Spread

by Elyzabeth M. VaLey

  “True.”

  “Who’s being the creep now, Vivienne?” Rayden said.

  “Oh shush. Come on, Betty.”

  Betty glanced at him. Their gazes locked and held, the need to go to her and draw Betty into his arms growing with every pulse of his heart. He took a step in her direction.

  “Betty,” Viv called again, grabbing her wrist.

  The moment snapped into shards of nothingness. She disappeared into the crowd, leaving behind a strange flood of emotions racing through his body.

  “She’s pretty.”

  Rayden spun around.

  Chapter Nine

  “Kendra!” Rayden cried, opening his arms so the redhead could step into them. They embraced. He sneezed, the white feather boa she wore tickling his nose. “What the hell are you wearing?” he gushed.

  “Happy to see you, too,” she replied with a laugh. “It’s my accessory so I don’t appear so naked in this wild crowd.”

  Rayden raised his eyebrows.

  “You’re wearing a corset and shorts so tiny I’m not sure they can be called shorts, and you’re worried about appearing nude. Oh, and you’re wearing white in a field of black.”

  Kendra shrugged. “Fashion, my friend, and I’ve got an image to maintain. In any case, how have you been? It’s been forever.”

  “Good. Things are going well. How about you?”

  “Doing great,” she replied. She wiggled her brows suggestively. “Though clearly not as good as you. She was something.”

  Rayden chuckled. “She’s not my girlfriend. She’s my apprentice. I met her yesterday.”

  Kendra burst out laughing. “You’re serious,” she said after a moment.

  “Yeah.”

  “But you like her. You didn’t ever give me those puppy eyes.”

  Rayden sucked in his cheeks. “That obvious?”

  “To anyone with a pair of eyes. If she’s not your girlfriend, why aren’t you pursuing her like a hound?”

  “Did you miss the part of her being my apprentice?”

  “So? As if that would ever stop you. I remember a young man who once told me—when I want something, I go after it no matter what,” she said, in a deep voice aiming to imitate him. “Has that changed?”

  Rayden crossed his arms. “No, it has not changed, but it was a different context. I was going after you for a session, and I knew you were into BDSM.”

  Kendra threw back her head and laughed. “Rayden Williams, do you want more than sex from this girl?”

  “I didn’t say that. I just don’t want to fuck up this opportunity for her.”

  “The opportunity of working with you? How would sex ruin it? For goodness’ sake, Rayden. You’re an adult and a Dom. Grow some balls. Have some fun. Is she not kinky? Does she not want to kneel to your will?”

  “Speaks the woman who does not kneel to any man.”

  “The man who will make me kneel is yet to be born,” Kendra said. “But that’s not the case here. Is she into pleasure and pain or not?”

  “I’m not one hundred percent sure, but I think she is.”

  “So, she is and you don’t want to tell me. What’s really stopping you? Fear?”

  “Always so direct, Kendra.”

  “Just when I need to be. Either you like her for more than a fuck, or there’s something you’re not telling me, or both.”

  “Kendra!” Vivienne’s excited squeal broke through the crowd’s hubbub.

  “I guess you won’t find out,” Rayden said with a grin.

  “I’ll catch you later.” She glared at him, then, just as quickly turned to Viv with a giant smile. “Viv, you sexy green beast.”

  The girls embraced, and Betty came to stand at his side. Rayden did a double take.

  “Wow. What did you girls do in there? Magic?”

  Betty smiled. “I don’t think it looks so great. Black slacks and a t-shirt which should belong in a punk concert, but if you approve, I’m happy.”

  “Hell yeah.” He dipped his head. “You’ve got a killer cleavage, and the wing of your bird is peeking out. It’s—and I know I said no more sexual innuendos—but damn if it isn’t enticing.” Rayden swallowed. Enticing was putting it mildly. Betty had tied the shirt in a knot so she was showing her navel, which gave a tease of the tattoo there, but it was the one on her breast which dipped exotically with every breath she took. It made him want to see more, to touch, lick, and suck. He wanted to pull her ponytail, angle her mouth, and kiss her until neither of them could breathe.

