“Yes. I—”
He glanced at her, his clear eyes piercing, almost peeling back the mask of nervousness she tried to hide. She dipped her gaze. “I thought I’d have to beg some more.”
Rayden laughed, the rich sound curling its way around her belly and awakening another part of her anatomy further down.
“Well, if you want to make it less awkward and beg instead, I’m open to that.”
He spread his legs and leaned back. Betty shifted in her seat. Her pulse raced in her ears, and her body tingled with sexual awareness. Begging? She hadn’t gotten on her knees to do so since Antonio.
Antonio.
One time, he’d asked her to crawl for twenty-four hours. She didn’t question it and just obeyed. He always knew what was good for her. Or it’s what she’d believed back then. Now, though, she didn’t know this man, and his intent was very different from what Antonio’s had ever been—yet, the idea of getting on all fours wasn’t unappealing.
“Betty.” Rayden gripped her knee, his powerful touch grounding her and bringing her back to the moment. She gazed at him. Consternation furrowed his brow. “I was just joking, baby doll. I would never ask you to do something like that, not unless we had a different kind of relationship.” He winked, and a blush crept up her cheeks, burning them.
“Come on. Let’s go see your breast so we can figure out if the tattoo would look good there or not. You don’t need to give me an answer about the apprenticeship right now.” He grabbed a yellow Post-it and scribbled something. “That’s my phone number. Give the apprenticeship some thought and call me later in the evening.”
Betty stiffened. Was he dismissing her? No way. She’d work too hard to get here to have him brush her off.
“There’s nothing to think about. I want to apprentice with you. I want to learn how to bring art to life on skin, and I want to learn how to do the best cover-ups.”
Rayden’s gaze danced over her face. She held her ground. She had come to see him for two reasons, and she wasn’t about to back down now, not when she’d gotten this far. She wouldn’t let Antonio’s memory ruin things for her again.
“All right, then. We’ll talk about conditions later, after we’re done with your tat. I want to get some ink on you.”
“Thank you, Rayden.” She exhaled slowly.
“Don’t thank me yet, Betty.” He gave her a pointed look, then, spun to face his computer. “You’ve got a good number of tats, so I imagine you’re aware of the first steps of the process.”
“Yeah, you have to transfer my design onto thermal paper.”
“Yep. The software we use makes it pretty simple. I’ll teach you more about it another day. Then, we print, and then I take the customer, you, into one of the private rooms.”
“Got it.”
“Have you signed the paperwork?”
“Signed and paid.”
“Good. Then, let’s go.”
He led her down the hall to one of the rooms marked Private. Ink in process.
“In here. Ladies first.”
“Thanks.”
She entered the small space. It was equipped with a dentist style chair, a stool as well as cupboards, and shelves with all the necessary tools for creating a tattoo.
“Take off your shirt and sit on the bed,” Rayden said, while going to one of the cabinets in the room.
“Do you normally speak like that to your customers?” Betty asked, whipping her shirt over her head.
“What do you mean?”
“Direct, as if you were giving an order and expected it to be followed.”
Rayden glanced at her. His gaze dipped to her breasts, her nipples hardening and her skin heating under his gaze. Her breath stuck in her throat. She had more than twenty tattoos over her body and she’d never had this reaction to any artist. She waited, breath bated, for him to respond, hoping she hadn’t just ruined her chances to work for him.
His lips quirked.
“You’ll soon learn I’m bossy.” His clear eyes narrowed, and his grin turned predatory. “Dominant.”
Betty’s heart summersaulted.
“Should I call you ‘Sir’, then?” The words were out of her mouth before she had time to process them. “Fuck,” she swore loudly as she realized what she’d said.
Rayden’s deep-throated laughter did little to comfort her. When he took a step in her direction, she stiffened. Her body waged a war. Arousal clashed against uncertainty. Her body claimed attention, but her mind reeled with memories of a man who had never known the meaning of boundaries and had just taken everything he could from her, regardless of the pain he’d left behind.
