by K. L. Donn
As Jet comes out of the copy room, I quickly sit back up and damn near fall off the chair I’m sitting on. Thankfully, she’s not paying attention to me.
“Shirt off, Blondie.” She demands from Greer.
I’m watching her so closely, I can see her swallow hard as he does. Her eyes roam over his bare chest. Only a sprinkling of blond hair covers him, and most of it trails down to his dick. Which if I’m not mistaken, is growing the more she watches him.
Looking up, I see his gaze hold hers as she basically eye fucks him.
The more they watch each other, the harder Greer’s dick seems to get. So I clear my throat to stop the embarrassment that is bound to happen and knowing Greer, he won’t say a thing to lessen it.
“Right,” she mumbles, “I’m just gonna clean you up and shave the area, then we’ll place this on your mus– uhh…chest to see if you like it.”
Fuck me sideways, she’s blushing.
My cock twitches.
“Whatever you say, sugar,” Greer murmurs, closing his eyes as her hands wash his chest off.
After she’s got the picture placed—with a little more rubbing and patting than necessary—she holds up a mirror for him to see it, asking, “That ok?”
“Looks good, sugar,” he confirms.
“It’s Jet,” she snaps at him, making us both raise our eyebrows in shock.
Okay then, the lady doesn’t like pet names. I can work with that. “Jet short for something?” I ask her.
“Nope.” So we’ve pissed her off if the bite in her voice says anything.
“Just Jet?” Greer pushes.
“Yup.” That snap again.
Looking over at him, I can tell he’s pissed with her attitude, so I try and wave him off from saying anything else to her. The woman’s gonna have needles in his skin soon for Christ sakes, so I mouth, don’t piss her off when he looks to me.
He flips me off while she’s attaching her equipment.
Great knowing you, man.
When Greer goes to put his foot in his mouth, I beat him to the punch by asking her, “How long you owned this place for?”
“Three years.”
Ohh… She’s all kinds of bitchy now.
“And you’re how old?” I don’t know why I’m pushing, but I think I like the bite in her tone.
“What the fuck is this? The Spanish Inquisition?”
“Your bedside manner leaves a lot to be desired,” Greer finally snaps back at her.
Shit.
Back away, Eli, back away.
Jet
The fucking balls of these two. I don’t know whether to kick them or lick them. If they would keep their mouths shut, I’d lick ‘em both. The more they talk, though, the more I want to kick.
They both seem to like putting their foot in it. I’ll let ‘em. It’s kind of amusing watching them give each other these looks that scream shut the fuck up. I doubt they even know I can see it.
I slip on a pair of latex gloves. Something I would have ordinarily done before I even touched the client, but I had to experience the warmth of Greer’s chest first. Grabbing my gun, I dip it in the ink and say to Eli, “Hey, muscleman, turn the radio on.”
“I have a name,” he mumbles while doing as I ask.
“Don’t we all.” I shoot a quick look at Greer, raising my brow because he keeps calling me sugar. If they only knew, I’m the furthest thing from sweet there is.
His smirk is pissing me off, so I decide that instead of bracing him for the needle, I’ll just forge ahead.
“Shit, woman,” he growls when the buzzing needle touches his skin. And what amazing skin it is.
For real, he’s got the ‘V’ that makes anyone with a vagina stupid, and I damn near lost my tongue when he took his shirt off.
With every touch of my needle, his abs ripple and flex, and I’m so tempted to just slide my tongue over them. I know I can’t, but damn, do I wish I could.
Once I’ve got the outline done, I ask him, “Do you need a break?” I almost half hope he does so I can go cool off.
What the fuck is wrong with you, Jet? I’ve never reacted to one man this way before, let alone two. I’m turned on, I’m aware, I’m confused as fuck.
“I’m good, sugar.”
Do not smack him!
Hearing the bell above the front door jingle, I turn my gun off and tell them, “I’ll be right back, guys,” as I remove my gloves and make my way to the front of my shop.
