Merry Inkmas: A BWWM Romance

by Talia Hibbert

  “Really? You got plans?” Cash had invited John home for Christmas after confirming that the other man had no family worth mentioning. John was settling into work well and they were looking into a flat for him, but he’d been set to spend Christmas alone. And Cash couldn’t have that.

  “Yep! This guy from work, Pete, he doesn’t get on with his family either. So we talked about it, and we’ve decided to spend Christmas together!”

  Cash felt a suspicious smile curve his lips. “Really? That’s very… Neat.”

  “Yep!” John said brightly. “Just two loners joining forces!”

  “Oh, that’s what it is, is it?”

  “Mmhm!”

  “Right. So you’re not interested in this Pete guy at all?”

  “Umm…” The embarrassment in John’s voice practically seeped through the phone. But then, after a pause, he said, “No more than you’re interested in Bailey.”

  “I’m not—” Cash stopped, dragging a hand across his face. Fuck. “Did she… Did she say anything to you?”

  “Nope,” John said smugly. “But you just did.”

  “You little shit.”

  “Merry Christmas!” John put the phone down.

  Ah, crap. Cash raked a hand through his hair, gazing at the soothing blankness of his bedroom ceiling. He could hear the faint notes of gospel music from the flat above. Mrs Adebayo must be cleaning.

  He should be pissed at John putting him on the spot. Instead, he was fighting the urge to grin like a sap. Which was bad. Very bad.

  He was beginning to think that this thing with Bailey wasn’t going to go like the rest of his… Relationships, if they could be called that. Things weren’t going the way they should. His feelings were too fast; everything else was too slow.

  But maybe that was the problem. Maybe he was spending too much time in his own head. She was only a woman, after all; she was only human. And she’d agreed to his terms, even if he couldn’t quite believe it.

  If Cash stopped torturing himself with the idea of her, stopped putting her on some kind of perfect pedestal and just had her…

  Well. Then he’d have had her, wouldn’t he? Past tense.

  Done.

  ∞∞∞

  On Monday morning, Cash arrived at the shop bright and early, more than ready to see the woman he’d spent his Sunday fantasising about. He parked his bike out the back, as always, and stamped carefully across the sheen of ice coating the carpark, his heart pounding almost as loud as his boots.

  But he frowned as he approached the shop: it looked dark. The lights were off. And when he tried to open the door, it didn’t budge.

  Because it was still locked. Because Bailey didn’t work Mondays.

  Fuck.

  The next day, Cash dragged himself in with fresh determination and no little frustration. And even though the lights were on, flooding the frozen street with warmth, and the door swung open when he pulled, he couldn’t help but worry that she’d be absent. That he’d have to spend another day desperate to see her, to speak to her, choking on words that had no outlet.

  But she was there, of course. Alone. Perched at the desk in one of her funny little Christmas jumpers, reading some huge book with tiny writing and lots of diagrams, a highlighter pen in her hand. She didn’t look up as he came in. She simply became still, painfully still, and her eyes flicked over lines of text rapidly, and the luminous yellow pen she was holding bobbed up and down in the air.

  Cash moved around the room, turning on all the Christmas lights. She didn’t ask—didn’t even acknowledge his presence—but he told her anyway.

  “I like it when it’s all lit up.”

  He thought she might not respond. But after a few moments, she murmured, “Okay.” Softly, absently. As though she hardly cared either way.

  But he knew the truth. She was nervous.

  He walked up to the front desk, leaned against it, his forearms inches away from her book. “What are you reading?” He asked.

  “Brain Asymmetry and Neural Systems.”

  “Sounds… Hard.”

  She finally looked up, and her dark gaze felt like a punch in the gut. “It’s okay,” she murmured. “Not the worst thing I’ve had to read.”

  “Right,” he said. “Listen—I wanted to talk to you.”

  “Okay.” She put her highlighter down in the middle of the book, then closed the pages around it. Resting her hands neatly on the desk, she straightened her spine, her eyes huge behind her glasses.

  “You don’t have to look so nervous,” he said.

