Missing Ink

by E J Frost

  “I don’t want to do any of those things.”

  Except I really, really do.

  “Yes, you do,” she says, finally looking up at me. Her eyes are open and innocent and utterly without guile. I hate how she sees right through me with those eyes. “But if you don’t want to sleep in the fort you can sleep in our bed with us. Daddy says it’s okay for tonight because you’re sad and need lots of cuddles. Unless you’d rather sleep with Master Theo.”

  “I’d rather dig out my eyes with a dull spoon. And I don’t need cuddles.”

  “Uh-huh.” She goes back to typing. “Can I take one of the pictures out of your book? I’ll bring it back. I just want to show it to Daddy’s friend. He has some really bad tattoos from the Navy and he’s been talking about getting the mermaid one fixed and you’ve got the most beautiful mermaid in here and I tried to take a picture on my phone but it didn’t come out. So, can I?”

  “If it shuts you up, anything.”

  Emily grins and keeps typing.

  *****

  I sleep on the floor, in the fort, piled with Emily’s ridiculously soft bedding and couch pillows and bodies, with my belly full of hot and sour soup, Szechuan beef, and caramel popcorn, and nothing heavier on my mind than the way Chris Evans fills out his Captain America suit.

  Logan’s friend Max and his Little, Cynnie, crawl out of the fort sometime before dawn. I hear giggling as they head up the stairs, and then the wet sounds of kissing. I figure they’ve gone off to fuck since there was no hanky-panky at all last night, despite there being three Doms and three subs in the house. I turn onto my side, even though it’s my bad hip, and curl against Logan’s back. He’s warm and smells good and even if he isn’t my Dom and probably doesn’t even like me, it’s still a comfortable place to be. Emily’s cat, who is sleeping across my feet, makes a rumbly, mrowing protest.

  The noise wakes Theo, who is sleeping on my far side. I’ve done dozens of scenes with Theo; he’s fucked me pretty much every time. But I’ve never slept with him before. I feel awkward about sleeping with him now, which is why I’ve cuddled up to Logan. I don’t want Theo thinking I’m looking for more from him than I am.

  He reaches out, pulls me over, and puts his arm around me so I’m tucked to his side with my head on his shoulder.

  “Go back to sleep,” he mutters. “Or I’ll beat your ass.”

  I punch his chest without any force. “Your snoring woke me in the first place.”

  “I don’t snore.”

  I actually don’t know if he snores or not, since I fell asleep while we were watching the second Guardians of the Galaxy movie.

  “You’re too warm to sleep with like this,” I complain. “Geroff.”

  “Shut up and cuddle. Em says you need cuddles. Accept your cuddles. Or I’ll tie you up and cuddle you that way.”

  “Promises, promises,” I grumble.

  He turns onto his side and kisses me on the forehead. “Next time you need cuddles, you call me. I shouldn’t have to hear about it third-hand.”

  “I don’t need cuddles,” I grump. “There’s nothing wrong with me.”

  Theo scoffs softly. “You aren’t this subdued after a full-on gang-bang, Bren. You’re not fooling anyone.”

  I’m not?

  “I hate all of you.”

  “Yeah, we know. Shut up and go back to sleep or I really will paddle you.”

  My ass is still sore from the scene with Ten, but it’s tempting. “Good night.”

  “Good night, babe.”

  It’s definitely despite his cuddles, and not because of them, that I fall straight back to sleep.

  *****

  Max and Cynnie stay for pancakes but leave early. They haven’t even been gone long enough for Logan to clear their breakfast dishes when the doorbell goes. This place is a revolving door. I don’t know how Logan and Emily stand the constant parade of people. Even though it kind of feels like a big family. But I’d hate it. I need my own space. That’s why I have my apartment, which is too small for even a three-person scene. Which is why no one ever visits me. Obviously.

  Logan shuffles off to answer the door. I don’t think sleeping on the floor was the best thing for him; he’s been limping all morning. He was badly injured over the summer and, for a while, it looked like he’d always walk with a cane. With a lot of physical therapy and a huge amount of care from Emily, he recovered fully. But sleeping on the floor has left him stiff.