When I bought the building three years ago, I never dreamed of being as successful as I am now. My clients are mostly regulars who bring their friends, and word of mouth seems to have spread far and wide. I admit I was nervous while designing this place because I appear to have a more vintage sense of style.
Luck shined down on me, and I received an apprenticeship under one of the most renowned older artists in Canada. He did my first tattoo, and when I kept going back to him for more with my own designs, he asked about my interest in art. After telling him my life’s journey, he offered me an opportunity to start working for him and to eventually own my own gun and station. I can’t remember a time in my life when I’ve been happier.
He passed away just after I had opened my own shop. I felt so lost and broken I’d almost quit. Every time I had the thought, though, I would hear his voice in my head telling me not to let my parents win or to give the gossips something to wag their tongues about. So I sharpened my focus, built my clientele, and every now and again, I feel like I can sense his presence around the shop. His pride shining through.
Pinup girls from the forties adorn most of the walls that aren't adorned by my own work—in remembrance of him. He loved his girls.
I have a bright pink sofa with a few black chairs in the waiting area. A variety of magazines lay scattered across the old trunk centered in the middle. I always knew my business needed to be somewhere I could relax, too. Plus, watching big badass men sit on a pink sofa is pretty fucking hysterical.
“Hey, boss lady!” I hear my newest employee, Tad, call out as I round the corner to the reception area. The image that greets me stops me in my tracks.
Tad has been with me for nearly three months now. He’s a great artist, almost thirty, a real party boy, but he does phenomenal work. It’s the only reason I’ve kept him for as long as I have. Oh, and the clients seem to like him as well.
His only real issue? The whore that follows him everywhere.
If I had to lay odds on whether she sucks more than his cock, I’d put money on it. She’s got the look that says, rode hard, put away wet. I can’t stand her. She’s whiney as hell, and every time she opens her mouth, I want to pop a dick in it.
Two weeks ago, she came in drunk or high, hitting on some badass biker I had been working on. His Ol’ Lady happened to be here, too and didn’t take very kindly to it. I don’t blame her. I told Tad she wasn’t allowed back again. Seems he doesn’t like to listen.
“Tad,” I warned, my eyes pointedly looking at the bimbo.
“I know, boss lady. She’s real sorry,” he tries to plead.
“I don’t care.”
“I only have two clients. She won’t interfere.”
“She can ‘not’ interfere by leaving,” I tell him, watching as she balls her fists at her sides. I’m pissing her off. Good.
“Do you even know who I am?” she whines.
“The more important question is, do I care?” I know who she is. Aside from being the town’s biggest slut, her father is a county judge. I couldn’t care less.
“You’re such a righteous bitch. Thinking you’re better than everyone else. You’re nothing but a frigid, little cunt. No one wants you. Why don’t you just pack up and leave?”
I try not to allow anyone’s opinion of me affect me, I really do. But every once in a while, when someone says those damn words—no one wants you—it stings my heart just a little bit. Makes my walls stand taller, become harder. I’ve heard them all my life because I’m different. For some reas
on, this time, they cut through me like a knife.
Why? Because of the two men waiting for me?
Maybe. I don’t want all of my insecurities on full display for the only men I’ve been attracted to in I don’t know how long. I hate feeling exposed, and tonight, I’m a little more vulnerable than usual due to this fucking fascination with them.
“I don’t think I’m better than everyone,” I begin to tell her. “Just you.”
“You bitch!” Tad yells at me this time. “She’s right. You are a stuck up, frigid bitch just out for attention. Don’t think we all don’t see how you act, and what you do here. You stick your snobby nose up at everyone else. It’s no wonder no one wants you.”
There are those words again. I know I’m defective. Having people point it out isn’t so great.
“Get the fuck out, Tad. You’re fired. Take the slut with you.”
Turning around, I crash into not one but two solid chests of muscles. Shit.
“You fucking bitch! You’ll regret this,” Tad calls as they slam back out the front door.