“I’m not going to hurt you, baby doll.” Rayden plucked her shirt from her hands. “And unless you want to terminate this apprenticeship right now and have me push you against the nearest wall and fuck you mercilessly, then no, I don’t suggest you call me Sir.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, letting out a long breath.
Rayden tsked.
“Don’t you dare be sorry, Betty. It’s obvious we’ve connected. Chemistry, some people would call it. It’s raw and pure, and we can’t help it. If we’d met in different circumstances, I’d be bent on taking you home, tying you up and fucking you, but as it is, we’re going to have to work together.”
“You could have not offered me to apprentice for you.”
Rayden shrugged. “Initially, it’s what I was going to do.”
“So what changed?”
“You’ve got talent, and I’d be a fool not to recognize it and help you move forward in life. It would have been very selfish of me, don’t you think? I’m dominant, bossy, and crass at times, but I try to be a good man.”
Betty pressed her lips together. She’d never had anyone, much less a man, put her needs before his own.
“Thank you,” she finally said.
“You’re welcome.” Rayden gave her a warm smile. “Now, this is going to sound awful considering I just told you I want to fuck you.” Betty’s breath caught, and her pussy moistened. “But I need you to take off your bra so we can figure out your tattoo.”
“Not awful,” she said. “A little weird perhaps.” She tried to make light of the situation, but her nipples were hard knots, desperately aching to be released and seen by Rayden.
“Don’t worry. I’m a professional,” he said.
“I know.”
She reached behind her and unhooked her bra. Settle down, Betty. Now comes the part where he becomes shocked. Though she’d expected Rayden’s reaction, it still hurt when she heard his sharp intake of breath. It never got old. Doctors, guys she’d dated. They all had the same response when they saw the scar on her left breast.
“What happened?” Rayden asked softly. He ran his thumb across the ugly line which extended from her nipple to almost her armpit. Gone was the playfulness with which they’d been interacting up until now. He touched her with reverence and no certain amount of sympathy. At least, he wasn’t recoiling and shaking his head. One guy had basically left running when he saw her breast.
Betty debated on what to tell Rayden. Usually, she went with the motorcycle accident story. Glass had cut into her flimsy shirt, and it was a miracle she hadn’t lost her breast altogether. For some reason, though, she didn’t want to lie to Rayden. He’d told her in no uncertain terms, he was part of a world she’d long since abandoned. BDSM. A lifestyle in which if things got out of hand, people could seriously get hurt. He had to know the consequences.
“We lost control of the game,” she said.
“Knife play.”
“More like knife butchery. But, yeah, we could call it that.”
“Your kink?”
“Not really. We were, um, experimenting.”
“And what conclusion did you come to?”
“I enjoy pain but not blood.”
“Then we’d be a perfect match.” He seemed to realize what he’d said, because he sucked in his cheeks, then slowly exhaled. “They did a poor jo
b at sewing it up at the hospital,” he said, running a gloved finger across the puckered pink flesh.
“We didn’t go to the hospital.”
His head snapped up, and his blue eyes bored into her. “Why?”
“It’s a long story.”
“I have time.”
“It’s not relevant to my tattoo or my work here.”
Rayden dipped his head and returned to exploring the six-inch scar.
“I’m sorry,” he said after a moment. “Does it hurt?”
“No.”
He pulled the skin, testing out the elasticity. Abruptly, he pinched. She cried out in shock. Her clit pulsated, sending pinpricks of desire coursing through her.
“Pain?”
“No,” she replied hoarsely. “You caught me by surprise.” She waited for him to ask more, but he remained silent.
“Why haven’t you gotten it covered up before?”
“I tried. Three different artists refused, so I gave up.”
“How do you know I’ll do it?”
“Because you’re the best.”
Rayden grinned.
“You bet I am. We’ll have to make some modifications to your design though. It’s a bit too big for the space, and if we fit it in horizontally as you’d originally designed it, it’s going to look awkward.”
