by M. A. Ellis
She laughed, the sound soft and genuine. She didn’t placate him, didn’t pretend she found his humor hilarious or his attitude charming. She laughed when she thought he was funny and told him he was a jerk when she thought that, as well.
“I’m fine. Sorry I was late for coffee,” she said, attempting to steer the conversation the way she wanted. Chad would readily admit she was a master at deflection. He’d bring her back around and eventually get a straight answer.
“No worries. I figured you squeezed in a last-minute customer.” He straightened the pile of artwork, picking up the drawings, looking at each one before bundling them together and tapping them against the counter until they were neatly aligned. He lay them carefully back down and picked up the business card.
CLUB ROSENTHORN
4821 Colonial Drive
He’d heard of it. More so from a professional standpoint than the usual curiosity talk. Word was they had a decadent wine cellar. Their higher-end clientele deemed it a necessity. The club had a sommelier, but no one had seen him or her. Their presence was always absent at the Wine and Spirits Bureau’s monthly meeting where Chad and his peers shared any new industry info or out-of-this-world picks.
He set the card in the middle of the papers, turned toward her, then leaned back against the counter. Chad crossed his arms, ignoring her when she patted the empty spot beside her. He wanted some answers before he got close enough to smell her signature perfume. Vanilla and black cherry. It was light and subtle. A treat for his sometimes overworked olfactory system.
He shook his head. “I’m good here,” he said, not about to give up a prime vantage point. He wanted to watch her reaction head-on. “Tell me why you’re entertaining flunkies from the local BDSM club.”
“You know about that place?” she asked in a surprised voice. Her brows rose.
“I’ve heard about it. So what’s the deal?”
“The owner saw some UV work I’d done. I guess he was shocked at the definition in the design and now he wants someone to ink his five friends.”
“Friends?” Chad snorted. “Four of those drawing reek of possessiveness and the other one—the collar—that one screams ‘ownership’. I think that’s a hell of a lot different than half-off matinees and the occasional Guitar Hero battles, don’t you, friend?”
“I don’t know what to think,” she replied quickly.
“So next time we decide to play chess in the courtyard, I’ll just tie your arms and legs to the chair and throw a ball gag in your mouth. All in the name of us being buddies. How’s that sound?”
Chad watched the flush of color that crept up her neck and over her high cheekbones. He wasn’t sure where that analogy came from, but thinking of her in the position he’d just mentioned shot a little tingle through his groin. It was an unexpectedly sexy way to imagine her. All but the gag. When she quit talking, he got nervous.
He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t curious as to how she responded in bed. Or if she’d keep up a steady stream of conversation the entire time. And how long it would take him to make her switch from her usual chatter to naughty talk. He smiled at the thought.
“I’m glad you think that’s funny.” She crossed her arms over her breasts and offered him a kiss-my-ass smile. “But I’m not sure how I’d checkmate you into oblivion being restrained. And we both know that’s what usually happens.”
“There it is. Thank you for reminding me who needs to be in control. I’m bettin’ old blond and muscle-bound didn’t like your attitude one bit. Especially if he’s part of that scene. Is that why he grabbed you? To see where your preference lies? If you’re a top or a bottom? If you were down with a little whip and tickle after you get done inking the minion?”
He watched her mull that over, her gaze drifting behind him to stare at a spot somewhere to the right. When she finally focused on him again, he knew that determined look all too well. Knew a barrage of questions was coming his way.
“He mentioned top and bottom before he grabbed me and asked if I wanted to play, for shit’s sake. And what was with him touching his nose and saying he knew how it was? Like you two were sharing some sort of secret? Have you been to that club? Do you know what goes on?”
“I haven’t been there, but everyone knows there are people who like a good spanking every now and again and who am I to judge? I like the naughty science geek and the strict headmaster fantasy as much as the next guy but—”
“Isn’t it supposed to be naughty cheerleaders?”
