Bad Ink

by Megan Hetherington

  The fucks are no less predictable.

  For me, I supposed this arrangement between us could go on forever. I’ve been in no hurry for anything more. But him? I’m surprised he’s lasted this long. Sure, to begin with, he was taking the edge off his sexual needs so he could focus on his career. But he’s qualified now and has good case results, so it makes no sense he’s not settled with a girlfriend; or even a wife, a couple of kids, and a lifetime membership at the country club.

  Me, however, I’m an entirely different matter. There was only ever one man for me—the father of my child. Isaac. And now he’s back.

  Realizing I’ll get shortchange from this line of conversation, I leave Nate to suck cautiously on his cigarette and go in search of a bottle of water from his underwhelmingly-stocked refrigerator. As usual, there’s nothing else in it other than stacks and stacks of water. The guy lives off powder and water. Protein powder and vitamin-enhanced shakes that is, not the narcotic variety. Nate is far too sensible for that. His post-coital Marlboro, his most damaging vice and a packet lasts him several months.

  I recline against the countertop sipping on the water while the coffee machine does its thing. Thoughts invading my mind of Isaac and what type of sex he has now. I should imagine he’s brutal with the women he fucks. And I bet they’re stunning as hell. I glance down at Nate’s Gulls tee I’ve pulled on, and wiggle my toes, sighing at the chipped nail polish, worn away by sand and shingle on the beach earlier today.

  “You making coffee or what?” Nate calls from his bedroom.

  “Who do you think you’re talking to, asshole?” I shout back, pushing off the counter so I can scout in his cupboard for dairy-free creamer.

  Moments later, he pads into the kitchen, resting his pajama-clad hip against the doorjamb and stares at me. “What’s up with you?”

  I rattle a spoon noisily in a cup as I stir in the creamer and consider playing with him but it hardly seems worth it. “Nothing. Why?”

  His eyes lift from my feet all the way to my eyes. “There is something up with you. You don’t normally snap out.”

  I shrug my shoulders. I’m difficult, I know it. My resting bitch-face would have most men worrying what they’d done wrong, never mind a quip from my sharp tongue.

  “Nothing at all. I’m tired.” Which isn’t a total lie.

  “Okay. Just checking. You know I like what we’ve got going here.” He prods my stomach with his fingers. “But you get I’m not looking for anything more.”

  This isn’t a question, and he has no interest in asking whether I am—looking for more, that is. He’s merely restating his position. Which is all right with me.

  “Fine,” I sigh on an exasperated breath.

  “Oh, and also, the text you sent about me checking on you. I didn’t text your friends. It’s not my style. I’m not bothered if you go off with someone else. I’d never be jealous.”

  Then, without waiting for a reply, he picks up his coffee and saunters back to the bedroom. I rest my stomach against the sink and lower my head to watch frothy, brown bubbles slide off the spoon and down the drain.

  He’s right of course, there is something wrong with me. It’s only I don’t know what to make of it. The range of emotions too hard and too complex to decipher. On one hand, I could kick and scratch and punch Isaac until my feet, fists, and nails are raw. But, on the other hand, I want him to take me, to own me, and to devour me in a way no man has.

  When Isaac and I were together, it was a sweet teenage love. Full of stuttered dates and discovering each other’s bodies. But now I’m a woman and he’s a man and I need to know what it feels like.

  I wonder if there’s a way for me to find out. To get him out of my system. Because no way will he be a father to Hope—that option is well and truly crossed out. Me and him? I’m not sure.

  Unable to drift off, I listen to Nate snore and chuckle in his sleep for a few hours before I order a cab home.

  It’s appropriate for me to leave a note for Nate, suggesting we give it a rest for a while. Because my mind and body are not in this anymore.

  Exhausted, but with a strange and unwelcome desire to fuck more, I take a cab home in the early hours. My night with Nate was predictable but this lingering sensation of sexual dissatisfaction is a new feeling which worries me because I know exactly what’s causing it. Isaac.

  “Pull in here.” I point over the shoulder of the cab driver to my little house, on the left.