  “Didn’t you say we were going to behave like adults?”

  Rayden clenched his jaw. Yeah. “I’m behaving like a red-blooded alpha male adult.”

  Betty laughed. God, the sound warmed his insides. How many times a day could he make her laugh? Did the bastard of Antonio ever draw this sound from her? Or was it only tears and sadness?

  “Rayden, aren’t you going to introduce us?” Kendra narrowed her eyes at him, whilst Vivienne looked on with a ridiculous grin on her face. Rayden scowled at them.

  “Betty, this is Kendra Patricks, famous BDSM model. Kendra, this is Betty.”

  “Miller,” she supplied.

  “Sorry,” he mouthed. “She’s my very talented apprentice.”

  “Nice to meet you, Betty. You’ve got some killer tattoos. Are they Rayden’s work?”

  “Thanks. No. Only my most recent one.”

  “Which is?”

  Betty grinned and pointed to her breast.

  “Not in a place apt for public exhibition.”

  “Ah, shame. Maybe I can see it some other time. I, on the other hand, do have a penchant for exhibiting myself. We’re going to do a shibari performance on the Condominium stage in an hour, if you guys wanna go look.”

  “Shibari?”

  “Rope play. This is mainly a tattoo fest, but there’s gotta be some other form of entertainment or the boys will go wild.”

  “Oh.”

  “You should come. I’m sure you’ll enjoy it. Talk to you soon. Bye y’all.”

  Kendra walked away, her sauntering figure drawing quite a few admiring gazes from both the men and women around.

  “She’s something.”

  “Yeah. I’ve known Kendra for quite a few years now. We met in a convention like this one. She was already a star back then, but now, with the internet, she’s a sensation. Anyhow, you girls want something to drink? My treat.”

  “Of course it’s going to be your treat,” Vivienne chimed in. “You’re the boss, and you’re hours late. I’ll have a beer.”

  “You, Betty?”

  “Why don’t you guys go together?” Vivienne suggested. “Here, Betty, take some flyers and give them out on the way.”

  Betty’s hesitation lasted a millisecond. Grabbing the stack of papers, she threw back her shoulders and planted a practiced smile on her face.

  “Time to work,” she said.

  They headed toward the throng of people. Rayden watched in fascination as Betty moved through the crowd. She was a natural. Smiling, laughing, answering questions about her tattoos and inviting him to join the conversation when there were things she didn’t know. By the time they reached the drink stands, she was out of flyers.

  “Are you sure you want to be a tattoo artist and not a PR? That was incredible.”

  She smiled. “Thanks, but no thanks. I’d rather help people cover up old scars. It has more meaning.”

  Rayden nodded. “I understand.” He paused. “That’s how I got into this. I saw a girl go through a traumatic experience. I couldn’t do anything then, but I decided I had to help people who’d been in similar situations. It was a way to forget past hurts, you know?”

  “Yeah. It’s what I want to do, though my reasons are a bit more selfish. My own scars are what prompted me to want to learn.” She looked out into the distance, the color in her cheeks fading slightly.

  “Well, it’s all in the past. What do you want to drink? Beer?” Rayden asked, hoping she was not thinking ab
out Antonio.

  “No.” Her eyes widened. “I don’t drink alcohol.”

  “None at all?”

  Betty dipped her gaze and shuffled her feet.

  “I had problems in the past,” she admitted. “Alcohol and drugs.”

  “I kinda have to ask. Are you clean now?”

  “Yes, for the past seven years. Clean health bill, too.”

  “Good.” He sighed. “It must have been hell. I lost my tattoo mentor to drugs.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “It was a long time ago.” He shrugged. “I just want to make sure I don’t lose you, too.”

  Betty’s lips parted in a surprised O. Heck, even he couldn’t believe he’d just said that. He was sending her mixed signals, and he had to cut it out.

  “Betty, what I meant was—”

  “Next.” The guy at the bar called loudly.

  Fucktastic timing.

  Chapter Ten

  I just want to make sure I don’t lose you, too.