“I’ve had naughty cheerleaders, all they do is whine and I don’t know what the hell he was implying when I walked in. All I could think about was kicking his ass and then spending the evening with our friends in blue. Which I should have done now that I know he was asking you if you wanted to go to the club and be his sex slave du jour. Or you be the Master. Lead him around on a leash, his balls in a harness.”
“Shut the f— Shut the front door!”
Chad should have given her kudos for keeping her potty mouth under control but instead he wondered if she’d even picked up on the fact he’d have risked having the cops called as a result of that shithead disrespecting her. She was staring off into space, as if she were mulling over the exact scenarios he had thrown out there.
“So what are you going to do, Becca? Tell his boss to go pound salt or accept his offer and walk proudly into the lion’s den? Human canvas in hand. That part I picked up on.”
She chuckled. “The Lion’s Den, Chad? That was the name of the adult magazine and toy shop at Exit 382 near where I went to college. I haven’t thought of that in years.” She exhaled quickly. Over the months he’d learned to read the little noises Becca made. This one always indicated she had already run through a ton of outcomes in her head and had it narrowed down to what she wanted to have happen.
“It’s a ton of money, Chad. I don’t see how I can refuse. That would take care of my mortgage and the condo fees ‘til the end of the year. Give me a chance to save a little cash. And I’m freakin’ brilliant at the invisible ink. Anyone else he gets is going to do a shitty job.”
She’d obviously made up her mind. She wasn’t going to research the club or reconsider the subject matter, Chad knew that. Of course, she’d done tons of tattoos for customers who had countless numbers of strange reasons and requests. He’d met her less than a week after she’d started at More Ink, so he was pretty sure he’d heard just about all of them.
“If you’re going to say yes, ink master that you are, when you call him, tell him you want an extra eight fifty. Then you won’t have to drool over those pink lizard wedges every time we walk by the Louboutin display at Neiman’s.”
“What? He’s not going to pay—”
“He will. Men will give ‘til it hurts if it has to do with the people they truly desire. Ask him for an even ten grand and I’ll bet you a bag of donuts he doesn’t hesitate at all.” He walked toward her, hoping she’d take the bet. His latest addiction was the sugar-coated, Meyer lemon-filled concoctions at the new bakery on Level Two.
She looked up at him, the golden flecks in her eyes darkening, making her irises more green than blue. She reached out her hand to seal the deal. “No donuts, though. Neither one of us need them. I can barely fit in my jeans now, between that damn bakery and the late-night gelato runs. Joe expands the hours here and my ass expands exponentially. And you’re always telling me to keep you as low carb as possible.”
He took her hand, knew he’d be passing on the perfect opportunity to tell her that her ass was just fine. That men like him loved having something to hold on to when the heavy thrusting began. He squeezed her hand, tickling her fingers as he offered her a grin.
“No donuts, damn you. But if I’m right, you cook dinner. Your aunt’s Bolognese.” She groaned, tried to pull her hand free but he tightened his grip. “If you’re right, it’s a bottle of Rioja from my private stock and I’ll spring for the corkage fee at Sushi Blu.”
Her smile was quick and so bright
it made his heart stumble. He wanted to see her that way all the time. Morning and night. And at two in the afternoon over the coffee and biscotti that were now a moot point for today.
“You’re on,” she said, shaking his hand in earnest.
“One more thing,” he said, stepping closer until their feet were nearly touching. “You use me as the canvas. I’d feel a lot better if you brought me instead of one of your crazy-ass girlfriends.”
He felt the little shudder that went through her. Knew whatever apprehension she may have felt had evaporated with his declaration. But he also knew the part of her that thought she was invincible was getting ready to argue it wasn’t necessary. He headed her off. “Plus, I can finally get some free ink and avoid that ridiculous waiting list of yours. You come up with something awesome for me, Bec.”
She slid her fingers around his thumb and over his wrist, signaling she wanted a hand up.
