DeeperThanInk (2 page)

The shithead he’d walked in on had definitely been there on
some sort of business call and not to take a run at picking up a local
celebrity. So why was Chad’s gut still clenched? She’d told him repeatedly how
she found dating the clientele unwise. Sometimes, he thought she was using that
line to fish. Saying it to find out his personal opinion on sleeping with
people you worked with, a habit that ran rampant in the food and beverage
business. But she’d never once come straight out and ask if he had a
girlfriend. They’d covered every other topic under the sun but that.

He was pretty sure her lack of curiosity had something to do
with not wanting to reciprocate where private details were concerned. His ego
wouldn’t let him think otherwise. There had been more than a few occasions
where the situation had been ripe for introducing some friends-with-benefits
action. But despite her in-your-face persona, he knew Becca wasn’t easy. Under
the jet-black hair, the rock-chick accessories and lashes so thick they were
either Tammy Faye fake or a gift from the gods, Becca Wiley was one classy
woman. That combo made her supremely desirable to him. And lately, every time he’d
rubbed one out, it was images of her that danced through his mind. Her full,
bowed lips wrapped around his cock, her thick lashes framing her blue-green
eyes as she looked up at him.

He knew she was divorced. Three years. But that was it. He’d
asked once what had gone wrong and she’d erected a wall that would have done
the finest bricklayers proud. He had dealt with that pretty well. Until now.
They’d need to work on that particular defense mechanism. And his what-the-fuck
reaction to some other dude touching her made it clear the time was fast
approaching for him to face reality. He had plenty of friends. He wanted more
than a platonic relationship with Becca.

If that asshole hadn’t let go of Becca when he’d walked in,
she’d have been prematurely enlightened to the fact he desired a lot more from
her than afternoon coffee dates, once-a-month matinees and whatever music
venues they could agree on. And he couldn’t very well walk up to the counter
and knock some douche bag out without explaining to her what prompted him to do
so. And he wasn’t quite ready for that.

Pussy.

Possibly, he told himself. For the first time in years, he
didn’t want to fuck things up. He had intended to enjoy the friendship they
were building. And he was. Eventually, he’d throw it out there. He was a
patient man. Except when he saw her being manhandled.

“What the hell was that all about?” he demanded, taking one
more look in the direction the dude had headed before giving Becca his full
attention.

“The goose that laid the golden handcuffs.” She snorted, two
dots of color washing over her cheeks as she walked around the counter and made
her way to the large seating area. She plopped down on one of the black leather
sofas with a loud
whoosh
and her hair bounced around her shoulders
before lying flat once again.

“Handcuffs? Not hand grenades?” he asked, looking at the
drawings that had been scattered across the display case. “Not even a few?
Shoved up his ass, for starters. Did he hurt you?”

She laughed, the sound soft and genuine. She didn’t placate
him, didn’t pretend she found his humor hilarious or his attitude charming. She
laughed when she thought he was funny and told him he was a jerk when she
thought that, as well.

“I’m fine. Sorry I was late for coffee,” she said,
attempting to steer the conversation the way she wanted. Chad would readily
admit she was a master at deflection. He’d bring her back around and eventually
get a straight answer.

“No worries. I figured you squeezed in a last-minute
customer.” He straightened the pile of artwork, picking up the drawings,
looking at each one before bundling them together and tapping them against the
counter until they were neatly aligned. He lay them carefully back down and
picked up the business card.

CLUB ROSENTHORN

4821 Colonial Drive

He’d heard of it. More so from a professional standpoint
than the usual curiosity talk. Word was they had a decadent wine cellar. Their
higher-end clientele deemed it a necessity. The club had a sommelier, but no
one had seen him or her. Their presence was always absent at the Wine and
Spirits Bureau’s monthly meeting where Chad and his peers shared any new
industry info or out-of-this-world picks.