“Oh.”
“I’m not the best for no reason, baby doll.”
Rayden handed her the bra and shirt. Betty pulled them on.
“By the way, that butterfly could use some touching up,” he said, skimming his fingertips across her ribs. “How long have you had it?”
“Almost a decade.”
“And the one on your belly? It’s impressive. It’s a cover-up, isn’t it?”
Betty glanced down at the mandala design she’d gotten seven years ago.
“Yes,” she replied. “How’d you know?”
Rayden pulled his gloves off with a snap. “Years of experience,” he said.
Chapter Four
Rayden’s heart drummed in his ears. He was lying. He had no way of telling if Betty’s tattoo was a cover up or not. It’d been a far-out cry, but fortunately, he hadn’t been wrong. The tattoo on her belly was a cover-up, and he knew Betty.
Perhaps not knew, but he’d met her once before. No, not even that. He’d seen her. Spread out and on display for everyone to touch as if she were nothing more than a mere object. His stomach revolted at the memory. She’d been sprawled out naked, and semi-conscious, on the expensive black leather couch. He remembered pointing out her state to his mentor, Kento, and being told it was none of his business what Antonio did. The drug lord had heard him though and had gone up to Betty. Pulling her to her feet, he’d forced her to introduce herself.
“My name is Becky, and I’m your whore for the day.” Betty twirled, displaying her lithe body. He stared at her ink, trying to focus on the art on a too-thin body and not the nudity and bruises. Back then, she’d only had the roses on her forearm and a butterfly with blue wings beneath her ribs.
The men present: guards, associates, his boss, all laughed. Betty slumped back onto her seat. Giggling madly, she’d spread her legs, displaying her clean-shaven pussy for everyone to see.
“Come and get it,” she drawled.
It took mere seconds before one of the men went up to her, unzipping his pants.
“Wait up, Alfonzo,” Antonio had called out. “I need her.”
“Of course.”
Alfonzo had backed off and Antonio had gone to Betty.
“We’re going to tattoo her first,” Kento said, motioning for him to help him bring forth the equipment.
“Is this legal? She’s barely conscious. Why didn’t they go to the studio?”
Kento shrugged.
“Antonio is a powerful man. What he does isn’t our business. Sometimes an artist has to know when to shut up and just do his job. Watch and learn, boy, and if you can’t stomach it, you can go home, but don’t bother to come back.”
Rayden hesitated. If he left, he’d lose the chance of a lifetime. Word would spread he couldn’t stomach tattooing, and he’d never amount to anything. Head pounding, he made his decision. Taking a step back, he watched Antonio hold Betty down. Not that there was any need for it. She’d passed out and didn’t move an inch as the needle painted on her skin. He glanced at her body. She was petite, probably little more than five foot five, and too thin. Her ribs stood out, as did the bruises, cuts, and scratches dotting her body. Rayden swallowed. His lunch churned in his belly. He moved his gaze to the blue butterfly. It was a simple piece, with no major intricacies, except, he realized, within each wing, there were hidden initials. M.E.
Rayden glanced down at the new ink being forcibly painted on her flesh. He paled.
“What are you doing to her?” he cried.
“Marking her for what she is: my property.”
Antonio grinned. Bile rose to the back of Rayden’s throat. His gut told him to stop this, but he didn’t. No one did anything. Not even him. He’d been too afraid, too fearful of the repercussions if he reported the situation as abuse, so he’d kept quiet and stuck to what he’d come to do. Learn how to tattoo from his mentor. The process took less than thirty minutes. The words written in Kento’s unsteady freestyle handwriting stood out starkly in her pale skin.
Antonio’s Slave.
He hadn’t bothered to stencil it in first or make it look pretty. It wouldn’t matter. She was simply property, and this was just a tag to mark it as such.