Just fucking great.
“Who the fuck is that douche?” Eli growls.
“No one.” I can almost feel the defeat running through my veins.
“Sure seemed like someone,” Greer points out.
“Doesn’t matter. Let’s finish, and we’ll get you guys out of here.”
I make my way back to my station, ready to finish up and get them out so I’m able to lick my wounds in private. Logically, I know I shouldn’t let what they say bother me, but fucking hell is it hard to brush off.
I have listened to my parents and siblings remind me daily of how useless I am and how no one has wanted me most of my life. Hell, I left when I was eighteen to get away from them, and they haven’t minded up until now. Dad is up for promotion in the law firm he works for in Calgary, so they’re hounding me to become part of the family again. It would almost be believable if they didn’t allow their little digs to slip through when I speak to them, though.
“Cover up the tattoos,” my mom always complains.
“Strip the color from your hair,” my older brother David chimes in often and loud.
Last time I talked to Dad, he implored me to remove the metal from my face. According to him, I need to look more like a lady. Because a nose stud and eyebrow ring are so horrific?
“It fucking matters, sugar,” Greer growls, grabbing my arm and spinning me around to face them.
He is right. It does matter.
It matters because my heart feels like it’s ready to explode.
It matters because it makes me feel like I’m nothing.
It matters because I would love for it not to be true.
I crave being worthy of someone like him, like Eli.
I’ve only known them for a couple hours, but I wish so hard that I could be who they want. Never in my life have I wanted to be someone different, to not be alone.
Eli
The look on her face nearly guts me. Her asshole employee and his little slut probably didn’t even notice it, but I sure as fuck did, and I’m pissed. She looks like her heart is shattering into a million pieces and her world is falling apart.
I need to know what has happened to break her so badly that she’s built walls high enough I don’t think she’ll ever let anyone in. And fuck me if I don’t want in.
“He’s wrong, you know,” I say to her as we follow her back to her station.
Ignoring me, Jet looks to Greer and points to the chair he was sitting in before. “It shouldn’t take me much longer,” she informs us, putting on gloves and sitting down herself.
I am silently fuming. One look at my best friend, and I know he is also. His eyes give him away, same with the tick in his jaw.
“He always talk to you like that?” Greer finally growls out.
She doesn’t look up, just says, “Don’t worry about it.”
“He threatened you,” I snap at her.
She waves me off. “He won’t do anything.”
I’m doubtful. In my own experience, when someone makes a threat, they tend to follow through. I won’t let it get that far, though. She has a lot to learn if she thinks either of us is going to let the threat go. She may not be ours yet, but as soon as I can get her into bed, I know we’ll both be putting our mark on her.
Greer
Sitting through hours of Jet touching me without being able to act on it is fucking torture. I want my hands imprinted on her hips from holding her too tightly. I want to nibble on her delectable, pouty lips. Yet there she sits, cool as a cucumber and nothing. Not even an eye flick to check either of us out.
If it weren’t for the fact she kept licking her lips when I took off my shirt at the beginning, I’d think she is immune to us. I also caught her checking out Eli’s ass at one point.
Now, she is nearly finished with my new ink, and we haven’t made a move. I know she thinks I’m an ass, and it’s true, I am, but Eli is the smooth talker and usually blows right over my gruff attitude.
As she cleans the excess ink off my skin, I stare hard at my supposed best friend, and he refuses to meet my eyes. It doesn’t take long for me to realize what he’s doing—cocksucker’s gonna make me ask her out.
Fuck.
“All right, all done.” My eyes shoot to her at the sound of her soft voice. “What do you think?” Jet holds up a mirror. I don’t even look at her work. My eyes are glued to her spectacular lips as I respond, “Fucking perfect.”
Her gaze slowly meets mine at the husky undertones in my words. This light shines in her eyes—something akin to hope—like she wants us to be attracted to her but is afraid to have it happen.
What the fuck is her damage?