  As the card reader scans my Apple Pay, I notice the twitching drapes in my neighbors’ houses. There seem to be a few this morning. It’s not unusual for my neighbors to watch my comings and goings. They’re looking out for me. And, as early risers, they often witness me coming home in the small hours. It’s only, today there’s a heightened level of surveillance—more drapes open than not.

  I grab my purse and my shoes and tip-toe across the cool grass verge onto my driveway.

  The vision hits me square between the eyes.

  “What the…?” I suck in a sharp breath and drop my shoes and purse to the floor.

  My head snaps around in search of my car and, in the distance, I spot a tow-truck with my battered Ford Focus strapped to its back. Then, I flash back to the Porsche Panamera sat snugly in my driveway.

  As if the sight of the gleaming, smoke-gray sports car isn’t enough, it’s topped with a huge, yellow, satin bow. I wipe the spittle from the corner of my mouth which has leaked out whilst my jaw has been slack. Repeatedly, rotating my head like a fan at a tennis match, from my car disappearing around the corner, back to this monstrosity on my drive.

  Only one person could be behind this.

  “What are you spending money on that heap of crap for?” I mutter in a whiny voice. Repeating the words Isaac uttered to me yesterday.

  I pick up my belongings and storm into the house, sidestep a gold envelope on the doormat and go straight to the window to look at the car from a different angle. Yeah. It’s still the same—sat there in all its fucked-up glory.

  But why? Isaac made it perfectly clear, to the point of kidnapping me, to make sure I understood he wanted nothing more to do with me. Now this?

  I think of my options. What am I going to do? I don’t know where my car has gone and I’m not a hundred percent confident this is Isaac’s doing.

  Glancing back at the envelope on the doormat, I pad towards it. It has my name on the front, and I guess it has something to do with the car. So, I pick it up. My finger slides easily under the gummed flap and inside there’s a key on a Porsche decorated chain, set into a thick card. The only words printed on it are, “Congratulations! Enjoy your new ride.” I flick the card over repeatedly to search for a name but there’s nothing. No car dealership name. No note from the gift bearer. Nothing.

  But it’s got Isaac’s mark all over it. This is definitely of his doing.

  Slumped on the sofa, I spin the key around my finger, while weighing up my options.

  Keep it. Return it. Keep it. Sell it. Keep it.

  The gigantic, yellow bow is still in my sight and I’m annoyed with how cheerful it looks. So I storm outside, grab hold of a strand and tug at it. It won’t budge. I rush back to the house, grab a pair of scissors from a kitchen drawer and come back to hack it off.

  Close-up the car looks beautiful and I can’t resist peering through the smoked-glass windows. Pristine white, Napa-leather cloaks luxuriously styled seats. Matt black dash and center console, trimmed with graphite. It’s a dream.

  With arms full of the satin ribbon, I bundle it back into the house, thrusting it in to a trashcan where it unfurls and pushes off the lid. I sigh a heavy breath. What’s happened to my weekend? The normal turn of events when I drink too much alcohol, dance too long in my heels, and satiate my sexual needs with my fuck-buddy.

  With a quick glance at my watch, I realize I need a plan, otherwise I will pick Hope up in that monstrosity and that cannot happen.

  I go upstairs and take a quick shower counting on th
e pulsing water to clear the fog from my brain. As I step out of the cubicle, I almost slip on a pool of water leaking from the tray and the jolt bolsters my resolve.

  Isaac needs to take this crap back.

  With no way of contacting him, I’ll have to turn up. Despite his warnings yesterday. He’s the cause of my disobedience. So I’ll go to his gym. Fling the key in his face, and… well I’ll figure it out when I get there.

  I dress without care, pulling a ball cap onto my still damp hair, a fresh cami-top and the shorts I had on yesterday. I’m not trying to win him over and right now I don’t give two hoots if he thinks I look like a tramp.

  Pushing my phone into the back pocket of my denim shorts, I grip the envelope in between my teeth and pull the bow from the trashcan.

  If he’s taking the car back, then he can have it all.