He set the card in the middle of the papers, turned toward
her, then leaned back against the counter. Chad crossed his arms, ignoring her
when she patted the empty spot beside her. He wanted some answers before he got
close enough to smell her signature perfume. Vanilla and black cherry. It was
light and subtle. A treat for his sometimes overworked olfactory system.

He shook his head. “I’m good here,” he said, not about to
give up a prime vantage point. He wanted to watch her reaction head-on. “Tell
me why you’re entertaining flunkies from the local BDSM club.”

“You know about that place?” she asked in a surprised voice.
Her brows rose.

“I’ve heard about it. So what’s the deal?”

“The owner saw some UV work I’d done. I guess he was shocked
at the definition in the design and now he wants someone to ink his five
friends.”

“Friends?” Chad snorted. “Four of those drawing reek of
possessiveness and the other one—the collar—that one screams ‘ownership’. I
think that’s a hell of a lot different than half-off matinees and the
occasional Guitar Hero battles, don’t you,
friend
?”

“I don’t know what to think,” she replied quickly.

“So next time we decide to play chess in the courtyard, I’ll
just tie your arms and legs to the chair and throw a ball gag in your mouth.
All in the name of us being buddies. How’s that sound?”

Chad watched the flush of color that crept up her neck and
over her high cheekbones. He wasn’t sure where that analogy came from, but
thinking of her in the position he’d just mentioned shot a little tingle
through his groin. It was an unexpectedly sexy way to imagine her. All but the
gag. When she quit talking, he got nervous.

He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t curious as to how she
responded in bed. Or if she’d keep up a steady stream of conversation the
entire time. And how long it would take him to make her switch from her usual
chatter to naughty talk. He smiled at the thought.

“I’m glad you think that’s funny.” She crossed her arms over
her breasts and offered him a kiss-my-ass smile. “But I’m not sure how I’d
checkmate you into oblivion being restrained. And we both know that’s what
usually happens.”

“There it is. Thank you for reminding me who needs to be in
control. I’m bettin’ old blond and muscle-bound didn’t like your attitude one
bit. Especially if he’s part of that scene. Is that why he grabbed you? To see
where your preference lies? If you’re a top or a bottom? If you were down with
a little whip and tickle after you get done inking the minion?”

He watched her mull that over, her gaze drifting behind him
to stare at a spot somewhere to the right. When she finally focused on him
again, he knew that determined look all too well. Knew a barrage of questions
was coming his way.

“He mentioned top and bottom before he grabbed me and asked
if I wanted to play, for shit’s sake. And what was with him touching his nose
and saying he knew how it was? Like you two were sharing some sort of secret?
Have you been to that club? Do you know what goes on?”

“I haven’t been there, but everyone knows there are people
who like a good spanking every now and again and who am I to judge? I like the
naughty science geek and the strict headmaster fantasy as much as the next guy
but—”

“Isn’t it supposed to be naughty cheerleaders?”

“I’ve had naughty cheerleaders, all they do is whine and I
don’t know what the hell he was implying when I walked in. All I could think
about was kicking his ass and then spending the evening with our friends in
blue. Which I should have done now that I know he was asking you if you wanted
to go to the club and be his sex slave
du jour
. Or you be the Master.
Lead him around on a leash, his balls in a harness.”

“Shut the f— Shut the front door!”

Chad should have given her kudos for keeping her potty mouth
under control but instead he wondered if she’d even picked up on the fact he’d
have risked having the cops called as a result of that shithead disrespecting her.
She was staring off into space, as if she were mulling over the exact scenarios
he had thrown out there.

“So what are you going to do, Becca? Tell his boss to go
pound salt or accept his offer and walk proudly into the lion’s den? Human
canvas in hand. That part I picked up on.”

She chuckled. “The Lion’s Den, Chad? That was the name of
the adult magazine and toy shop at Exit 382 near where I went to college. I
haven’t thought of that in years.” She exhaled quickly. Over the months he’d
learned to read the little noises Becca made. This one always indicated she had
already run through a ton of outcomes in her head and had it narrowed down to
what she wanted to have happen.

