Missing Ink

by E J Frost

  She pushes the bottle of water aside and flows into my arms. “We’re good, sir.”

  “Good.” I take the minute to enjoy the warm press of her against my chest. Drink in the buttery scent of her hair. These are the moments that make the harder shit worthwhile. “I know you need to head in for eight. D’you have time for breakfast, bold girl?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Emmy will want to feed us, but I have a hankering for cholesterol this morning. Any chance you know a greasy spoon we can sneak off to?”

  She laughs into my shoulder. “I know just the one, sir.” She lifts her head and looks at me, her eyes bright. “Thank you, sir.”

  “You’re welcome, girl. Gimme some feedback. How am I doing this morning?”

  “Do you want a Dom-rating, sir? Zero to ten?”

  “Navy usually rates one to five. It’s a government thing.”

  “Four point nine five, sir.”

  I chuckle. There’s the sass. “Where’d I lose point oh five, girl?”

  “No blow job at the end of the real talk, sir. I think that should be a ritual.”

  “I’ll have my test results today and then we can talk about what I want and when, but I’ll tell you now that I’ll usually want your ass after real talk. Offering it before I tell you to bend over will earn you orgasm privileges.”

  I feel the shiver that runs through her. “I know I have to earn sex, sir. Do I have to earn orgasms, too?”

  “Anal orgasms. Your kitty can come as often as you can manage, but you won’t be coming when I’m in that greedy ass without earning it.”

  She shudders, gripping me tightly. “You’re killing me, sir.”

  “Gotta keep you on your toes, bold girl.”

  “Tippy-top, sir.”

  I chuckle and pull her out of the tangle of covers as I rise off the bed.

  *****

  Amy always wore suits. Two-piece for casual wear. Three-piece when she wanted to impress. Skirt suits. Pants suits. Always suits. After we married, I never saw her in anything that wasn’t perfectly tailored. After her hair grew back, she wore it in a straight, black curtain to her shoulders. Never a hair out of place. She rarely ate in front of me, even though we had family dinners every night I was home.

  Bren’s wearing the oxblood leather pants that seem to be a staple of her wardrobe and one of my Navy sweatshirts. Her dreads are up in a sloppy bun, a few stray rattails sticking out behind her left ear. Her lips are swollen. Her neck’s decorated with bite marks above the leather circle of her day collar. She’s not wearing an ounce of makeup. She’s shoveling ketchup-soaked eggs into her mouth and chasing them down with black coffee. She gets more gorgeous every time I look at her.

  “Nice to see you enjoying your food, girl,” I say around a bite of my own eggs and hash browns.

  She swallows and wipes her mouth before she says, “Thank you for suggesting this. Sometimes a granola bar just doesn’t cut it.”

  “Breakfast’s the most important meal of the day. I’m not interested in controlling what and when you eat, girl, but when we’re together, you’ll eat a good breakfast.”

  She toasts me with her coffee cup. “No argument from me. I love big breakfasts. It doesn’t make sense to make a production out of it when I’m cooking for myself, but if it’s not just me, only way you’ll keep me out of the kitchen is this.” She gestures with her fork to the spread between us.

  I should have guessed from the pancakes that she’s a fellow breakfast-eater. Girl after my own heart.

  “Tell me more about Bebe J. I know she could cook.”

  Brenna’s face splits into a grin of incredible fondness. “Better than all those cooking-show chefs put together. I’ll make you her jerk pork and red beans. You’ll never want to eat anything else.”

  I tap my coffee cup against hers. “I’ll hold you to that. I know she didn’t get custody of you when you were a kid. You ever live with her?”

  Bren nods. “After I aged out of care, I went and lived with her for a year. My hip was still messed up and I needed a lot of help. She was on a walker herself, but she still got me up every morning and chased me around her apartment with her cane when I was feeling sorry for myself. By the end of the year, I could run and dance again. I came back to New York hoping to go to school.” She shrugs. “It didn’t work out and I wish I’d stayed with her. She hid how sick she was from me. I only got to visit her once more, at Christmas, then she was gone.”

