He holds the door for me as I say, “Thanks.” I turn to watch him walk away, trying to recall the face of my dream man. It’s already faded and as vague as the clawed tattoo.
After purchasing a pastry and a small coffee in a cup that fits in my bike’s water-bottle holder, I continue to my destination. When I get there, anxiousness flutters in my stomach. I quickly lock up my bike and kick off my shoes to carry them. The paper bakery bag rustles in my hand as I begin to walk.
For a moment the odor of musty leaves on a forest floor tickles my nose, but it’s only a memory of my nightmare, because the public park is well maintained. Damp grass slips between my toes, and I sigh at the sensation as I walk over to my favorite tree.
The coffee is still too hot to drink, and while I wait for it to cool I lie down on my back to stare into the canopy of leaves above my head. Early morning light filters through in tiny pricks of light, and the high-pitched call of a seagull reminds me I live on the ocean.
This park is my touchstone. I crave trees, cool shade, and the spongy floor of a forest. The patchy lawn and hard-packed dirt under an oak will have to do. I close my eyes and imagine a brook trickling in the background as I relax into my sleepiness.
Pebbles under my feet make me walk gingerly toward deeper water. A deep baritone laugh carries over the lake, and I gaze at the large man it came from. His hair is wet and dark, while green eyes almost glow in his tan face.
My core begins to tremble with desire for him. I sink down into the water, and my breasts float weightlessly. I’m naked, and I guess he is too. Turned on even more by the realization, I swim toward him.
When I reach the man, he whispers, “Carly.” Callused hands larger than any I’ve ever known caress my body, and I become ravenous for him.
He thrusts into me quickly, and my climax is moments away when a glint of white punctures my pleasure with fear. Fangs? The man grabs my hand and sinks his teeth into my wrist. Intense heat slices into me, and I open my mouth to scream. I pull away, and there’s a paw print tattoo on the inside of my arm with blood gushing out of it.
Sitting up quickly, I gasp and knock over my coffee cup. “Shit!” I scramble to retrieve it before too much leaks out the top.
My heart is thumping hard against my chest. Memorize the tattoo. Don’t forget it! But it’s already gone.
2
Chapter 2
Carly
My pencil scratches against paper as I finish my sketch. Looking over the tribal-like paw print, I notice something seems off, but I can’t put my finger on it. The actual design still eludes me. I’m at the tattoo parlor waiting for my next client.
“Babe.”
Ugh. I hate hearing that name come from Ray’s mouth.
I snap back. “I’m not your babe. I believe the last customer you had might be though.” Ray is a manwhore and my ex. The one I caught banging a skinny chick over the table instead of tattooing her.
He walks into my tattoo room. A low voice I used to crave invades my senses as he leans down to speak in my ear. “You still can be. Want to sixty-nine before your next appointment?”
Seriously? Like sucking his cock is what I live for? I shudder a little in disgust. Crap on a cracker. The wheels of my chair whirl as I push away from the desk in irritation. “Lovely offer, but I think I’ll pass.” He must be really horny.
Stepping into my personal space, he gets down on his knees. Ray’s hands shove my jean-clad thighs open to slide himself between them. “Carly, I miss you.” Pulling me against his chest with his arm, he nibbles on my neck, and tiny hairs prick up in response. But it’s not desire I feel. It’s almost hate. My lip curls in disgust, and a rumble comes from my chest like a growl. I catch myself before it comes out. As if a switch flipped, I’ve gone from hot for this guy to not even attracted.
I know how this used to go. He’d get me hot and then stand up to unzip his pants. When I was done pleasing him he’d find a reason he couldn’t return the favor. But right now I’m not sure he would even get me warm. Even the smell of him is foul, and I’m reminded of the dumpster earlier today. I push him off me. “No. I agreed to come back if you promised to keep this a professional work arrangement.”
He unbuttons his jeans and reveals the snake tattoo I designed and applied that leads beneath the zipper. His low voice says, “I could fuck you on the desk.”
I roll back until my chair hits the wall with a thud. “Stop it, Ray. I’m serious.” And I am. Right now anger is threading its way through my body. When he pulls his cock out and begins to stroke it, I bark at him, “Out.”