“It’s a ton of money, Chad. I don’t see how I can refuse.
That would take care of my mortgage and the condo fees ‘til the end of the
year. Give me a chance to save a little cash. And I’m freakin’ brilliant at the
invisible ink. Anyone else he gets is going to do a shitty job.”

She’d obviously made up her mind. She wasn’t going to research
the club or reconsider the subject matter, Chad knew that. Of course, she’d
done tons of tattoos for customers who had countless numbers of strange reasons
and requests. He’d met her less than a week after she’d started at More Ink, so
he was pretty sure he’d heard just about all of them.

“If you’re going to say yes, ink master that you are, when
you call him, tell him you want an extra eight fifty. Then you won’t have to
drool over those pink lizard wedges every time we walk by the Louboutin display
at Neiman’s.”

“What? He’s not going to pay—”

“He will. Men will give ‘til it hurts if it has to do with
the people they truly desire. Ask him for an even ten grand and I’ll bet you a
bag of donuts he doesn’t hesitate at all.” He walked toward her, hoping she’d
take the bet. His latest addiction was the sugar-coated, Meyer lemon-filled
concoctions at the new bakery on Level Two.

She looked up at him, the golden flecks in her eyes
darkening, making her irises more green than blue. She reached out her hand to
seal the deal. “No donuts, though. Neither one of us need them. I can barely
fit in my jeans now, between that damn bakery and the late-night gelato runs.
Joe expands the hours here and my ass expands exponentially. And you’re always
telling me to keep you as low carb as possible.”

He took her hand, knew he’d be passing on the perfect
opportunity to tell her that her ass was just fine. That men like him loved
having something to hold on to when the heavy thrusting began. He squeezed her
hand, tickling her fingers as he offered her a grin.

“No donuts, damn you. But if I’m right, you cook dinner.
Your aunt’s Bolognese.” She groaned, tried to pull her hand free but he
tightened his grip. “If you’re right, it’s a bottle of Rioja from my private
stock and I’ll spring for the corkage fee at Sushi Blu.”

Her smile was quick and so bright it made his heart stumble.
He wanted to see her that way all the time. Morning and night. And at two in
the afternoon over the coffee and biscotti that were now a moot point for
today.

“You’re on,” she said, shaking his hand in earnest.

“One more thing,” he said, stepping closer until their feet
were nearly touching. “You use me as the canvas. I’d feel a lot better if you
brought me instead of one of your crazy-ass girlfriends.”

He felt the little shudder that went through her. Knew
whatever apprehension she may have felt had evaporated with his declaration.
But he also knew the part of her that thought she was invincible was getting
ready to argue it wasn’t necessary. He headed her off. “Plus, I can finally get
some free ink and avoid that ridiculous waiting list of yours. You come up with
something awesome for me, Bec.”

She slid her fingers around his thumb and over his wrist,
signaling she wanted a hand up.

He pulled her to her feet, not surprised when she wrapped
her free arm around his waist and forced their joined hands lower so she could
lean her upper body into him. She was a self-proclaimed hugger, the woman he
was beginning to think he couldn’t live without. It had made him uncomfortable
at first but now he looked forward to her caresses.

“Who’s better than you?” she asked, her delight clear in the
tone of her voice.

“Yeah,” he agreed, wiggling his hand from her grasp to wrap
his arms around her. He pulled her close, her breasts teasing his chest and he
held her as long as he dared, determined to make her words a reality she could
count on. He rubbed his jaw against the silky strands of her hair and whispered
in her ear. “Who’s better than me?”

Chapter Two

So, Becca owed Chad a home-cooked meal and a kick-ass,
glow-in-the-dark design. She texted him those exact words the minute she hung
up with Andres, the man behind the private phone number.

She received an immediate reply.

SUCK-AH

Then the wink icon.

