Missing Ink

by E J Frost

  Still, I’m grateful when we finally cruise to a stop in front of my shop and Mac turns off the engine. To be stimulated for such a long time is as exhausting as it is exhilarating. Between the edging and the flogging two days ago, and the abrasion scene last night, and what feels like non-stop buttsex, I’m raw and shaky and I need another soak in salty water.

  And because he’s a fucking mind-reading Dom, my Sir says, “I want you to go up and take a bath with Epsom salts before you try to work, girl. Can you do that for me?”

  “Yes, sir.” I swing off the bike on my noodle legs. Mac catches my elbow and holds me until I’m steady. Then he unbuckles my helmet and slides it into his saddle bag before he unclips my duffle and hands it to me.

  “Gimme a kiss, girl. I’m going to drive back to my apartment and drop off the bike, get a shower and some fresh clothes, then I’ll be back. Three hours, tops.”

  I lean in, give him a deep kiss, and hug him hard. “I might need a Beck and Call Dom by then, Sir.”

  “You’ll have one. If I pick up some groceries on the way back, how about I make my world-famous firecracker chicken for dinner? I’ll take you out again tomorrow night, but I’ve got a taste for home cooking tonight.”

  “I’d love that, Sir. And you don’t have to take me out every night.”

  He sweeps me onto the bike in front of him and kisses me again. “There are a lotta dates in your future, girl. I want to show off my beautiful girl to the whole City.”

  He’s killing me. How am I supposed to keep any freaking perspective on what’s going on between us when he says this shit?

  “Thank you, Sir. Do you still want to come to kickboxing with me tonight? It’s okay if you don’t. I’m fine going by myself. I just need to let my teacher know.”

  He takes my lower lip between his teeth and nips it. “I definitely want to come. Sweats okay and should I bring my own gloves?”

  “Yes and yes, unless you want your hands smelling like someone else’s sweat. Kru disinfects them after every class, but the gloves at the gym make your hands stink.”

  Mac chuckles and kisses me before pushing me, gently, off the bike and starting it up. “See you in a couple of hours, girl. Behave yourself.”

  I can’t help myself. “Or, Sir?”

  “Or we’ll see if you can kickbox with the big plug in.”

  I definitely can’t. I gulp.

  Mac gives me a heart-stoppingly wicked grin before kicking up the side stand and rolling off down the street. Like an idiot, I stand there and watch him go. I give him a little wave as he turns the corner out of sight.

  Nicky’s already opened the shop. Jules is manning the desk and after greeting her, I stick my hand through the curtain around his station to give Nicky a one-fingered salute as I head up to my apartment.

  “Tea, woman!” he growls after me.

  “Later,” I call over my shoulder. “I’ve been ordered to take a bath.”

  Nicky’s laugh follows me down the hall. I poke my head briefly into my little office just to check the answering machine on the landline. No one calls on it, but it’s habit to check. No blinking light, so I head up and once I’m settled in soothing, salty, hot water, I call Ruby.

  “I need an intervention,” I tell her.

  She gives me her throaty laugh. “What’ve you done, little sis?”

  “I spent three days with Mac. Full time. He controlled everything but my breathing. Sorry, I take that back. He controlled my breathing, too.”

  “Oxygen deprivation fuck with your head?”

  “I asked if I could call him my Sir.”

  Ruby’s silent for a moment. She knows this is a big thing for me. “What’d he say?”

  “He said ‘of course.’ Like he totally expected me to after knowing him for, like, two weeks.”

  “Did he say it in an Edz-asshole way?”

  I snort. “No, he said it in that totally cool, I’m your Dom and I know everything way.”

  “Semi asshole.”

  “All Doms are assholes, bitch.”

  My friend the Domme chuckles. “No argument from me. You having second thoughts?”

  “No. Kinda. Should I? Last time I saw you, we weren’t anything and now—”

  “You’re together and it’s freaking you out.”

  She knows me too well.

  “I never freak out.”

  Ruby scoffs. “Not much. What’s bothering you, that you’re together-together after such a short time, or that he’s got you doing the twenty-four-seven thing, or that you’re more committed than he is?”