“What a fat fucking bitch you are.” He squints at me and tugs his dick one more time as if I should be upset I’m not getting to touch it. “Good luck finding someone who wants to fuck you.” He shoves it back in his pants as he walks out and kicks the door shut with a slam.
His words prick at my heart. You’d think I’d be immune by now. Thin is something I haven’t seen in years. I turn to the client chair and the metallic gleam of my tattoo machine. The tribal paw print image floods my mind, and excitement hums through my veins because I see it clearly. I’m ready to draw it now. A glance at the clock tells me I have time. The smell of alcohol fills the air as I prepare my pale white wrist. I’m about to break more than one of my cardinal rules.
I’m home and tired. A tingling sensation travels up my arm as I gingerly touch my first tattoo. It’s still red and swollen, and normally it would look angry to me. But I think it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
The microwave dings, and I pull out a container of mac and cheese. I push the pasta around with a fork, and the cheesy goodness steams, warning me to wait for it to cool. I’m known for putting a tattoo anywhere an individual wants with practiced ease, and I bet I’ve seen more penises than the average porn star.
My father was a tattoo artist, and I spent my life as his apprentice. Now I’m solidly booked, and he probably rolls in his grave knowing I’m the prick-your-dick queen. Actually, he’s probably proud of me and sad knowing he had to leave me too soon.
Taking my pasta, I wander to my living room and sit on my sofa. My prudish tattoo-free body and usual uniform of baggy jeans and tees put men at ease, although they like to think they turn me on when my gloved touch makes them hard. Even now that I’m not the owner’s girlfriend, Ray still protects me by stepping in often to check on the progress when I do delicate places. He isn’t a complete ass.
Well, considering tonight, maybe he is. I make him a lot of money, and you’d think he could remember that. Part of the draw of Tattoo Junkie is the legendary Al Cutler’s daughter carrying on his trademark traditional designs. I thank my dad often, because being a woman in this business is tough. A female tattoo artist my age is practically unheard of.
When I’m done eating, I lean back on the scratchy upholstery of my thrift-store couch and sigh. A red light flashes from the remote as I turn on the TV to scroll through my recorded shows. Finding nothing that interests me, I wander to the kitchen with my dirty bowl and deposit it in the sink. Frosty air blasts at me when I open the freezer for dessert and grab a carton of ice cream.
When I was in a relationship with Ray, I didn’t feel worthy of him. The way he acted tonight confirms I was an idiot. My father drilled it into my head that no man is worth more than I am. Digging into the hard ice cream with my spoon, I put a lump into my mouth. Creamy vanilla flavor coats my tongue as I chew chocolate bits.
Nothing here matters to me. Maybe it’s time to start fresh. I glance again at my tattoo, and the pull to leave gnaws at me.
The ice cream carton is wet in my hands when I wander back to the living room. I could fit everything I own in my car and just leave. My dreamy guy’s voice saying “Carly” echoes in my head, sending a twinge of desire to my lower belly. Maybe I will. A smile creeps onto my face, and I return to the couch. Plopping down with a whoosh, I grab the remote to watch someone else’s pitiful life as I finish off dessert.
3
Carly
The dank smell of earth is around me, and soft moss cradles my prone body. Daylight filters through fir trees like tiny daggers. I shiver in the cold. The tattoo on the inside of my wrist is burning. I’m afraid it’s infected, and I lift my arm above me to look. The ink is raised, and it’s pulsing as if blood is pumping fiercely to my hand. Confused, I touch it. The moment I do, an electric shock of desire floods my body.
I stroke lightly, and it’s as if I’m pleasuring every sensitive spot I have. Oh God, this is glorious. I writhe on the forest floor, and the feel of the moist sponginess against my skin makes me realize I’m naked. My panting fills my ears. I move the tender flesh of my tattoo toward my mouth to lick. The wet, rough sensation of my tongue takes me to the edge of climax.