  I put down my fork, reach across the table, and take her hand. “Sorry, bold girl.”

  She gives me a brave smile. “I wish I’d had more time with her. But I remember her all the time. Every bird I draw, it’s for her. She loved birds. She used to put seed on all the windowsills. Sugar water for the hummingbirds . . .”

  She trails off and I can see she’s getting lost in the memories. I let her mind wander for a minute before I squeeze her fingers.

  “If you can work some birds into my sleeves, I’d be honored.”

  Those deep brown eyes focus on me, twinkling and barely shadowed. “Really? I’d love that. Like peace doves for the men you lost? And maybe an osprey? That’s a water hawk, right? Would that be okay?”

  “Perfect.” That she’s tailored the birds to me is touching. “Have you ever seen an osprey?”

  “I don’t think so, sir.”

  “Any fear of the water, girl?”

  “No, sir, but I’ve never learned to swim.”

  “No?” That I can rectify. “There’re osprey in Long Island sound. Maybe on a sunny day, we could rent a boat and see if we could find them?”

  “I’d love that—” She breaks off when her phone goes off, buzzing loudly in the pocket of the sweatshirt she’s wearing. “May I, sir?”

  “Yes, girl. Thank you for asking.” For someone who was reticent about full-time submission, she’s sliding into it naturally. Just as I hoped she would.

  Evidently, she doesn’t recognize the caller, because she frowns at the number before answering. “Brenna Truelove.”

  Her frown deepens as she listens to the caller. Her eyes dart up to my face, and then down to her unfinished breakfast. “Yes, I’ll be right there. Fifteen minutes. Yes, yes, I understand. I’ll get it taken care of right away. Yes, I would. Thank you.”

  She shoves the phone back into her pocket and starts fumbling with her breakfast dishes. “I’m sorry, I have to go.”

  “Work or a friend?”

  “Work. The front of the shop’s been vandalized. The sign’s trailing live wires. That was the police.”

  I nod. “Slow down and take a breath, bold girl. What do you need? How can I help?”

  She stares at me for a long moment, her mouth working but no words emerging.

  “Try it, sweetheart,” I say gently. “Rely on me.”

  “Um, I guess I need an electrician, sir. I’m not really sure.”

  “Pretty sure we both know a man who can help with that. You want to give Logan a call while I settle the check?”

  Her mouth twists but she reaches for her phone.

  “What’s wrong, Bren?”

  “I feel like I dump all my problems at his door.”

  I nod as I consider this. “Logan’s a Dom, same as I am. We live for this shit. Give us a chance to be useful.”

  She smiles ruefully but thumbs her phone on.

  While she makes the call, I finish my coffee and deal with the bill. When she hangs up, I’m ready with her trench coat. I have to bite the insides of my cheeks to keep from grinning at her surprise as I drape the coat over her shoulders. I haven’t been opening doors or holding chairs for her, but I will from now on just to see that priceless expression chase across her face.

  I know the way to her shop, but I let her lead me through the busy morning streets for the pleasure of walking with my hand in the small of her back. The fall day’s cool and I relish the bite of the breeze. Florida air never had this crispness. I always felt I was suffocating there, although that prob
ably had more to do with my marriage than the air quality.

  Bren walks with a sure, solid stride. She’s said she kickboxes and I can see it in the way she moves through the crowd. She doesn’t have a big man’s presence; people don’t get out of her way. But she cuts through the clots and knots of people all the same. While her pretty face draws a few eyes, her blue dreadlocks barely get a second glance. There are wilder hair colors on every street corner. I remember Amy’s fury when Naomi streaked her hair purple her senior year of high school, and the disapproving frowns her hair drew in our small town. Maybe if we’d raised her in a big city like this one, she’d have grown up into as strong and secure an adult as Brenna.

  I shake that thought away. It’s too late to play the game of what if. And Brenna has her own demons.

  When we reach her shop, I see not all of those demons are internal.