  “I—ugh, I don’t know. I told him I’d try the twenty-four-seven thing since it’s something he really wanted and now that we are I kind of love it and how wrong is that? I’m not a slave. I don’t need to be controlled all the time.”

  “But you like it?”

  “But I shouldn’t .”

  “Eh,” Ruby grumbles. “Who says you shouldn’t? That Nilla who huffed out of the coffee shop? The dickhead Doms at your club who wouldn’t commit to you? ‘Cause you’re not hearing it from me. And you’re not hearing it from him. And most important, you’re not hearing it from yourself, and that’s the only voice you should be listening to. What do you want, B?”

  The answer feels simpler than it should.

  “I want Mac,” I say.

  “Then you’re good. Talk to him. Tell him you’re loving the twenty-four-seven thing. Maybe he already knows, but he’ll like hearing it.”

  I tip my head back against the rim of the bath and close my eyes. “I think he gave up something important for me this week, Rubes.”

  “What d’you mean?”

  “These bikers in Jersey wanted him to join their club but they’re a bunch of ex-cops and they weren’t happy about my juvie record. I’m not sure exactly what went down, but Mac told them no. He said he didn’t want to be part of a group who holds someone’s past against them.”

  “That’s awesome of him but your record shouldn’t ever have come into it.”

  “I know, but it always comes out, doesn’t it?”

  “Fucking shouldn’t.”

  “That’s what Mac said. He was angry for me. I don’t remember the last time someone got angry for me.”

  “You’re usually angry enough for everyone,” Ruby sniggers.

  “Bitch, I’m not the one who’s been sent to anger management three times.”

  Ruby laughs. “If you’d tried to drive in this city you would’ve. So, what was this bike thing?”

  “A motorcycle club? That’s what they called it. They wore those leather vests.”

  “An MC? Damn, girlfriend. Those are a big deal to be asked to join.”

  “See? I got that sense. I told you I thought he gave up something important for me. What if he regrets it?”

  “Think he’ll tell you if he does?”

  Mac said he’d always be honest with me.

  “I think so.”

  “Then trust him to tell you if he regrets it and figure something out. This is his thing, not yours. Focus on keeping your own shit straight instead of trying to second-guess how to deal with his. If he needs your input, he’ll ask you. Doesn’t sound like he’s bad at communicating. Speaking of which, how is your thing?”

  “My thing?”

  “Your club thing? The Doms who have been topping and fucking you twice a week for five years? Remember them?”

  I blow out a breath. “It is wrong that I haven’t thought about them once while I’ve been with Mac?”

  Ruby hums down the phone. “Wrong? No. Not very flattering to them? Yes. I wouldn’t go telling Ten that you haven’t thought about him once since Mac put his dick in you.”

  No, I won’t be saying that. But there are things I need to say to someone. And soon.

  “Guess I’d better call the club.”

  “You think?”

  “Stop harshing on my big dick buzz, bitch.”

  “You called me for an intervention, bitch. Which you
don’t need. You’re good.”

  Yeah, I think I am. “Thanks, Rubes.”

  “If you’re calling him sir with a capital S, you need to invite him to Thanksgiving. Mother Kay’s going to want to meet him.”

  I sputter. “Are you nuts?”

  “C’mon, you’re going to miss Thanksgiving?”

  “No, I’m going to keep him far away from our crazy. Besides, he’ll want to spend Thanksgiving with his daughter.”

  “Invite her, too.”

  “I haven’t even met her yet. She’s in the middle of rehab. Lemme meet her first and make sure she’s not some broken butterfly who’ll be traumatized by the first raised voice.”

  “If she’s traumatized by a little yelling, she’s never going to last around you, little sis.”

  “Ouch,” I grumble. “I never yell. And I only very occasionally break things.”

  Ruby chortles. “Sure. Anyway, don’t disappoint me. I wanna meet your man, so you better bring him to dinner.”

  It’s my turn to scoff. “You don’t want to meet him. You want to see Mother Kay interrogate him.”