I don’t say anything to her startled look, letting everything I feel show in my own penetrating gaze. Something I’m not used to doing either. Like her, I guard everything, but it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to know I’m going to need to let it go if I want this girl.
“Right, well, uh… I’ll just clean up here and meet you both up front.” I can see how uncomfortable she is, the way she stammers through her words. Hell, I am as flustered as her by this attraction.
As she backs up, she runs right into Eli’s solid chest. A soft oomph emits from her mouth. The way she closes her eyes, taking in deep breaths like she’s trying to either calm herself or breathe in the feeling of being trapped.
Eli has a tight grip on Jet’s waist as she turns to face him. “You’re in my way, Hulk,” she whispers with no heat in her voice.
A smile lights his face at the nickname she’s given him. He bends his head down to whisper something in her ear that I can’t hear. That’s when I make my move closer to her, pressing my front flush to her back. Her intake of breath is audible, loud, like a pin dropping in church at a Sunday service.
I lightly run my fingertips from her delicate shoulders, down over her intricate tattoos, to her fingers. Intertwining our hands, I raise one to my lips first, then the other to Eli’s whose head pops up at her sharp breaths.
As Eli grabs her hand from mine, my fingers glide back up her arm to play at her collarbone. So soft, so delicate. Our girl smells like sunshine and brandy. Pressing my body further into hers, I feel my erection nestle against her plump ass cheeks, as Eli pushes into her front a little more. With every one of our movements, her breath catches, and her head leans back just a little bit more.
I am enraptured with the way she allows us to take this small amount of control from her. She doesn’t seem the type to concede to just anyone. Perhaps this is what she needs—a man, or in our case men, to take away her control. To give her everything she wants but doesn’t ask for.
Leaning down to whisper in her ear, I demand, “Have dinner with us tonight.”
She lols her head to the side in order to meet my eyes. I see indecision in her depths. There is also need, a yearning she feels down to her bones. I recognize it because I feel the exact same way.
“Tomorrow.” She nods. My lips capture hers in a kiss sweeter than I ever thought I could give. She tastes like mint. Our tentative meeting of tongues spurs me on to make it firmer, to give her more. Nibbling her bottom lip gently, she opens her mouth on a small gasp granting my entry. I take advantage, wanting to taste all of her. To feel her passion deep inside.
Slowly pulling back, Jet mewls in protest until Eli swoops down nearly before we’ve separated. Highly aroused, I watch as he takes her lips with such intensity that I can’t wait to feel her in the flesh.
Jet
Holy fuck, Batman! They can kiss a girl senseless without a thought. Eli and Greer left my shop ten minutes ago, and I am still glued to the same spot as before.
Confused, aroused, even a little mad.
The way Greer drew me in with just a look pisses me right the fuck off. I’ve never just…zoned out like that, fallen into a man’s eyes or arms without them doing anything. I’m not some frigid bitch, but I sure as hell ain’t some easy slut either.
I’ve slept with a total of two men, and neither are very memorable. My exes didn’t put a dent in my heart the same way Eli and Greer are trying to.
Peer pressure from my older sisters had me caving when I was sixteen. Thinking about it now makes me realize it was at that point that a lot of the problems with my parents started, and I began rebelling. The day after that train wreck happened, I got my first tattoo.
Looking at my wrist, I remember exactly how I felt when I got it…
Lost.
Tainted.
Alone.
I asked for a small white daisy on the inside of my wrist as a way to remember. To keep in mind that I was a child when I gave up something so precious that I should have held onto.
I can still see myself walking out of the tattoo parlor both fascinated and intimidated. The shop owner was a big, burly biker, yet he treated me with kid gloves. Seemed to have known I was somehow broken from that day forward.
I became addicted to the pain and numbness the needle gave me after that. It was the reason my parents tried to homeschool me. So I had no need to leave the house, but they soon realized it wasn’t going to work because I started sneaking out at night. When I turned eighteen, my dad handed me a suitcase and walked away.