  The shop’s front is covered by a metal shutter, which has been tagged with obscenities. The word “cunt” is repeated over and over, which makes it clear, at least to me, that this is personal. The more immediate concern is that the shop’s overhead sign has been destroyed. From the rubble on the pavement, it looks like it’s been bricked. The neon lettering and the illuminated panel of tattoo designs behind the letters are smashed, and there are several wires trailing down to head-height. Although none of the wires are sparking, presumably they’re live.

  “Bren, can you turn the sign off? That might deal with the immediate problem,” I suggest.

  She blinks tears from her eyes and nods. As she unlocks the shutter and pushes it up into its casing, a long, black limo pulls up to the curb. My former gunny and Logan’s business partner, Manny, climbs out of the front, followed by a stocky, Hispanic man in dark gray coveralls.

  I greet Manny with a thump on the back. He immediately introduces the other man to Bren. “This is my wife’s cousin, Enzo. He’s an electrician.”

  Bren shakes the man’s thick hand. “Thanks for coming so fast.”

  “Any time for Jen and Manny’s friend,” Enzo says. He pulls out a folded piece of bright yellow paper and hands it to Brenna. “My flyer, so you can call me direct if you need me.”

  “Thank you.” She tucks the paper away and slips inside the shop. The interior lights go on and a faint buzzing, which I could barely hear over the street noise, stops.

  “Better get both ladders,” Enzo says to Manny, who turns back toward the limo, which is double-parked. Manny nods and moves to the limo’s back door while Enzo moves around to the trunk and begins unpacking several toolboxes.

  I follow Manny to the passenger door and look inside to see folded aluminum taking up most of the back of the limo. Between us, we get out the ladder pieces and carry them over to the store-front, where Enzo quickly assembles them into two, twenty-foot ladders. He positions one at each end of the sign, and before I can even ask him if he wants me to hold it for him, he scrambles up the ladder with much more dexterity than I imagined his thick-set body contained.

  “Hey,” calls a familiar voice. “Whose tank is blocking the street?”

  I turn to see Logan helping Emily out of an Uber that’s pulled up behind Manny’s limo. Manny greets them and after returning Logan’s jibes, drives off to find a place to park the limo. I steer Emily inside, pleased she’s here to support Bren.

  Logan follows us in and after hugs all around, he says to Bren, “If you haven’t yet, your next call needs to be to your insurance company. If you don’t get the claim reported, they may not cover the emergency repairs.”

  Bren nods. “I just didn’t want to leave the electrician out there on his own.”

  “Mac and I will stay out front with him.” Logan puts his arm around Emily’s shoulders. “Baby doll, would you make coffee and tea for everyone? I think we’d all appreciate a hot drink.”

  “Yes, Daddy.” As soon as Logan releases her, Emily trots off, through a curtain that separates the reception area and workstations from whatever’s in the back of the shop.

  After an odd, side-long glance at me, Brenna follows, letting the curtain fall closed behind her.

  “What was that look, d’you think?” I ask Logan quietly.

  “I think she might have wanted a hug.”

  “Good call. Hold the fort,” I tell him.

  “Roger that.”

  Through the curtain, there’s a short hallway with several doors opening off it. One on the left, which is open but dark, is a bathroom. Two on the right are open and lit. I hear the clatter of a spoon from one, silence from the other. I choose the silent door and walk through to find Brenna standing behind a desk in a cramped office, rifling through the desk’s top drawer.

  “Did I just miss a trick, girl?”

  Her hands pause. She doesn’t look up, but after a moment, her shoulders lift. “Tuxedo.”

  “Ah, sweetheart.” I round the desk and take her in my arms. She stands rigid against me before she cuddles in, fitting herself to me and tucking her face into my neck. “Take a moment.”

  She rubs her nose along my throat. “I feel like I just get on top of things and then something comes along and knocks me to the bottom of the hill again,” she whispers.

  “I’m sorry, girl. I know that feeling too damn well.” I cuddle her for several minutes, until she’s pliant in my arms. “What can I do to help?”