He pulled her to her feet, not surprised when she wrapped her free arm around his waist and forced their joined hands lower so she could lean her upper body into him. She was a self-proclaimed hugger, the woman he was beginning to think he couldn’t live without. It had made him uncomfortable at first but now he looked forward to her caresses.
“Who’s better than you?” she asked, her delight clear in the tone of her voice.
“Yeah,” he agreed, wiggling his hand from her grasp to wrap his arms around her. He pulled her close, her breasts teasing his chest and he held her as long as he dared, determined to make her words a reality she could count on. He rubbed his jaw against the silky strands of her hair and whispered in her ear. “Who’s better than me?”
Chapter Two
So, Becca owed Chad a home-cooked meal and a kick-ass, glow-in-the-dark design. She texted him those exact words the minute she hung up with Andres, the man behind the private phone number.
She received an immediate reply.
SUCK-AH
Then the wink icon.
Becca had high hopes for dressing up and falling into a sushi comma. Who in their right mind dropped that kind of cash on five tattoos? She didn’t want to think about the man too much but his demand to see a trial run of her work annoyed her. Her skill spoke for itself but after a brief discussion she’d accepted the job. Right now, she needed to focus on perfecting his drawings and then she’d design something memorable for Chad. She’d arranged the audition for the following Monday, Chad’s day off. She could have done it on Tuesday when she was free and before he had to go back to the restaurant but she didn’t need the extra time. Two days was plenty of time to do a little research and sketch, even though her weekend appointments were pretty packed.
But Becca was a creature of habit, an organizer. Her previous life of providing social backup for her ex had necessitated time management and she’d carried those multitasking techniques right along with her to her new career. She’d found a great balance between working, spending time with her girlfriends and lending support to the few charities that remained near and dear to her heart. But the overtime Joey had offered with the extended hours had been attractive. She had a few material items from her divorce settlement but the cash portion wasn’t the golden payday it could have been. Becca knew, without careful planning and a good deal of personal restraint, it wouldn’t last for long.
The offer from Andres would ease a good portion of her angst. Much like Chad’s offer to accompany her had. Her relief had been immediate. It wouldn’t have mattered if it had been the grand poobah of one of the fraternal orders in town or the reigning maven of the garden club. She’d have been leery of anyone who had sent a mouthpiece to deliver an offer like that.
She pulled out a piece of vellum and cheap black and white colored pencils. They worked best for monochromatic designs. She traced a small circle in the upper right hand corner, over and over, deciding she’d concentrate on what Chad might want before she refined the drawings. If it wasn’t an audition, if she was given unlimited time, she’d work up something more in depth for him. But she was going to have to keep his newest ink pretty simple. It would unperceivable to the naked eye but she could go back over it later with color if he wanted. That way, he could see it in daylight and have it look extra kickass in the dark.
But wouldn’t it be nice if she could have something with a wow factor ready for him? God knew he’d wowed her enough over the past year. The girls told her he was the reason why she didn’t get her ass out there looking for a boyfriend. But why should she when he was meeting just about all her needs? He stimulated her mind, his communication skills were unbelievable, he was gorgeous as all get out, and he had the ability to rein her in without the slightest bit of heavy-handedness when she started getting a little too far off the charts.
All that’s left is the mind-blowing sex part.
Becca tried to ignore the voice in her head but since he’d offered to go with her to that club and be her human canvas, the time she spent thinking about him had quadrupled. She actually caught herself daydreaming of him loping up to her on a big, black Percheron. When she was married she used to fantasize about well-built blonds with bright-blue eyes. Shirtless firemen with massive pecs, their low-riding pants held up by thick suspenders. Bad boys on Harleys with their ponytails whipping in the breeze and biceps bulging against the sleeves of their tight black T-shirts.
