall woman with light brown skin and piercing green eyes pops out of an office door. “Can I help you?” She spits the words, leaving a snarl on her perfectly lined lips.

  The urge to shrink back is taking over when I hear the voice in my head again. “She’s standing in your way, push on.”

  With my shoulders thrown back I look up at her. “I’m here to see Raphael Vizinni.”

  “Do you have an appointment?” she asks, putting her hands on her hips.

  “I don’t need one,” I say without blinking and raise my eyebrows in challenge.

  “Who are you?” Her tone is threatening me to answer with something good.

  “The next big thing.” Looking past her to let her know she’s been dismissed I ask, “Where’s Mr. Vizinni?”

  “Vanessa, is there a problem?” A man enters the hallway holding a cigar in his hand that isn’t lit, and he embodies a brand of sleaze I’ve yet to encounter in my short life. There’s no doubt that this is who I’ve come to see.

  My portfolio case knocks into Vanessa as I push past her and extend a hand to him. “I’m Shay Baynes and you’re going to hire me.”

  He ticks his head back and looks me up and down. I’m so going to need a shower when I leave here.

  “Is that so?” He licks his lips. “We’re not hiring.”

  Panic rises in me; this is not going as planned. The voice in my head buoys me up. “He’s still standing here, make your case.”

  “You’ll hire me.” I take two steps toward him. “Or you’ll regret it when someone else does.”

  He fingers the gold chains hanging around his neck and I think some of the grease from his hair just dripped onto his shoulder. Gross. His eyes fall to my chest and I try to push my boobs together like I’ve seen Trish do so many times to sweeten the pot for this asshole. “You’ve got five minutes to dazzle me.”

  Vanessa rolls her eyes and turns to go into her office, muttering loud enough for me to hear, “I hope your panty hose can take the rough Berber.”

  “I won’t need your nasty parlor tricks.” I strut past her door toward Raphael.

  He raises his brow, still ogling me. “Come on in; show me what you’ve got.” He leads me to a conference room where there are storyboard hangers on the wall, and I get to work fast hanging the panels.

  Raphael struts around the room, his face expressionless as he views the panels. His hands are locked behind his back as though he’s viewing paintings at the Louvre. I’m so nervous that my palms are sweating, and his silence is totally unnerving.

  After a good five minutes passes he turns to me. “This is your work?”

  “Yes sir,” I answer, trying to steady my voice and remain confident.

  “How many issues?” he says, looking back to the final scene that shows the Specter looming over a dismembered body with a wicked grin.

  “Six to start, but I can go on for as many as you want.” My hands are locked in front of me to try to keep from fidgeting.

  “Are you open to some direction?” He looks me straight in the eye.

  “You bet. This is only a rough draft, and here’s the script.” Taking it out of my case I hand it to him.

  Raphael motions for me to take a seat with him at the table. He pulls a pair of reading glasses out of the front pocket of his jumper to read it. A notable grimace appears on his face. It’s killing me, because I’m not sure if that’s good or bad.

  “I’m not really so sure about all of this.” He slides the script across the table to me.

  I’m trying not to let the disappointment show in my eyes. My head starts to droop slightly and I hear the voice. “Slide the script back to him; you will only get this if you take it. He wants you, he wants your comic, and he’s toying with you.”

  I take my own advice and slide it back to him. “Then take another look.”

  Raphael looks at me with what appears to be a hint of admiration, but still slides it back to me. “We really aren’t signing new talent right now.” He drags in a long breath. “I mean, I guess if you wanted to pay the costs we could let you distribute it through Blood-borne.”

  I don’t even really know what he’s talking about. This isn’t going as planned. I stare at him blankly for a solid thirty seconds then the voice comes again. “Get up and walk out. Thank him forhistime.”

  Well shit, the voice in my head has lost its mind. This is my chance; I can’t walk away from it. “If you walk, he’ll come after you.”

  I convince myself that it’s true, that his hand must be forced. I open my portfolio case and pull the first panel down. Raphael stands up. “What are you doing?”

  “Thank you for your time, Mr. Vizinni, it was not my intention to waste yours or mine.” Confidence surges in me when panic washes over his features.

  “Hold on a minute, I didn’t say…”

  “You said enough. I’m looking for a staff position and a deal to get this comic published. You clearly are not in a position to offer me either.” The words are spilling out and don’t feel like my own. I continue to pack.

  “Six months, three issues.” He stands and puts his hand on my case.

  “One year, six issues,” I counter with an unwavering stare.

  He shakes his head, which prompts me to continue packing.

  “Fine. One year, six issues and right of first refusal for any other project.” Ah, so he does really like my work.

  “Done. Please have the contract drawn up and I’ll have my attorney look it over.” With my portfolio packed I turn to him and offer my hand.

  “It’s been a pleasure.” He leers down my shirt one last time. “Please give Vanessa your contact info so she can get everything sent o
ver.”

  “Will do.” It’s hard, but somehow the excitement hasn’t burst through my chest yet. I have one more stop to make.

  With a big ‘fuck you’ grin I walk into Vanessa’s office and drop my card on her desk. “See you next week.” I turn on my ridiculously high heels and walk out, blowing her a kiss.

  “Bitch,” I hear her huff. Probably not the best idea I’ve ever had, pissing off the new coworkers, but she can climb a wall of dicks.

  As soon as I reach the parking garage I do a little victory dance. There’s no chance of getting caught in here. I stir the pot, do the Dougie, the Smurf and every other silly dance I can think of. My dance is halted by the sound of someone clearing their throat. Frozen in place, I open my eyes to seen an older gentleman in a security uniform sitting in a golf cart. My face instantly floods with shades of red. All I can do is smile big and say, “Hi.”

  “You seem like a happy lady.” His tired gravelly voice has a smile in it.

  “I am. I’ll be working up at Blood-borne.” The words burst out with excitement.

  “Congratulations. Be sure to stop in and get your parking pass, and don’t let that cheapskate make you pay for it.” He points a crooked finger at me in warning.

  “Yes sir!” I approach the cart. “I’m Shay, Shay Baynes. I’m a comic book artist.”

  “It’s very nice to meet you, Miss Baynes. I’m Cecil; I keep the order around this place.”

  “I’ll bet you do a great job, I'm sure my dancing is the only crime that’s happened in here in a while.”

  “Yes ma’am. Well you have a nice day.” He rides away in his cart.

  When the cart disappears, one more mini dance is in order before getting in the car. My mood is the best it’s been in a long time. This is what life’s supposed to be like. And I managed to not kill myself in these heels.