An acrid musky odor pulls me away for a moment. It should be unpleasant, but I’m drawn to it. Raspy breathing that is not my own startles me. I open my eyes to sharp white teeth glistening. Fear laces my orgasm as it builds. The teeth sink into the flesh of my breast as I scream in ecstasy.
My cry wakes me. Did I just have a sex dream about an animal? The light clicks when I turn it on, and I inspect my tattoo. Still tender, it looks normal. Only, I’m not. I’m a freak that gets off on bad furry breath and sharp teeth biting my boob. Great. I’m tempted to lick my tattoo to see if it really does feel good, but it’s unsanitary, and I don’t want to risk the germs.
Shaken by my nightmare, I’m wide awake. I stumble in the darkness toward the kitchen. Slamming my shin on the coffee table, I drop to the floor in pain. A wave of nausea rises, but I swallow it down and place my hands on the rough shag carpet to stand. The memory of soft fur against my naked body and the softness in my hands comes back to me. My insides flutter. Wow, I’m losing my mind.
When I get to the kitchen, I find hot chocolate in the cupboard. Brown powder spills out when I rip open the packet. After I pour the remains in a mug, I add water and stir before placing it in the microwave. The buttons beep in staccato as I set it to timed cook. Hopping up on the counter to sit, I open the cabinet and pull out a package of cookies. Grabbing a handful, I put the rest back so I don’t devour them all.
Nibbling on buttery shortbread, I look down at my pale legs. Shapely calves are my best feature, but unfortunately they lead to fleshy thighs, full hips, and a soft middle that manages to muffin top even over my loose jeans. I’m fat, and hot guys like Ray don’t date girls like me. Shame washes over me when I remember that they do if she gives good head. Willing to suck him off on command, I was desperate to keep him. So desperate I refused to see he was a player until walking in on him left me no choice.
The whir of the microwave stops when it chimes. I take the mug out, and my spoon clinks as I stir to dissolve lumps of chocolate. If I could live anywhere else, where would I go? The scent of cut pine tweaks at my memory as if to answer. It might be time to leave the bikini-clad world of Venice, California, where I’m reminded of my ample curves daily, and move to someplace where sweaters hide my rolls and accentuate my assets. The mountains.
Grabbing the package of cookies from the cabinet and my mug, I return to the living room and boot up my laptop. My dreams are something I’ve learned to listen too. It’s not that they tell me straight out what’s going to happen, but they point me in the right direction.
The bright light of the computer screen flashes in my eyes and eerily glows on my hands as I type. Google is my friend, and I research mountain towns with tattoo shops. Colorado is my first choice. I imagine being wrapped in a warm fleece blanket and sipping hot cocoa by a fire. I bookmark shops in ski towns in the Vail area and make plans to compile a folder of my flash.
I snort thinking of the dick pics of my work all over the Internet. Definitely porn, but it might be my ticket. Maybe all I need is a penis business card, because something about a tattoo-less ink slinger makes shop owners nervous. Okay, not so tattoo-less any more.
Rough crumbs stick to my fingers when I reach in to find I finished off the bag of cookies. It’s just as well. I’m tired and really should grab a couple hours of sleep before work. But I’m afraid of my nightmares.
I walk toward the garbage can under my sink then pour the cookie remains into my mouth. Movement catches my eye, and my heartbeat pounds in my ears when I turn quickly to find nothing.
I can’t help it. I run as if the devil’s chasing me and burrow under my covers as if I’m a little girl keeping the monster away. I clutch my extra pillow and fall asleep.
Surprisingly, my dreams do not include furry animals, and I wake rested and armed with a plan. My coffee cup clatters in the sink full of dishes when I deposit it, and I grab my phone to check my calendar for today’s appointments. I’m booked solid but can stay late to gather what I need.
The idea of leaving clients in the lurch again scratches at guilt. Even more so, I feel bad about leaving my best friend, Sierra. Being a female tattoo artist is tough, and I wish I could keep her safe from the likes of men like Ray.
I don’t look forward to telling her. I picture her eyes widening in her face, which is framed by jet-black hair cut in a bob. Sierra has talent. An art school drop-out, that girl can draw and has a modern style heavy on the florals that women love. Eager to prove herself, she practices with every spare moment she gets when working the desk.