  “That, too.”

  “You’re an evil bitch.”

  “That I am. Gotta run, girlfriend. Client on the way. Behave yourself.”

  “Why do all Doms say that to me?”

  “It’s like we know you or something. Bye, bitch.”

  “Bye.”

  I tap to end the call and stare at my phone for a long minute, sinking a little lower into the cooling water. Talking to Ruby always makes me feel better, but her reminder that I need to call the club and tell them I’m leaving—and I will be leaving instead of just taking a break because now that I know how it feels to have a Dom who truly cares about me, who puts me first, I can’t go back—has left me with a stone in my belly.

  There’s no way forward but through, as Bebe J used to say. He’s not making a big deal out of it, but I have a feeling that Mac gave up something he really wanted in turning down the bikers. I should love that. I do love that. But it makes me feel guilty for not carrying through on giving up the thing he needs me to give up.

  I waste the rest of the warm water debating who to call, and finally suck it up and go straight to the top. I dial the club’s chairman, Chess, and hope for voicemail.

  I’m not that lucky.

  “Hello, DirtyGurl.”

  “Hello, sir. I’m calling to resign from the club.”

  Chess chuckles. “You never do beat around the bush, do you? Would you mind sitting down with me and talking about it? Say Saturday at eleven?”

  I’m off for four days starting tomorrow, but I don’t remember when Mac said he wanted to go up to see his daughter. “Yes, sir. I just need to check one thing, but I think it will be fine. Can I text you if I need to reschedule?”

  “Of course. Brenna, I’m not trying to change your mind, but I hope you know you will be missed.”

  I rub my throat where a funny tightness has formed. “Thank you, sir. I’ve, uh, I’m becoming exclusive with someone.”

  “Ah, understandable. Well, let’s just have a talk and then go over the details. I’ll need you to sign the usual NDA.”

  “Yes, sir, that’s fine.” I’ve signed one for the club before, when I became a house submissive, and I’d never talk about the club to outsiders anyway.

  “Have you spoken to Ten?”

  I rub my throat some more. “No, sir.”

  “I’m not telling you that you have to, but I think he’d appreciate hearing it from you.”

  “Um, okay, I’ll think about it.” I’m definitely not.

  Chess chuckles. “I’ll see you Saturday. If you’re coming by the subway, bring me a box of Krispy Kreme.”

  “Sir, I’d never say no to you, but there’s no way I’m buying a box of donuts for a diabetic.”

  “Ugh, you subbies gossip more than a knitting circle. See you Saturday.”

  He hangs up and I finally climb out of the cold water.

  *****

  By the time Mac returns, I really, really need a coffee. And a hug. I normally love working up designs with clients, particularly first timers, but the “realistic city street scene” this client wants is not gelling for me. I keep wanting to add whimsical elements like a deer walking down the middle of the street. When I realize I’ve added neon fairies peeping out from behind the street signs and am in the middle of hiding an owl in a brick storefront, I call in reinforcements.

  “You know, I think this might go better if I take a walk and get some reference pictures,” I tell the frowning client, who I think has just noticed the fairies. “D’you think an East Village feel would be what you’re looking for or would you like me to walk uptown?”

  “Oh, East Village definitely. Um, is that a deer?”

  I quickly delete the layer where there’s still a bit of a deer outline. “Let me work on this over the weekend and I’ll email you three designs to pick from on Tuesday. Okay?”

  “Sure, that sounds good. I like this,” she taps on the subtle owl. “But I’d like an eagle better. Is that okay?”

  “Yes, definitely. I’ll work in some eagles.”

  “Great, thanks.” She shakes my hand and grabs her coat.

  Mac’s got his arm around me before she’s even out the door. “Was that a request to go on a walk, sweetheart?”

  “It was. My head’s totally in the wrong place for this design.”

  “How would you feel about walking on a leash?”

  The idea makes me shiver, but it also makes my sore pussy squeeze. “Um.”

  “Since that wasn’t your safeword, I’ll take it as a yes. Go up and get the leash.” He taps a finger under my chin. “Before you argue, I know you have one. I saw it in your nightstand.”