  It takes longer than it should, for me to find the door release on the key fob and, when I lower into the bucket seat, it’s form scoops around my backside and shoulders; relaxing me gently into its hug. My hands position perfectly on the stitched-leather steering wheel and it gives slightly to the touch. The smell is intoxicating. And, although I’ve never smelt it before, I recognize it to be the new car smell everyone raves about.

  Even though I don’t want it to, it feels beautiful

  What I wouldn’t give to own a car like this.

  I shake my head and then look for the next cryptic puzzle. How to start the monster. As everything in life, I work it out and the noise the car makes is insane. Then, I panic when I notice the shift stick. Crap. My dad told me I should learn to drive a manually geared car, but I pooh-poohed him saying there was no need. Well, there’s every fucking need now. And, if I don’t want to launch myself through the fence into my neighbors’ front yard then I will have to get my head around it. Now.

  After several maneuvers I edge the beast out of the driveway and rumble away up the street, with icy air floating over me from the air-vents and plenty of stares from passersby.

  Unfortunately, it seems I’m enjoying this.

  By the time I arrive at Isaac’s gym, the beast is mastered. To be fair, it didn’t take long as this car is meant to be driven. I roll passed the space I occupied previously; judging it too small for me to back into. There’s a spot further along the street and I’m not concerned how far away it is. Isaac is welcome to the inconvenience.

  Psyching myself for another showdown, I hop out of the car before remembering my phone which I tossed onto the passenger seat when I first got in. Kneeling back in, I reach across the console to retrieve it.

  The panic in my scream is very real and only stops when the peak of my ball cap hits the passenger window, digging the rim back into my forehead.

  The force of whatever has rocketed my ass across the center console lets up. I screw my head around to find Isaac sat in the driver’s position with a scowl plastered across his face. Reaching across, he wrenches the car keys out of my grip, starts the car, and blasts us away down the street.

  For the second time this weekend I find myself at the mercy of his kidnapping habit.

  “I thought I made myself clear?” he bellows, bearing his teeth like a rabid dog and pushing the car through its gears.

  I squirm into a seated position and pull down the vanity mirror, cautiously removing my cap to see if there’s blood.

  “But you…” I start to reason, then change my mind and scream back at him, “Fuck you.” Snapping the mirror cover back to the roof.

  I glare across at him. His arm is high, triceps bulging from beneath a tight white tee. The other arm rests on the center console, giving a concave shape to his chest in a sexy and delicious manner. Fuck, he looks good.

  “I came to give you this car back.” I say, still focused on tracing the cotton-clad muscle lines.

  “Every other girl would take it. View it as a parting gift or something?”

  “I’m not every other girl.” Re-seating the cap on my head.

  “No shit?” He snaps his head, and with a tic to his jaw floats his eyes up and down me.

  I’m immediately conscious of what I’m wearing, taking off the cap and ruffling my fingers through my hair.

  “I didn’t ask you to buy me a car, or a parting gift, or any such crap. So, you can take it back. I don’t want shit from you, Isaac Winters.”

  With eyes fixed on the road ahead, he clenches the muscles at his jawline.

  “Where are you taking me, anyway?”

  “Somewhere we can talk.” His grip tightens on the steering wheel and he pushes his foot on the gas. The back of my head presses to the seat.

  “We’ve got nothing to talk about.” I cross my arms tightly across my chest, shirking the desire to grab onto the handle above the door as he careens the car down back-streets and across intersections.

  Suddenly, we veer a sharp left off the street, dropping to a roll shutter door, which slides open as we approach and we plummet into an underground parking lot. The xenon headlights flash on and the interior instrument dials illuminate green.

  Unexpectedly, he throws the car into a parking spot, turns off the engine and grabs hold of my wrist; pulling me across the passenger seat and out to the cool, damp space. He strides us toward the elevator doors, the only feature brightly lit in this otherwise dingy place. I frantically try to grapple my wrist from his grip, the skin burning as I twist and pull. But I’m nowhere near strong or quick enough and he’s yanked me into the elevator cab before I’ve broken free.