Becca had high hopes for dressing up and falling into a
sushi comma. Who in their right mind dropped that kind of cash on five tattoos?
She didn’t want to think about the man too much but his demand to see a trial
run of her work annoyed her. Her skill spoke for itself but after a brief
discussion she’d accepted the job. Right now, she needed to focus on perfecting
his drawings and then she’d design something memorable for Chad. She’d arranged
the audition for the following Monday, Chad’s day off. She could have done it
on Tuesday when she was free and before he had to go back to the restaurant but
she didn’t need the extra time. Two days was plenty of time to do a little
research and sketch, even though her weekend appointments were pretty packed.

But Becca was a creature of habit, an organizer. Her
previous life of providing social backup for her ex had necessitated time
management and she’d carried those multitasking techniques right along with her
to her new career. She’d found a great balance between working, spending time
with her girlfriends and lending support to the few charities that remained
near and dear to her heart. But the overtime Joey had offered with the extended
hours had been attractive. She had a few material items from her divorce
settlement but the cash portion wasn’t the golden payday it could have been.
Becca knew, without careful planning and a good deal of personal restraint, it
wouldn’t last for long.

The offer from Andres would ease a good portion of her
angst. Much like Chad’s offer to accompany her had. Her relief had been
immediate. It wouldn’t have mattered if it had been the grand poobah of one of
the fraternal orders in town or the reigning maven of the garden club. She’d
have been leery of anyone who had sent a mouthpiece to deliver an offer like
that.

She pulled out a piece of vellum and cheap black and white
colored pencils. They worked best for monochromatic designs. She traced a small
circle in the upper right hand corner, over and over, deciding she’d
concentrate on what Chad might want before she refined the drawings. If it
wasn’t an audition, if she was given unlimited time, she’d work up something
more in depth for him. But she was going to have to keep his newest ink pretty
simple. It would unperceivable to the naked eye but she could go back over it
later with color if he wanted. That way, he could see it in daylight and have
it look extra kickass in the dark.

But wouldn’t it be nice if she could have something with a
wow factor ready for him? God knew he’d wowed her enough over the past year. The
girls told her he was the reason why she didn’t get her ass out there looking
for a boyfriend. But why should she when he was meeting just about all her
needs? He stimulated her mind, his communication skills were unbelievable, he
was gorgeous as all get out, and he had the ability to rein her in without the
slightest bit of heavy-handedness when she started getting a little too far off
the charts.

All that’s left is the mind-blowing sex part.

Becca tried to ignore the voice in her head but since he’d
offered to go with her to that club and be her human canvas, the time she spent
thinking about him had quadrupled. She actually caught herself daydreaming of
him loping up to her on a big, black Percheron. When she was married she used
to fantasize about well-built blonds with bright-blue eyes. Shirtless firemen
with massive pecs, their low-riding pants held up by thick suspenders. Bad boys
on Harleys with their ponytails whipping in the breeze and biceps bulging
against the sleeves of their tight black T-shirts.

How had those dreams evolved into images of a tall,
dark-haired man with an athlete’s build reaching a hand down from his
trusty—albeit thoroughly outdated—steed? It was crazy. She didn’t even like
historical romance and that’s what the whole image was like. A flashback to the
old-school covers of the books her mom used to read. The ones that were
off-limits to her and her sister. Mickie had snagged them out of their parents’
closet and read them anyhow. Becca chose the bookmobile instead, where she stumbled
across the horror and sci-fi genre and started drawing things that made her
parents question her mental stability.

Her folks had nearly cried with joy when she’d met a nice,
“normal” boy at an art gala and married him eleven months later. Thankfully,
they’d honed their parental skills at judging a man’s character.

Becca didn’t need their opinions to know Chad was a gem, as
her mother declared during a recent visit. Or a man who wouldn’t turn out to be
as worthless as tits on a boar hog, according to her father, wordsmith that he
was. She wasn’t sure if she should be happy or concerned over their two
thumbs-up.