  “I’m not nervous.”

  “Alright.”

  God, they sounded ridiculous. Like strangers or business associates or anything other than two people who’d drowned in each other’s air and loved it.

  “Bailey,” he began. “I really fucking like you.” Not what he’d meant to say. But it was true, and it was too late to take it back, so he forged on. “And I’m sorry about last night—if I did anything to make you uncomfortable. That’s not what I want.” He sighed, pushed a hand through his hair, his fingers itching for a pen. “You should know that if—if you want to change your mind, or you’re not sure—”

  “Not sure about what?” She said softly, cutting him off before he could ramble any further. “About us?”

  He grimaced. “About my…. Rules.”

  “That’s what you call it?” Her smile was wry, teasing. She wrapped a loc around her fingers, and Cash was suddenly desperate to do the same. To touch her somehow, not in passion but in casual intimacy. As if he had the right.

  And then, as though she’d heard his thoughts, she reached out and put her hand on his. Traced her fingers over the face of the moon etched into his skin. The simple touch was so achingly sweet, he found himself leaning forward until his forehead bumped hers, his eyes closed, his lips a breath away from their ultimate goal.

  “I’m not some kind of princess,” she whispered. “You don’t have to treat me like one.”

  “Yes you are,” he whispered back, “and yes I do.”

  “Fine. But princesses like no-strings sex just as much as the next girl.”

  Fuck.

  Just like that, he was hard as a rock. And then Bailey pulled away, sliding off her stool, her brown eyes glittering. Hungry.

  “Come round here,” she said.

  Well, shit. His cock straining against his jeans, Cash practically ran around to her side of the huge, high desk, his heartbeat pounding in his ears. He stood before her, the desk separating them from the rest of the world. And with a mischievous smile, she pulled him to her.

  Not by his hand. By his belt.

  “Sit,” she said lightly, pushing him towards the stool she’d just vacated. And then, before he could follow her instructions—“Oh, but wait. Let’s take these off first.”

  Cash watched in a daze as Bailey fucking Cooper, the woman he’d wanted for fucking weeks, undid his jeans and pushed them down his thighs.

  Was he high?

  Under the guiding force of her hand, he finally sat, watching her watch his cock. He was embarrassingly hard, considering they’d been talking for all of ten minutes. And he didn’t give a fuck; not when she stared down at his stiff length like it was everything she’d ever wanted.

  Bailey sank down onto her knees in front of him, her hands gliding over his muscled thighs, drawing closer and closer to his aching cock with every passing moment. He waited for what felt like a century as she studied him, a satisfied smile curving her lips.

  She might be satisfied, but he wasn’t.

  Yet.

  “Touch me,” he choked out, his voice hoarse.

  She looked up at him, arching a brow. “Where are your manners?”

  A growl of frustration tore from his throat as he gave into temptation and sank his hands into her hair. “Please.” He’d never begged a woman in his life. But whether she knew it or not, he was begging now.

  “Alright,” she whispered. He braced for the feel of her
soft hands on his cock.

  It never came.

  She lowered her head, looking up at him over her glasses, and slowly ran her tongue from the thick root of his dick up to the swollen head. Cash hissed out his relief, his need, his desperation, through clenched teeth. He tightened his grip, lacing his fingers through the slender locks of her hair, pulling just a bit, showing her exactly what he wanted.

  More.

  Apparently, she was happy to oblige.

  She gave him another hot, wet lick, and just as he thought he’d combust from the wanting, her plump lips finally slipped over the swollen head. He felt her tongue swirling around his fevered skin, lapping up his pre-cum. And then she sucked him deeper, her cheeks hollowing, her eyes wide.

  “Bailey,” he growled, watching as she swallowed him whole. He hit the back of her throat, felt her gag, felt her get over it. Holy shit. Then she took him deeper, and he realised he’d said the words aloud—was still saying them, under his breath like a prayer. “Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit…”

  She worked his shaft with the wet heat of her lush mouth, the pressure sending stars shooting through his mind. No dark thoughts now. No fucking thoughts at all. Just the sight of her coffee-coloured eyes, of Bailey on her knees before him in a fucking Christmas jumper, and the way he wanted to kiss her and come down her throat and hold her and fuck her senseless all at once—

  The front door creaked as it swung open, and Cash almost died. He was certain of it. His spirit jumped right out of his body.