  Bright lights illuminate the full extent of his fury. A furrowed brow and teeth clamped together, his chest pumped in frustration.

  “Where are you taking me?” I bark out at him.

  His face continues to stare at the crack in the elevator doors while his jaw tics furiously.

  If ever there was a dangerous-looking guy, then it’s this man stood at the side of me. I’ve never felt as weak and wanting.

  With my mind occupied by his looks and my body aching for his touch, I chastise myself when the elevator reaches the top level—I should have spent the time planning my escape or at least coming up with a few lines to hit him with instead of ogling his perfection.

  As he opens a sleek steel door, I’m drawn into the most spectacular living space I’ve ever seen. It’s the kind of swanky apartment which would grace the pages of an interior design magazine. The expanse of white and shagpile is opulent whilst also ludicrous. The picture windows lining the far wall must command a sizeable price tag as they offer an unprecedented view of the city.

  I flex my toes in the luxurious carpet and take a few deep breaths. Glancing across at him, I wonder how this has come about.

  Before I can ask, he makes his move. A deep growl emanating from his chest should warn me this is not what it seems. And, with my lips parted and poised to shoot out the thousand questions I have of his situation, he pins my arms above my shoulders onto the wall and ravishes my mouth with his.

  I don’t give up. But I also don’t reject his assault. With every ounce of energy I possess, I fight back with my tongue, my teeth, and my pumped-up lips.

  He loosens his grip on my arm when he realizes I’m giving as good as I get, so I throw my arms around his neck and dig my nails into his scalp pressing his face deeper into mine.

  But I’m no match for his fighter-trained hands which come to my ass and, with flesh filling both of his palms, he pulls me onto his waist. I hook my legs around the small of his back, feeling the hardness of his cock on my apex; rubbing against it as he strides us through the room.

  After a few paces, he launches me onto a pristine white sofa which fills a sunken seating area in the middle of the room.

  When the air blasted out of my lungs returns, I manage to utter a few words. “What do you want from me?” I ask, my chest heaving and my heart beating in anticipation of the one response I desire.

  He towers above for a couple of beats before dipping toward me. “Something I should have done before now,” he growls, lower
ing onto his knees and forcing open my legs.

  The dark, lustful look in his eyes is terrifying. I’ve seen nothing as intense directed at me.

  He is too much of a man. Or beast.

  He’s not the man I dreamed about having a life with, when laid in bed with a child suckling at my breast. A life full of children’s birthday parties and trips to the mall. Of vacations at hotels with water parks and Disney. Oh my god, how Hope would love Disney.

  That man, I buried not once or even twice but time and time again when snippets of news about his endurance became clear. The final splinter of the dream shattered when I saw him last week in the flesh. The image blown out of my mind for the final time.

  My palms reach to his collarbone and I drag my fingertips across the black and gold ink marks of his pulsing skin. Then I run my nails over his tee, bumping over the tiny buds of his nipples as I glide to his waistband. My reaction is impulsive and the heat building in my core is insane. I want to feel his bare skin and I grab hold of his tee to free it from the waistband of his shorts.

  Without warning, his hand squeezes on to mine, pushing it against my throbbing and now soaking wet pussy.

  13

  Isaac

  “Stop.” I pull to a sitting position and grasp hold of the back of my neck.

  She doesn’t move, laid on my sofa, her chest heaving with ragged breaths.

  “Me stop?” she guffaws, pushing on to her elbows. “I can’t fucking believe you… Me stop?” she mutters, as she wriggles toward the edge of the expansive sofa.

  “You don’t want me, Cate. I can’t give you what you want.”

  “Let me be the judge of that.” She flashes a scowl at me. A scowl which reignites the burning embers in the core of my stomach.

  “Careful, Kitty,” I drawl, licking my lips.

  I grab hold of her hand and she turns while trying to yank it from my grasp. When she realizes she’s not going anywhere, her top lip quivers, and she growls which almost makes me laugh. It’s more like a purr and does fucked-up things to my balls. But I don’t laugh. This is serious shit and I almost lost it. With her.