I’ve made my way to the bathroom, and mint stings my mouth as I brush my teeth and take a good look at myself in the mirror. In a baggy T-shirt and loose jeans, I’ve stopped trying. I should do something about that. My father’s voice plays in my head. You’re going to be full of curves and soft places, just like your mother. Ignore those skinny girls because you’re a knockout.
I whip off my tee as I walk to my bedroom, and it lands on my bed with a whoosh. I slip into a tight cotton tank top instead. I’m so not thrilled with the roll around my middle that shows now, but guys will be looking at my large tits anyway, and maybe they won’t notice.
I grab a claw-like clip and return to the bathroom to tame my wavy hair with a loose up-do. Strands curl softly around my face. Smiling at myself in the mirror for the first time in weeks, I’m happy to go to work today. I rub my tat lightly with a finger, and my smile widens as a twinge in my core makes me shudder. I envision my dream guy behind me, giving me a smoldering stare that captures mine and feeds my desire. It makes my smile grow.
4
Chapter 4
Sierra
The strong smell of fuck-me perfume floats toward my nose when a spray-tanned girl enters Tattoo Junkie. Skinny as a rail with fake hair, she’s got to be a skank. The way she looks me over with disgust makes me hate her. I’m her worst nightmare with pale skin, sleeves of tattoos, and flesh on my bones.
“Is Ray here?” Even her voice is fake with its singsong lilt.
I hop off the gray reception counter in the almost sterile waiting area. “You must be his two o’clock. Leesa?”
She giggles. “That’s me.”
I walk her over to his tattoo room and watch Ray’s face light up. A lanky attractive guy, right now he has a predatory look in his eyes that makes me think he wants to poke her with more than a needle.
I do a mental eye roll. “Leesa is here for you.”
He stands and flexes a bit under his tight tee. Yeah, he plans to do her if she’ll let him. What a fucktard. Carly will be here any minute, and she doesn’t need to hear that. They broke up a couple months ago, and I can tell she still has a thing for him. Of course, hearing him grunting like a pig wouldn’t be bad, because he never stopped screwing around when they dated. The reminder might help her get over him.
I hop back up on the counter with my sketchbook and start to draw when the door opens.
Like it’s a beacon, the first thing I see is the tattoo on the inside of Carly’s wrist. It shocks me because she swore she would remain clean as a whistle until the right one called to her. “Whoa! You finally got one.” My black heels click when I hop down to grab her wrist.
When I inspect it, my brow furrows. This is what I’ve been trying to draw. “This is a sweet design, but I’m kind of freaked out right now.”
“Why?”
I don’t let go of her hand when she tries to pull away. “Because I’ve been dreaming about it, but I couldn’t draw it. You nailed it. It’s your work, right?”
I stroke the tattoo, and Carly yanks her arm away. Her eyes are wide, and her cheeks redden. What is she embarrassed about? I’m the one getting off on furry things in my dreams. She answers. “Yeah, I did it. Tell me about your dream.”
Carly is probably a little too vanilla to understand, so I don’t get into the sex part. “Um, the image just appears.” I wave my hand in the air. “Kind of like Batman’s signal.” I chuckle and then say, “I can’t really describe it, but it sticks with me, and I keep trying to draw it.”
“Yeah, it was—”
We’re interrupted by Ray opening his door to let a flushed-faced Leesa walk out of his room. His shit-eating grin tells me he got what he wanted, and I grimace. He says, “Ladies, it’s a beautiful day for body art, isn’t it?”
A low sound of disgust escapes me. “It sure is. Did you see Carly’s tattoo?”
Ray cocks his head at the idea of her getting one and asks, “Where?”
Carly lifts her wrist to show him. He and the girl both squint at her arm. Ray snorts. “Invisible, nice.”
Strange, don’t they see it?
The girl grins and says, “Like mine, right?”
Ray pulls her against his body. “I’ll tattoo you like that anytime, babe.”
Gross. The girl kisses him and walks out with a wiggle.
Summer Shifter Nights Page 59