  “Morning, boss! You okay?”

  Gem was standing in the doorway, stamping icy mud onto the welcome mat, her gaze blessedly on her precious, pink Doc Martens.

  Cash stood up, sat down, stood up, remembered that the desk was high enough to hide Bailey—and his naked erection—and settled for leaning against its surface with what he hoped was nonchalance. By the time Gem looked up, her smile bright as always, the orgasm that had been racing towards him like a freight train had come to a screeching halt.

  “Hey, Gem!” He said, and shit, was that too… jovial?

  Apparently so. Gem paused in the act of unzipping her coat, giving him a quizzical look. “Are you okay?

  “Um…”

  “What are you doing down here, anyway? Where’s Bailey?”

  “I’m here!” Bailey breezed, popping up from beneath the desk like a fucking daisy. His wilting dick was still wet from her lips, and she was smiling and nudging up her glasses like nothing had happened.

  “What were you doing down there?” Gem frowned.

  Cash almost choked.

  “Dropped a pen,” Bailey said, sauntering out from behind the desk. “Cash is just checking the booking spreadsheet I made.”

  Gem wavered for a moment. He could almost see the indecision on her face. The woman knew him well enough to realise that he wanted Bailey, that was for sure—but she also knew Bailey. Sweet, sensible Bailey.

  Bailey Cooper would never suck her boss’s cock behind the reception desk, would she?

  In Gem’s mind, apparently not. Because her face cleared and she said, “Oh, you did one? I was supposed to do that. But I didn’t.”

  Bailey laughed along with her. “I don’t blame you. It was a pain in the arse. But I’ve been meaning to talk to you about the wreath we put over Jay’s desk…” She led Gem off towards the stairs, nattering away about the Christmas decorations in the office.

  But then, just when he thought he’d have a few precious minutes to pull up his damn jeans, Bailey paused. There was a teasing glint in her eye as she called over her shoulder, “Oh—your one o’clock had to cancel. He wanted to know when you’re next available for a two-hour session.”

  He waited for her to continue.

  She didn’t.

  “And you said?” He finally gritted out.

  “That he should call in the new year, when we start the next cycle.”

  “Good.”

  It was a method they’d devised a while back, after the books began to fill up months in advance. They only accepted appointments in three-month cycles: the books opened once every quarter, and that was that.

  “He was pissed.”

  “I’m sure he’ll live.” But I might not if you don’t get Gem out of here before anyone else arrives.

  Her amusement written all over her face, she turned and continued towards the stairs. But then a thought hit, and Cash found himself calling after her.

  “Hey. Do you want to take my one o’clock?”

  She looked back. “What?”

  “Your tattoo. Want to do it today?”

  He held her gaze steadily, letting her see the dare in his eyes. And he watched as expressions flitted across her face: surprise, hesitation, wariness, and then defiance.

  “Okay,” she said finally. “Sure. Whatever.”

  He arched a brow.

  “I said yes,” she snapped, glancing pointedly at Gem, and then at the door. Oh, now she cared about his hidden nudity.

  “Alright then,” he smirked. “I’ll hold you to that.”

  She scurried off up the stairs, dragging a baffled Gem behind her.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Sweet Baby Jesus in a manger, why the fuck had she said yes?

  She must have been light-headed. From standing up too fast. Or choking on Cash’s absurdly beautiful cock.

  One of those. Bailey lay back against the huge leather chair where she’d been rather wonderfully ravished just a few days ago. Before she’d ruined it, that is.

  Now her skin was tingling, her face was warm and her heart was pounding, but there was nothing wonderful about it. She was absolutely shitting herself.

  Gem stood over her, looming like a fuchsia-haired ghost. She was chewing on some obnoxiously bright Hubba-Bubba, pausing every few minutes to blow an acid-green bubble.