  Betty’s mind still reeled from Rayden’s words. For God’s sake, they’d just met. He didn’t know the type of person she’d been in the past, when she’d done anything for a fix. Spread her legs. Sell her soul. It had all been the same.

  All he knew about her was her name and that she could draw. All right, he’d also found out she couldn’t sing and she’d been a substance abuser. He hadn’t recoiled and hadn’t fired her. Quite the contrary. Damn. Her heart was going to jump from her chest. It’d been hours since the incident, and though he’d apologized and they hadn’t spoken about it again, his words still lingered.

  She glanced out the window.

  “It’s the next left,” she said.

  Apprehension squeezed her innards, and she began to tap her foot to keep from shaking. Rayden increased the radio’s volume, no doubt thinking she was doing it in tune to “Highway to Hell”. No. The problem was Antonio. She hadn’t thought about him for most of the day, too busy at the festival to let her brain relax. Now, though, she was minutes from her house, and he waited for her. Hiding in the shadows, his memory would spring on her when she least expected it. While taking a shower or falling asleep. He surely wouldn’t let her rest. Even though she was bone tired, his death haunted her.

  We’re going to have fun tonight, slave. Here take this. Down it.

  “Betty? Betty?”

  She blinked, Rayden’s voice breaking through her memory.

  “What number is it?”

  “Oh, um, twenty-seven. That one.”

  “You okay?”

  “Yeah. I guess I dozed off.”

  “It’s been a long day.”

  “It has. Thanks for driving me.”

  Rayden turned off the engine. “Are you sure you’re going to be okay to get to work tomorrow? I could come pick you up.”

  Unexpected warmth covered her from head to toe like sunshine on a cold winter day.

  “Thanks, but my friend Molly will take me.”

  “All right. I’ll talk to my friend, Ricardo. Hopefully he can get your car fixed quickly. Otherwise, I’ll drive you to the festival.”

  “Aren’t you going to go early in the morning?

  He shook his head. “I’m beat. Andre—you’ll meet him tomorrow—is covering the morning.”

  “Oh, okay. Well.” She placed her hand on the handle.

  “Wait. Can I ask you a favor?”

  Betty swept around to face him. “Um, sure,” she said.

  “Could I use your bathroom?”

  Betty’s mouth dropped open, and she began to giggle.

  “It’s not funny. The last soda I had has been squeezing my bladder for the past forty minutes,” Rayden grumbled.

  “Sorry,” she said. “You just seemed so serious there for a minute. Of course you can use my bathroom.”

  They got out of the car and walked up to her house. Her place wasn’t too big, but when she got relocated she didn’t want anything fancy. She was miserable back then and all she wanted was to drown in her own misery, so she’d chosen this place out in the suburbs, away from the risks of the city. She unlocked the door and suppressed a shiver. Unfortunately, the peril wasn’t in the madness of the metropolis but in herself.

  “Come in. The bathroom is through the bedroom, first door on your right. I have one for guests, but it’s broken.”

  “Thanks, d-Betty.”

  Rayden hurried down the hall while Betty set down her purse and keys, and kicked off her shoes. She ambled to the kitchen and poured herself a glass of water. Glancing out to her living room, she tried to picture what it would look like to someone visiting it for the first time. Art books piled on the coffee table, a thirty-two-inch flat screen TV, a throw blanket badly folded over an armrest, and pillows, which needed fluffing up. She’d framed a few pieces leading up to her room. Speaking of which, she hadn’t made her bed in the morning and—Betty swore under her breath. She hurried to her bedroom, praying Rayden hadn’t noticed them. She skidded to a stop at her door.

  “Rayden.”

  He stood at the foot of her bed, a small sheaf of papers in his grip. The drawings that she’d been working on last night when she could no longer sleep.

  “I stepped on a sheet, and when I bent to pick it up, I saw the rest. Betty, they’re incredible.”

  Chapter Eleven

  After using the bathroom, Rayden had started his way back, but then, something crumpled beneath his boot. He picked it up and as he did, his whole world turned upside down.