But Chad had never really led her to believe there could be
something more than friendship on the table. And until recently, she hadn’t
allowed herself to think it might be an option. The more comfortable she became
with him, with the fact he truly seemed to not care about all the little things
her ex had found annoying, she was starting to veer into that bad, bad area.
The one where her feelings started to get the better of her and she forged
ahead and possibly fucked up a good thing. She watched it happen all the time
with her overzealous friends, both male and female.

His stepping up was huge and he did it in a way that didn’t
scream, “Hey, look at me. Look what I’m doing for you.” She loved that about
him. She jerked at that thought and stopped her mindless tracing. She glanced
downward and the feeling that she was rushing headfirst into dangerous
territory slammed against her rib cage as she saw how the tiny circle had
morphed into a larger heart shape.

High school doodling, woman? Get a fucking grip.

Becca sat up straighter and gave herself a mental shake. If
her interpretation of Chad’s actions was skewed, she couldn’t think about that
now. She had some major drawing to do between they met the mysterious Andres.

“You sure you don’t want to take my car?” Chad hesitated
outside the opened door of Becca’s Chevy Blazer. It was the only one of her
ex’s collection of vintage vehicles that she’d fought for.

“Because nothing screams ‘I need more money for doing these
tattoos’ faster than showing up in a Range Rover. Get in, funny guy.” She gave
Chad a quick once-over, using an indulgent smile and the sarcastic tone to
cover up the fact she’d checked out his out-of-the-ordinary, all-black attire.
Under Armour fitted tee and cargo pants. If he was going for “badass with
class” he had a very solid start.

He hauled himself in, setting a manila envelope between them
on the worn red leather console. “Like they won’t recognize that this baby
isn’t a piece of junk, despite the fact it needs a bit more refurbishment. You
think that’s original 1978 putty on that back quarter panel? I hate to tell you
what that exact shade reminds me of. It’s not even smoothed out well, kind of
bubbled and wrinkly. You think I’m the only guy who thinks it looks like a
vagi—”

“What do you have here?” she interrupted, tapping the
package. She knew exactly what her latest foray into DYI bodywork resembled.

He buckled his seat belt and reached for the envelope.
“Crash course. Bondage and Discipline 101.”

Becca looked in her side mirror and pulled out into the
street. His condo was only ten minutes from the club.

“I’m not sure we have enough time.”

“Then let’s get a gallop on, shall we?” he suggested,
pulling the papers free.

“Gallop on?” What was he talking about?

“That would be a pony play reference.”

“Pony—”

“Think butt plugs with horse’s mane attached. How bout we
start with the Andres Herzog dossier before we move on to terminology and any
further accoutrements.”

“Dear lord.” She’d been too busy with work and the designs
to give anything else much thought but what the hell had happened to handcuffs
and spanking?

“Exactly,” Chad said. “It seems like most people end up
calling His name, if you know what I mean. Most are on the receiving end of
leather floggers, electric fucking machines and supersonic vibrators.”

“Seriously?” She loved the smell of leather. Fucking
machines didn’t sound so great but her interest was definitely piqued. “Where,
exactly, can one get a supersonic vibrator?”

“I find it interesting that’s the part of that statement you
latched on to. So, a twenty-pack of AAs for your birthday?” he teased.

“Sure,” she shot back. “Going with the over-under on whether
I have a lover or not, those could keep me saying ‘Golly, that was fun’ for the
next four months.”

“But if you did, are you saying they’d last longer?”

Becca’s uh-oh sensors went up but she didn’t consider her
answer. “Of course.”

“Why?”

A tiny flutter in her stomach started to build and she
answered slowly. “Because I wouldn’t need a toy to satisfy me.”

She glanced over and found him staring at her with such
intensity her throat went dry. She couldn’t say the same for other areas.

“So you wouldn’t use it when you were with him? Let him know
exactly what you liked?”