  “You nervous?” She asked, chomping away.

  “No,” Bailey said. She heard Cash snort, and turned sharply to look at him--but he was bent over his tattoo gun, his face blank. Hm.

  “She’s bricking it,” Jay chuckled from a few feet away, working on a client of his own. The client, a huge bald guy with a long, white beard, was having his bare belly tattooed, a concept which made Bailey’s own stomach tighten reflexively. That had to hurt.

  But he was grinning merrily. “Don’t worry, m’love,” he said in a broad, local accent, the kind her grandmother had spoken in before she’d died years ago. “Y’ be alright.” He gave her a wink.

  She smiled weakly back at him. “Thanks.”

  “Okay,” Cash said at last. He’d been fiddling at his little station for a good ten minutes now, and her anxiety had built with each second. “Take ‘em off.” He nodded down at her jeans.

  She stared at him, aghast. “Oh my God, no.”

  “Bailey,” he said patiently. “While I have many talents, I cannot tattoo you through denim.”

  Of course he couldn’t. What was wrong with her? She’d been so worked up over the pain, and whether she was about to cry like a little girl and embarrass herself—the practicalities had completely slipped her mind.

  “I—I just… I forgot you’d have to… Oh, God.”

  He chuckled, shaking his head. “It’s alright. We’ll draw the curtain.”

  “Do you want my hoodie?” Gem asked brightly. “To go over your—“

  “Yes! Please!”

  “Alright.” Gem gave Cash a look. “Bugger off, then. Let us get ready.”

  “Must I?” He sighed dramatically. But he was already standing up. He drew the curtain around their little area, shutting himself and everyone else out. But Bailey could still hear the buzzing of Jay’s tattoo gun, and the subtle aggression of the sound had nerves coiling in her gut like a pile of worms.

  “Come on then,” Gem said briskly, pulling off her hoodie.

  “Oh, yeah.” Bailey stood and unbuttoned her jeans, beginning the rather awkward process of peeling the stretch-denim from her thighs. “Thanks so much, Gem.”
/>   “No worries. But you won’t be able to put those on after, you know.”

  “Oh, crap.”

  “I’ll nip out to the shops and get you something.”

  “You’re a lifesaver.” Bailey freed herself from the jeans and straightened up, folding them neatly. At least she was wearing decent underwear.

  “What size are you?”

  “Um…”

  “I can look at your label,” Gem murmured, “if you don’t want to say.”

  “No, no. It’s fine. Eighteen. On the bottom, anyway.”

  “Cool.”

  Bailey sat back against the huge seat, and Gem bustled around her, arranging the hoodie over her lap so that only one thigh was exposed.

  “Alright,” she called after a few final tucks. “We’re decent!”

  “Bailey might be,” Jay called back, “but you aren’t.”

  “Hilarious.” Gem rolled her eyes as Cash stepped back through the curtain. “I’ll be off, then. Won’t be long.”

  “Okay,” Bailey said. Her voice was unnaturally high and strained. She cleared her throat and offered Gem a tight smile. “See you in a bit.”

  “See you!” In a flash of grey, plastic-y curtain, Gem was gone.

  Cash sat beside her once more, his eyes tender. “You okay?” He asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “Nervous?”

  “Maybe. A little bit.” She thought for a second. “Do you think we could open the curtain now? So I have something to distract me from… You know.”

  “Of course,” he said softly. He stood up again and pushed the curtain back, bringing Jay and his bearded client into view again.

  “This your first one, is it, love?” The man asked.

  “Yeah,” Bailey said. Had breathing always been this hard?

  “Bit nervous, are ye?”

  She jumped as Cash pressed a piece of transfer paper to her outer thigh. “Um. A little bit.”

  “Just got to get on with it, that’s all m’duck!”

  Cash touched her forearm. “How’s that?” He asked, nodding towards at her lap.

  She looked down and found the rose design she’d loved so much, blown up and covering her leg in dark blue ink. A slow smile spread across her face as she studied it, and her clamouring nerves quieted, just a touch.