  The man who follows Logan back to the table also has a hitch in his gait. It’s not obvious, but I still have that old radar for any sign of weakness. If I had to face off against this man, I’d go for his knee or ankle. One of them’s bothering him.

  Logan pulls out a chair for him when they reach the big dining table we’re all gathered around, drinking tea and coffee. The man sinks into it gratefully and rubs his knee. Definitely something wrong there.

  Emily hands him an ice pack and a cup of coffee before she leans over to give him a hug. “Good morning, Master Chief Mac.”

  He chucks her under the chin. “It’s just Mac, Emily.”

  “Yes, Master Mac. Do you want a pancake? There’s still some batter.”

  “Sure,” he says.

  That’s my cue. “I’ll make it. One or two?”

  “Are they any good?” He winks at me.

  Man, he has nice blue eyes, even if he is old enough to be my father. After a second, I place that piercing blue. He was at Logan and Emily’s collaring ceremony last month. He’s one of Logan’s friends from out of town who got him drunk the night before and lost Emily’s collar. To be fair, he did help Logan find it again.

  “Best pancakes you’ll ever have.” I wink back.

  “Two, and I’ll hold you to that.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Calling him “sir” feels distressingly natural. A man usually needs to flog me, or at least paddle me, before I’ll give him that. Unless it’s Theo; I’ve been teasing him by refusing to call him “sir” for months. It’s driving him bonkers. But I already know Mac’s a Dom from his attendance at the ceremony and Emily’s reminder in calling him Master; I’m guessing from his title that he’s Logan’s friend from the Navy who needs his tattoo fixed, so it can’t hurt to butter him up a little.

  Emily’s got the nicest cookware. I like to cook, but she really cooks, and she has all the best toys. On her Le Crueset square grill pan, the two pancakes cook to a perfect, fluffy, golden brown. I pop them on a plate and set it down in front of Mac like a good service submissive.

  “Thank you,” he says. “I’m Mike McNally. People call me Mac.”

  “You’re welcome. I’m Brenna. People call me DirtyGurl. I think we might have met last month. Sorry, I’d had a crown put in and was off my head on painkillers, so I don’t remember all that well.”

  He lifts brown eyebrows touched with gray, like his ashy-brown hair and short beard. I’m sure he was clean-shaven at the collaring ceremony, but I really like the beard. Dayum, silver fox.

  “Right, I remember. I don’t think we were introduced. It’s nice to meet you.” He offers me his hand, which I shake. Good grip: firm but not crushing. “Are you, a dirty girl?”

  My stomach flutters. And my pussy.

  No. No-no. Seriously, no. He’s at least twice my age. He has crow’s feet bracketing those intense, blue eyes. They make him look rugged, like the cleft in his chin that’s visible through his beard. That cleft reminds me of what he looked like clean-shaven, and how fine he looked in the suit he wore to the ceremony, which is coming back to me through the Novocain haze. Okay, so he’s aged well. Really well. Still, he must have a decade on Ten, who’s just about to turn forty and he’s on the outer edge of guys too old for me to screw.

  He blinks and I remember his question. “No, sir, I’m an angel.”

  Logan and Theo snort in unison.

  “Thanks,” I grumble at them as I sink back into my seat and pick up a glass of orange juice to hide the heat in my cheeks. Logan squeezed
about a million oranges in this juicer they have that looks like a torture device for citrus fruit to yield one measly pitcher of juice, but I can’t believe how good it tastes. I’ve never had fresh-squeezed orange juice before; it’s sunshine in a glass.

  “I’m guessing from the name, and the outfit, that you’re part of Logan and Theo’s club,” Mac says as he cuts into his short stack of pancakes. He pours maple syrup around the edge of his plate, dips the forkful in the puddle, and pops the bite into his mouth. His smile as he chews sends another flutter through me. He salutes me with his fork before he takes another hearty bite. Mmm, a man who likes my food.

  No, no, no, wrong, wrong, wrong.

  When he raises an eyebrow at me, I shake myself out of the hormone tsunami. “Yes, sir. I’m one of the house submissives.”