A jolt of desire shot to her pussy. She had a flash of them
lying in her bed, him propped up on one elbow between her spread legs, silently
watching as she rubbed her favorite bullet vibe between her folds and around
her clit.

The stoplight ahead changed to yellow and she stepped on the
brake. Maybe a little too hard. She wasn’t about to look to see his expression.
But she needed to get him back on track and away from fantasyland.

“Who said I was talking about a ‘he’?” There. That should do
it.

“Oh,
now
you’re just freakin’ teasing me.” His laugh
sounded a little off. “That statement isn’t going to have the effect you were
going for but let’s move forward since you’re trying to deflect. Your
soon-to-be-customer, Andres Herzog.”

She did love how he was able to let things go. But she had a
feeling if they weren’t on their way to a sex club to do some ownership
tattoos, a straightforward conversation about masturbation might have added
another layer to their relationship.

“Forty-eight years old. U.S. citizen for the past seventeen
years. C.O.B., Germany.”

“C.O.B.?” she asked.

“Country of birth.”

Becca laughed at his seriousness. “Okay, Riley, Ace of
Spies. Carry on.”

He made a noise, something between a snort and an
exasperated sigh, then he continued. “Herzog bought the former G Spot nightclub
two years ago and renamed it after one of the foremost books on BDSM, something
about screwing the roses and wanting thorns instead. He’s a highly sought after
Dom and Master. Men and women line up to have him mentor them in the ways of
the
lifestyle
.”

She caught his air quotes out of the corner of her eye.

“Optimal triumph is when they work their way into his inner
circle of submissives. Your friend, Mr. Bulky—”

“He’s not my friend. He was just delivering the offer.”

“Yeah. Whatever. You checked out those abs. Thought about
the gun show. Admit it.”

She wasn’t sure why he was egging her on and she shook her
head. “You’re an idiot.”

“You know something, Bec? Words hurt.” He’d teased her with
that particular phrase so many times she’d lost count. But inside, it always
made her smile.

She flipped him off and kept driving. “Continue.”

“Bossiness. According to my research, a sure sign of a
natural-born ‘top’, many of whom start out as ‘bottoms’ before finding their
way to roles of dominance. So keep that in mind if this inking gig you have
going takes a header.”

She could have flipped him off, but it would have been bad
form to do that twice in a one-minute period.

“Then there are the ‘switches’. Not the branches that some
people like to have their bodies caned with, and let me tell you, that’s some
fucked-up shit if ever there was, but switches of the human variety. The ones
who can either top or bottom depending on their mood or the circumstance. You
following all this?”

She nodded. It definitely went beyond her idea of what
constituted kinkiness.

“Anyhow, douche-a-rific has been with Herzog since day one.
Started out as a hustler on Jefferson, near the bus station according to his
rap sheet. Today he’s Herzog’s number two guy. It was a big deal, him coming to
see you. But he does love his Master. Enough that it’s suspected he took the
rap for Herzog on a battery charge earlier in the year. He’s taking his chance
at trial, which has been postponed twice and is scheduled for next month. He’s
done anger management. Him grabbing you might be admissible, if it’s on Joe’s
security tapes.”

Becca raised a hand and stopped him. “Are you channeling
Judge Judy or Jim Phelps?”

He didn’t miss a beat. “Your mission, doll, should you
choose to accept it…”

She loved that he got her movie and television references,
especially since most of the time both of them were too young to remember the
original shows. But her girlfriends always said rerun junkies and comic book
freaks always found each other. She and Chad liked both.

“Jim Phelps would have never called anyone doll,” Becca
pointed out.

“I know. But I like working it in when I can. The chances of
you tolerating me calling you that in real life are extremely thin.”

“If you want a pet name for me, just say so.”

“I really don’t think you want to use the word ‘pet’ while
we’re going over this stuff. That shit’s even more bizarre. Bottom line is
this, the club has turned a sizable profit since conception. It has a
membership list that is so secure that even Seal Team Six couldn’t penetrate
and retrieve it—”