  He’s right, I do. “Yes, Sir.”

  “You can keep it in your pocket until we get outside. Then hand it to me.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  He kisses me on the temple and releases me. I try to walk steadily through the shop and down the hall, but my insides are squeezing, squeezing, squeezing. I’m raw, but I need something to work against. I’m so empty.

  As I’m climbing the stairs, my phone buzzes. I fumble it out as I open the door.

  Put in a plug you can walk in. You have permission to use lube.

  Fucking. Mind-reading. Dom.

  *****

  Walking with a plug, on a leash, around the East Village on a cool, sunny day in late October, should suck.

  It doesn’t.

  Mac’s casual about the leash, keeping it looped around his wrist as he rests his arm over my shoulders. The leash trails up the open edge of my jacket, neither obvious nor subtle. It gets a few curious glances but not even a raised eyebrow from anyone we pass. Since he’s not pulling on the leash, I can settle into his stride. Mac’s taller than me and a lot of his height is in his legs, but he’s moving at a relaxed pace, giving me plenty of time to stop and take pictures on my phone when something catches my eye. The plug’s a steady weight in my ass as we walk, sending my nerves spiraling with each step. I’m hovering around the edge of subspace with how relaxed and buoyant I feel, but I’m still alert and focused.

  Definitely the best walk I’ve ever been on.

  “Tell me what you’re thinking, bold girl?” he asks after I take a picture of a graffiti mural.

  “See the colors there?” I point out the mural’s flowing blue and orange against the rigid lines of a metal fire escape. “That’s what I want. It’s, I don’t know, the combination speaks to me.”

  Mac tips his head, looking at the mural. “I think you probably see the world differently than I do.”

  “What do you see?”

  “I see graffiti of some guys in sombreros.”

  I laugh. “That’s what I see, too, Sir. But I also see things I want to use in a design—color, shape, texture.”

  “You see it as something you can turn into something else. I see it as it is. Yours is probably a nicer way of l
ooking at the world.”

  I tip my head onto his shoulder and slow my steps. “Do you think so, Sir?”

  “Your way of seeing being transformative? Absolutely. And I’m looking forward to wearing some of that art. What wasn’t working for you when you were working up that lady’s tattoo?”

  I shrug and fit myself into his side as we walk down Avenue A. “I kept wanting to add nature back into the cityscape, you know, as a juxtaposition? And not just nature-nature. I want to add fairies and goblins and maybe a troll hiding in the shadow of a building. Totally not what that poor woman asked for. I just felt like it fit her better.”

  Mac kisses my temple. “When I scene with you, I’m not just focused on what you want. I’m focused on what you need. What you’re telling me without telling me. Maybe that’s what you tapped into with that lady?”

  “Maybe.” I feel a certainty tightening in my belly. It solidifies out of the comfort I’ve taken in being with my Sir. The way everything in me has settled from the moment he clipped his leash to my collar. “I’m going to do one design with the mythical elements. One realistic and contemporary. And one kind of Victorian. I can pull up pictures of what this area looked like from the internet. Maybe have a steampunk feel to it.”

  Mac smiles down at me. “I love the way your mind works, sweetheart.”

  “Thank you, Sir.”

  “You never told me what you came back to go to school for. Was it art?”

  “No.” I shake my head, remembering. “Business. I didn’t see a way to make a living with my art until I met Rufus.”

  “Rufus?”

  “He’s the guy who had the shop before me. He trained me and when he wanted to retire, I bought the shop off him.”

  “Ah. What attracted you to getting a degree in business?”

  I laugh. “Nothing. I thought it would make Bebe J proud.”

  “You didn’t think she’d be proud of your art?”

  “She loved my art. I sent her sketches all the time. But she didn’t want me to struggle the way she did. She was a banana-picker until her joints gave out. My Ma didn’t even finish high school before she got pregnant with me. She worked shitty, minimum-wage jobs until life drove her into a bottle. Bebe J didn’t want any of that for me.”