  He probably could have guessed that just from my day-collar, which I’m wearing along with one of Logan’s T-shirts, since Logan really does enforce the no-clothes-in-the-house-for-submissives rule. Logan’s let me wear a shirt while I’m cooking and eating, but the rest of the time, I’ve been running around naked, except for my collar, Emily’s kangaroo hat on top of my dreads, and a pair of her fuzzy socks.

  It’s kind of freeing.

  “Do I have to be a member to do a scene with you?”

  “No, sir. I do scenes with guests.”

  “Could I interest you in a scene tonight?”

  “She’s busy,” Theo says.

  I am?

  “Because we’re watching the X-Men movies tonight,” Emily interjects.

  Very sure I didn’t promise that. “We are?”

  “You said you’d stay the weekend. Sunday night is X-Men night.”

  “You invited me for the weekend. I didn’t say I’d stay.”

  Emily turns to Logan and bats her eyes. “Can’t you make her stay, Daddy?”

  Logan covers his mouth with his hand and I’m pretty sure it’s because he’s trying not to laugh.

  “If DirtyGurl doesn’t have to work, then I’ll encourage her to stay another night. But we don’t force other people to do things they don’t want to do, do we?”

  She screws up her face and peers at him. “Don’t we? Even if it’s for their own good?”

  “No, baby doll. There has to be consent, always.”

  “Boo, Daddy.”

  He chuckles. “What are you like, little girl?”

  I reach over and take Emily’s hand.

  “She’s like a really good friend. Sorry.” I look at both Theo and Mac. “I’m busy tonight.” And then my tongue does something my brain definitely didn’t tell it to do. “But I’ll take a rain-check.”

  Fuck, I did not just say that.

  Mac salutes me with a forkful of pancake. “I’ll hold you to that.”

  “Me, too,” Theo says.

  I stay the whole weekend, and watch X-Men movies, and play with Emily’s cat, and try on her entire collection of animal hats and fuzzy socks and make more cupcakes and mulled cider and a roast chicken dinner with all the trimmings, and stuff my face until I can barely move, and end up curled up in Emily and Logan’s bed with them spooning me while I cry for no reason I can explain.

  I go into the shop on Monday and try to lose myself in the ink. Which works just fine, thank you very much, until Mac appears.

  Chapter 2

  There she is, standing behind a spotlessly white counter in her tattoo parlor. Her blue dreadlocks shine like jewels, and she’s got that cocky grin stretching her glossy lips. What a fucking knockout, even if she is ten years too young for me and the exact kind of smart-assed masochist I try to avoid.

  Her smile doesn’t reach her eyes, though. Those sad, sad eyes. They reach down into my gut and twist. I’ve spoken to her for less than ten minutes, but I’d already do almost anything to put a smile in those eyes.

  After she and Emily disappeared to shower yesterday, I asked Logan for the brief on her. He wouldn’t tell me much, only that she’s going through a bad time, which is why she’s staying with them. Logan’s submissive can’t leave anything alone that’s hurting. Brenna may not know it yet, but she’s been adopted until she’s through her rough patch.

  I shrug out of my cashmere pea-coat and set it on the counter. Have I dressed to impress? Maybe a little. She saw me at my worst yesterday: unwashed, unshaven, in old sweats, limping after a run. That’s not how I want this girl to see me.

  Her eyes drift up over my hand-knit, Aran sweater and settle on my eyes. She gives lots of eye-contact. Unusual in a submissive. Bold girl. But I like it.

  I set the mermaid design that Emily gave me on the counter next to my coat. “Nice to see you again, Brenna.”

  “You, too, Mac. I see Emily gave you the picture. I’m guessing you’re the friend with the bad mermaid.”

  I nod.

  “How bad is it?” She leans over the counter, which gives an illusion of intimacy in the open plan shop and waggles her eyebrows at me. “Tell the doctor.”

  “Really, really bad,” I admit. “I’m embarrassed to show it to you. You’re not going to be impressed.”

  She holds up her hands and wiggles her fingers at me. Slender wrists. I want to wrap them in cuffs and rope. And maybe dip those long fingers in latex. That’s not a kink I’ve explored before, but I never ignore an idea that turns me on.

  “I’ve seen it all,” she says. “Follow me and I’ll take a look.”