  She shakes her head. “This is great, sir. I’m just going to find my insurance broker’s card and call her like Master Logan said.” She gives me a hard squeeze. “I’m just . . . I’m sad and angry. Sangry.” She chuckles weakly. “I need to beat something up before I explode. Ugh. Would you . . . would you like to come with me, sir?”

  “Beating people’s usually my job, girl,” I say, putting a smile into my voice.

  A stronger chuckle. “I meant to the gym. I usually do a kickboxing class on Tuesday anyway, but I’m really going to need to vent my frustrations now.”

  “Mmm, tonight? I was hoping to take you out to dinner to celebrate my test results.”

  “Oh.” She lifts her head and looks up at me. “You want to go out to dinner with me? Tonight? I figured—"

  “You figured I’d want to get straight to the fucking? Don’t worry, girl, we will. But first I want to take you to dinner. Maybe hibachi, so you can grill your own. You can drown your frustrations in hot sauce.”

  She blinks rapidly and her sassy grin breaks out. “I’d really like that.”

  “Good. Hold on to that when you’re starting up the hill again.”

  “Okay, sir, I will. But we’re definitely getting to the fucking tonight, right? I mean, I’ve earned sex privileges?”

  That earnest face. Like she’s really concerned she hasn’t earned the fucking I’m absolutely dying to give her.

  “You have. And if you can still walk tomorrow, I’ll come to your kickboxing class and pound on your ass some more.”

  Her sweet laugh breaks out. “Okay, sir.”

  “That better, girl?”

  “Yes, sir. Much.”

  “Good. I’m pleased you used your emotional safe word. That earns you big points. I’ll head back with Logan to get out of your hair, but I can be back here in fifteen minutes if you need anything. And I mean anything. If you need a hug, I’ll come and give you a hug. If you need someone to run down the block and get you a fancy coffee, I’ll come and fetch you coffee. It’s not often you get a Dom at your beck and call, so take advantage of me.”

  Her grin chases back the shadows in her eyes. “I will, sir.”

  “When do you finish today?”

  “Six, sir.”

  “If I pick you up at seven, does that give you enough time to get ready?”

  She nods. “That would be great. Thank you so much for this, sir.”

  I drop a kiss onto her mouth, gentle until the end when I nip her lower lip to feel her shiver and hear her laugh.

  *****

  Manny’s wife’s cousin makes quick work of the live wires and promises to be back to board over the
broken sign until a new one can be made. He joins us in the office, to speak with Brenna’s insurance broker while Bren’s got her on speaker phone. They get into a wrangle about payment and, as Brenna’s frown gets deeper and deeper, I’m tempted to throw in my two cents to resolve it.

  As I lean forward and open my mouth, she throws me a look that says unequivocally that my opinion is unwanted. I sit back in the folding chair which serves as a “guest” chair in the tiny office and shut my mouth. Message received, loud and clear. We might be doing something close to twenty-four-seven in private, she might appreciate and even need my emotional support, but when it comes to her business, there’s nothing submissive about my bold girl.

  When they finish the call, Brenna shakes the electrician’s hand and closes the door behind him. She comes to stand in front of me and, after a long moment, leans her hip on the edge of her desk, making it clear she’s not going to kneel.

  “Thank you for not intervening, sir. I could tell you wanted to set them straight.”

  I did, but I’m glad I restrained myself. I meant it when I said I’d be flexible. I don’t need to insert myself into her business to have the kind of control I want, and I like that we’re feeling out the contours of something that could work for us both. I particularly like that she calls me sir even when she’s in business-mode.

  “You’re welcome, sweetheart. I could tell their bureaucratic pissing match was starting to stress you out. But they got there eventually.” I stretch my legs and grimace when my knee bumps her desk. This space really is too small for me. “Anything I can do for you before I head out?”

  “Logan wants to look through the CCTV footage before he goes, but please don’t feel like you have to hang around for that.”

  I shrug. The only thing on my agenda today before our date tonight is working out with Logan. I’m not used to being at loose ends. I don’t like the feeling, but I’d probably better get used to it.

  “I’ll stick around for that, girl. Another pair of eyes is always useful. Then I’ll get out of your hair.”