  The drawing was unfinished, but the outline was clear. It was a woman on her knees, head bowed and wrists bound in front of her in a submissive pose. His dick twitched, and he looked around hoping to find more. Bingo. Scattered on the bed as if left in haste. Women in Chains. Ropes. Floggers. Canes. All marked by an invisible hand.

  He sucked in his cheeks at the sight of the last one. It was the only completely finished piece. In it, a woman with tattoos he recognized was bent over, legs spread with a bar and ass marked by a handprint.

  Betty.

  His dick hardened, desire pumping hard through him. If he’d had any doubts of her lifestyle, this confirmed it. He swallowed drily, unsure of how to take it all in or how to act. He wanted her in the same position, pussy leaking and ass glowing red from his hand.

  “Rayden.”

  He jumped lightly and turned to look at her.

  “I stepped on a sheet, and when I bent to pick it up, I saw the rest. Betty, they’re incredible.”

  “They’re private,” she said.

  She hugged her middle and teetered nervously on bare feet. His cock jerked. His flesh tingled. He yearned to kiss her, to run his palms across her body and to make her drawing a reality.

  “Do you play?” he asked softly. “Or are these mere fantasies?”

  She pursed her mouth as if determining what to reply. Finally, she dropped her arms to her sides and moved closer to him.

  “I used to.” She plucked the papers from him. “Not anymore. These are—” She hugged them to her chest “I couldn’t sleep last night.”

  “Why don’t you play anymore? Is it because of what happened to your breast? You said it’d been experimenting with knife play?”

  “In part.” She shrugged.

  Rayden flicked his lip ring. There was something she wasn’t telling him, probably related to her time with Antonio, but he decided not to push further. He didn’t want to scare her away and have her shut him off completely.

  “Do you miss it?” he asked.

  Her fingers tightened around the sheets. She went around to her nightstand and placed them beneath a book. Rayden’s heart raced in his ears.

  “Yes,” she finally said. “I do. But the stakes are too high to ever do it again.”

  Her eyes were large, like a puppy’s fearful gaze when a storm raged outside. His protective instincts flared, and he clenched his jaw. She didn’t know it, but he knew whom to blame for her fear. Antonio. If the bastard weren’t already dead, he’d giv
e him a solid punch in his smug face. After so many years, Betty deserved happiness. She had the right to discover what being a submissive towards a man who actually cared was like.

  “Have you only played with him? The guy that fucked you over?”

  Her hands clenched and unclenched, and she leaned lightly against her mattress.

  “I tried playing with someone else, a few years ago,” she said. “But it didn’t work out. He ended up using me. It was another dark period for me. I relapsed.” She shook her head. “When I returned to rehab, the therapists suggested I try art to help me find an outlet. It’s what reached through to me.”

  “How long ago was that?”

  “Six years. I haven’t bothered finding someone else to play with. It’s too dangerous.” Her gaze bored into his. Fearful, yet, full of the same longing pushing him to get closer.

  “You’ve been playing with the wrong people.” He stood a breadth from her, her fragrance lingering in the air, her body heat inviting him to take the plunge. Her mouth parted.

  “Rayden.” Her voice trembled.

  “Give me permission, Betty,” he rumbled.

  Her brow furrowed, confusion marring her features.

  “Ask me to kiss you, baby doll.”

  “I—”

  “I won’t do it unless you ask me, Betty.”

  The tip of her tongue roved across her bottom lip, and he dipped his head, expecting her to say the words which would set them both free.

  “Do it, baby doll,” he murmured, so close her warm breath fluttered across his mouth, sending his heart into a frantic pounding.

  “It’s late,” she said, the husk in her tone impossible to hide. “You should go.”

  Rayden took a hasty step back. Disappointment lodged in his throat, choking him. He stared at Betty. She didn’t look at him, nor did she need to. Fear clung to her, like the artist’s constant dream of perfection. She was a thing of beauty. A half-finished work of art, black and white, but missing the colors that would bring it to life.

  Time. Beauty needs time. You can’t rush art, can you?

  “I’m sorry,” he said.