How had those dreams evolved into images of a tall, dark-haired man with an athlete’s build reaching a hand down from his trusty—albeit thoroughly outdated—steed? It was crazy. She didn’t even like historical romance and that’s what the whole image was like. A flashback to the old-school covers of the books her mom used to read. The ones that were off-limits to her and her sister. Mickie had snagged them out of their parents’ closet and read them anyhow. Becca chose the bookmobile instead, where she stumbled across the horror and sci-fi genre and started drawing things that made her parents question her mental stability.
Her folks had nearly cried with joy when she’d met a nice, “normal” boy at an art gala and married him eleven months later. Thankfully, they’d honed their parental skills at judging a man’s character.
Becca didn’t need their opinions to know Chad was a gem, as her mother declared during a recent visit. Or a man who wouldn’t turn out to be as worthless as tits on a boar hog, according to her father, wordsmith that he was. She wasn’t sure if she should be happy or concerned over their two thumbs-up.
But Chad had never really led her to believe there could be something more than friendship on the table. And until recently, she hadn’t allowed herself to think it might be an option. The more comfortable she became with him, with the fact he truly seemed to not care about all the little things her ex had found annoying, she was starting to veer into that bad, bad area. The one where her feelings started to get the better of her and she forged ahead and possibly fucked up a good thing. She watched it happen all the time with her overzealous friends, both male and female.
His stepping up was huge and he did it in a way that didn’t scream, “Hey, look at me. Look what I’m doing for you.” She loved that about him. She jerked at that thought and stopped her mindless tracing. She glanced downward and the feeling that she was rushing headfirst into dangerous territory slammed against her rib cage as she saw how the tiny circle had morphed into a larger heart shape.
High school doodling, woman? Get a fucking grip.
Becca sat up straighter and gave herself a mental shake. If her interpretation of Chad’s actions was skewed, she couldn’t think about that now. She had some major drawing to do between they met the mysterious Andres.
“You sure you don’t want to take my car?” Chad hesitated outside the opened door of Becca’s Chevy Blazer. It was the only one of her ex’s collection of vintage vehicles that she’d fought for.
“Because nothing screams ‘I need more money for doing these tattoos’ faster than showing up in a Range Rover. Get in, funny guy.” She gave Chad a quick once-over, using an indulgent smile and the sar
castic tone to cover up the fact she’d checked out his out-of-the-ordinary, all-black attire. Under Armour fitted tee and cargo pants. If he was going for “badass with class” he had a very solid start.
He hauled himself in, setting a manila envelope between them on the worn red leather console. “Like they won’t recognize that this baby isn’t a piece of junk, despite the fact it needs a bit more refurbishment. You think that’s original 1978 putty on that back quarter panel? I hate to tell you what that exact shade reminds me of. It’s not even smoothed out well, kind of bubbled and wrinkly. You think I’m the only guy who thinks it looks like a vagi—”
“What do you have here?” she interrupted, tapping the package. She knew exactly what her latest foray into DYI bodywork resembled.
He buckled his seat belt and reached for the envelope. “Crash course. Bondage and Discipline 101.”
Becca looked in her side mirror and pulled out into the street. His condo was only ten minutes from the club.
“I’m not sure we have enough time.”
“Then let’s get a gallop on, shall we?” he suggested, pulling the papers free.
“Gallop on?” What was he talking about?
“That would be a pony play reference.”
“Pony—”
“Think butt plugs with horse’s mane attached. How bout we start with the Andres Herzog dossier before we move on to terminology and any further accoutrements.”
“Dear lord.” She’d been too busy with work and the designs to give anything else much thought but what the hell had happened to handcuffs and spanking?
“Exactly,” Chad said. “It seems like most people end up calling His name, if you know what I mean. Most are on the receiving end of leather floggers, electric fucking machines and supersonic vibrators.”
“Seriously?” She loved the smell of leather. Fucking machines didn’t sound so great but her interest was definitely piqued. “Where, exactly, can one get a supersonic vibrator?”