Rayden glanced at Betty now. Should he tell her she was the reason he’d become an expert at cover-ups? Probably not. She’d come to hide another mistake from her past, and the last thing she needed was a reminder. Besides, who knew how she’d react if he told her he’d been there that day? She’d be angry, upset, maybe even accuse him of neglect. He would. Even today, he still beat himself up for not having done anything. Now, more than ever, he felt the need to become her teacher. She wanted to learn how to do cover-ups, so he’d set his goddamn libido aside and he’d teach her and make her the best at it.
“We’re going to the Ink-Fest this weekend. It’s two hours from here, but it’s a great opportunity to network, show people your art, and check out what’s new in the market. As my apprentice, you should come,” he said. “I can introduce you to some people, and you can get a close up look at how different artists work.”
Betty glanced up from her drawing, where she was making the modifications he’d requested.
“That’d be amazing. At what time?”
“From ten to ten.”
“Oh. Um, could I go in the afternoon? I have to work in the morning.”
“Sure. We’re probably going to take turns anyways. Andre, my associate, will go part of the day, and I’ll go another part. Give me your number, and I’ll text you the address. When you get there, just give me a call.”
“Thanks.” She gave him her phone number, and he added it to his contacts.
“How’s the bird coming along?”
“Almost done,” she said.
He glanced over her shoulder. She’d followed his directions to perfection, elongating the tips of the wings and fattening the central part.
“It looks great.”
Betty smiled at him, and his heart constricted in his chest. He’d be lying if he didn’t admit he was looking forward to seeing her light up like that again.
“Let’s test it,” he said.
Chapter Five
By the time Betty got home, she was ready to drop. She couldn’t believe the afternoon she’d had. Not only had she been tattooed by Rayden, he’d been the one to ask her to apprentice for him. Walking into her bedroom, she picked up her work clothes and headed to the bathroom. Stripping, she put everything inside the dirty laundry basket. She stood in front of the mirror, appraising herself. The tattoo was everything she’d ever wished for and more. It had taken the better part of two hours to complete between one thing and another, and though
the skin was still red and raw, the dark ink stood out against her paleness hiding the garish scar she’d sported for years.
Goodbye, Antonio.
That was it. The last mark from her horrific past. Now, all she had to do was brainwash herself into forgetting him. Not an easy task, but at least today, for the first time in forever, she’d hardly thought about him, too focused on Rayden and his presence to think about the past.
She took in the blue butterfly she’d had since she turned sixteen, the initials of her deceased siblings carved into her flesh. Betty pressed her fingers to them.
“Always in my heart. Mica and Emerie.”
Her gaze dropped to the mandala, which covered her lower belly, hiding the ugliness. She examined it closely.
“How the hell did he manage to see it was a cover up?”
She couldn’t see anything out of place. The new ink had seamlessly blended into the letters she’d never asked for. Betty shook her head. A small smile crept up her lips, and she laughed. Rayden was something.
Sexy. Handsome in an unconventional way. He was tall and lean. Muscled but not buff. His hair was black and longer on the front than the back, making her want to run her fingers through it. Then, there was the well-kept black beard and the tattoos covering his arms and probably more. Though, what really got her was the piercing on his bottom lip. She wanted to plaster her mouth to his, and nip it, then soothe down the hurt with the flat of her tongue. She’d get a spanking for such a thing, no doubt, but she’d welcome it. Betty’s eyes widened, and she stared at her shocked reflection in the mirror.
“A spanking?”
How long had it been since she’d fantasized about being on the receiving end of an open palm? Years. Five at least. Rayden wasn’t wrong. They had chemistry, which was dangerous. If she allowed it to lead, she’d lose herself and her apprenticeship.
“Uh-oh. Not happening. Rayden is your boss. The end.” Grabbing the polyester-silk robe with animal print from behind the door, she shrugged it on and headed to the kitchen. Sticking some premade pasta into the microwave, she grabbed her phone while she waited. Messenger blinked with a notification.
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