  She leads me to a cubicle with a reclining chair, a rolling table and a small sink. Looks like any other tattoo station I’ve seen, but if the design Emily gave me is any indication, Brenna creates magic in this small space.

  She pulls a curtain to close off the cubicle. “Whip it out.”

  I wink at her before I reach back over my head and pull off the sweater. “Whipping’s usually my line.”

  “So I’ve heard,” she says.

  “You asked about me?”

  “Would I?”

  I catch her chin between my thumb and forefinger and tip her face up until her brown eyes meet mine. “Yes, you would, bold girl.”

  She smiles, and doesn’t pull away from my hold, and there is definitely a spark in those sad eyes now. “You think I’m bold?”

  “I know you are.” I draw her toward me so I can whisper, since I’m not sure how open she is about her kink at work. “When can I have that rain-check?”

  She licks her lower lip. “I’m closing tonight and tomorrow night. We stay open until ten.”

  “I don’t turn into a pumpkin. Ten is fine. But I’d like to take you to dinner before we scene. When do you eat?”

  “When I’m working, I just grab a sandwich. But I don’t start until three tomorrow, so we could do lunch.”

  “Lunch it is. I’ll text you the time and place.”

  I want to find somewhere we can talk, really talk, without vanilla ears listening. Logan will probably know somewhere. And if he doesn’t, Emily will probably volunteer their place, which is only about six blocks from Brenna’s shop. Emily will probably volunteer to cater, too. That baby girl is a gift that just keeps on giving.

  “You don’t have my number,” she says, with another little flick of her pink tongue over her lower lip. Two lip-licks and she’s got my dick standing at attention.

  “Yes, I do. You’re not the only one who asked.”

  Her eyes sheen, and she finally lowers them. She tugs her chin away. “Let’s look at this ink.”

  I really am embarrassed by it. I’ve got some good tattoos. A portrait of my daughter as a baby on my left arm that captures her better than any picture. The Navy motto and seal down my left thigh that’s still sharp a decade on. But the mermaid is terrible. I got it thirty years ago, the night before I shipped out. I was drunk and I think the tattoo artist might have been, too. It’s faded and the lines have warped as my skin has stretched and contracted over the years. The only saving grace is that it’s on my back so I don’t have to look at it.

  She circles around behind me and I feel he
r fingertips, firm and warm on my skin. Fuck, I want those fingers on my cock.

  “You’re right. This is terrible.”

  “I know. I’ve been living with it for thirty years.”

  She laughs, low and throaty, a sound that shoots straight to my balls. “I’m not sure what’s worse. Your awful judgment in getting it in the first place or keeping it for thirty years.”

  “It was a badge of honor. Worst tattoo in the company. But now that I’m out, I’ve got to do something about it.”

  I hear the soft click of a smart phone.

  “Please tell me you’re not taking pictures for a wall of shame?”

  Another low laugh. “No, a picture for reference helps when I’m sketching. How long have you been out?”

  “Three months.”

  “What brought you to the City?” More clicking. “You don’t sound like a native.”

  “I’m a native of nowhere. Citizen of the world.” At her snort, I chuckle. “I’m second-generation Navy. I grew up all over, wherever Pops was stationed. I had a place in Florida for a while, but I never could stand the summers down there. Naomi’s at school in Queens. Logan’s close by—” I trail off. I don’t want her to think I’m rootless, even though I am. “Seemed like a good place to settle. What about you?”

  “Like you, citizen of the world.” She moves back around my body. The light’s gone out of her eyes. This is a source of sadness.

  I don’t make any jokes and I don’t ask why. Not yet.

  “Strangest place you ever lived?”

  “Lake Placid. It’s upstate. It was like living on the moon. Except that living on the moon might have been more fun.”

  I grin at her. “I wouldn’t mind living on the moon. Can’t be any stranger than living in a sub for six months. So, any chance of fixing my grotesque lapse in judgment?”

  The spark returns. “No, nothing I can do about your lack of judgment. But I can fix your tattoo. I’ll do some sketches and bring them to lunch. You can tell me what you like and what you don’t, and I’ll do a final design and text it to you for approval. It’ll probably take three or four hours, so we can do two sessions if pain’s a problem.”