Full Contact (13 page)

“I can’t paint anymore.”

“You can.” He cups my sex from behind, spreading his fingers, easing my legs apart. “You will.”

I hiss in a breath when his fingers slide into my panties, grazing over my mound. My arm drops and I rock into his touch, willing his fingers to delve deeper.

“Steady,” he says. “Don’t want to ruin my bike.”

I glance over my shoulder. “How do you know it’s your bike? It’s just a collection of brush strokes on canvas.”

He buries his face in my neck, his five o’clock shadow scraping over my sensitive skin. “It’s my bike.”

And then he rips my panties away.

Shock steals my breath, but before the fear can take hold, Ray is on his knees in front of me, backing me away from the easel and filling the space with the breadth of his body.

“I got you,” he murmurs as he presses my thighs apart.

“Ray?”

He doesn’t answer. Instead he glides his thumbs over my folds, parting them, exposing me to the heat of his breath.

“No.” I gasp and my hands tremble. “You can’t. I won’t be able to stand—much less paint.”

“You stop. I stop.” He presses his thumbs upward, exposing my clit from its pierced hood, and then he gives it a lick.

Warm and wet, his tongue rasps over my throbbing nub. A low, guttural groan rips from my throat. Wetness trickles down my inner thighs, and I steady myself on the table and moan.

Ray pulls away, looks up at me, his eyes hooded. “You got it together?”

Drawing in a deep breath, I nod.

“I’ll ease up on you. Let you paint.”

I shudder and nod. Then I grab another brush and pretend a hot, sexy fighter isn’t kneeling in front of me, licking my pussy.

Red. Orange. Some yellow. My painting fills with heat as Ray slicks his tongue through my wetness, teasing and torturing me with the hint of how it would feel to have him inside me.

“Brace yourself,” he whispers. And then he thrusts two thick fingers deep inside me.

I can’t breathe. Can’t move. I certainly can’t paint. There is something sinfully erotic about standing naked in front of a half-painted canvas. Wanton. But this time my sexual curiosity is bringing me pleasure, not pain. “I can’t…need to sit.”

“Not yet.” He withdraws and thrusts again, curling his fingers against my sensitive tissue as he flicks his tongue over my piercing, sending a wave of pulsing heat to my clit.

“Oh God.” Panting, I paint quickly, fiercely, blending shape and form, drowning the black in a sea of color. So much color. Swirling through the canvas in an effort to be free.

My brush clatters to the floor and Ray eases me back onto the chair behind me, lifting my thigh over his shoulder, opening me for him, while he moves his hand faster, plunging in and out with hard, firm strokes. Braced on the chair, I rock my hips in time to his rhythm, my tension spiraling out of control.

“Don’t stop. Don’t stop.”

He pulses his fingers deep inside me, then leans down and draws my clit into his mouth. One light nip and I fall over the edge.

The orgasm rips through me, shaking my body, tearing me apart with fierce, unyielding pleasure. So good. So deliciously bad. Almost a sacrilege to my art. But I don’t care. The freedom to be so unrestrained is a release in itself.

As I shudder through the last waves of the orgasm, Ray releases me and pulls me into his arms, holding me as I melt, boneless against him.

“Better than lions,” I whisper.

With a chuckle, he crushes my lips in a passionate kiss. An erotic shiver winds up my spine when I taste myself on his tongue. Needing more, I slide my hand down, brushing my fingers over his stomach. Ray groans and curls one hand around my ass, driving my hips against the steel of his erection. His eyes are dark with need, and the air between us thick with arousal.

Throbbing, empty inside, I gasp when he twists his fingers through my hair, tugging my head back, making me arch and offer up my breasts for his sucking pleasure. Teasing and torturing first one breast and then the other, his mouth firm but gentle on the little silver ring in my nipple, he holds me tight as I writhe and wiggle against him, my whimpers drowning out the animal cries coming from the TV.

“Ray…” Despite the earth-shattering orgasm of moments ago, I am almost mindless with need, bold with desperation. I slide my hand between us, stroking the ridge of his erection, and then I cup it and he shudders.

Encouraged, I push his shirt up, sliding my hands over his taut pecs to the tattoo outline still waiting to be filled. Like me. Ray rips the shirt over his head, as I tug at his belt and then undo his fly.

“I want you in my mouth,” I whisper.

“Not today.” He stands and pulls me up with him. “Not after I got a taste of your sweet pussy. I gotta have you now.” He digs his hands into my ass and lifts me against him, then crosses the room in three easy strides and slams me against the wall.

“Legs around my hips.”

More than willing to comply with his erotic demand, I brace myself against the wall, my arms around his neck, legs curled around his body as he pulls a condom from his pocket, then shoves down his jeans. The crown of his erection presses against my slit and for a moment I am tempted to take him bare. Although I haven’t been with anyone for a long time, I’m still on the pill, but do I know Ray—trust him—well enough to take that kind of risk?

Maybe not. Not yet.

So I stay quiet when he pulls back and sheaths himself, and then quiet turns loud when his thick head presses against my entrance and I moan.

“Tell me you want my cock.” His fingers dig into my ass as he holds me poised just above the object of my desire.

“I want your cock, Ray.”

He eases in just enough to stretch me, his thick head dragging over my G-spot, an exquisite pleasure that makes my eyes water.

“Where do you want it?” His body shakes, his need as great as mine, and yet he has a self-control I envy. If he weren’t holding me so tightly, I would impale myself on him without a second thought.

“I want your cock in my pussy. Oh God. Do it now. Fuck me hard.” I bite my lip, hoping my inexperience with dirty talking doesn’t show. Anything to get him inside me.

“Yesssss.” He groans and with one hard thrust, he fills me, so deliciously thick and hard I whimper. Tightening my legs around his hips and my arms around his neck, I hold on for dear life.

“Gonna fuck my girl till she screams.” He gives me a bruising kiss, then hammers into me, lifting me in time to his thrusts, until I know nothing but the utter, overwhelming need to come.

“So beautiful.” He pants his words. “Wanna watch you come. Scratch me, beautiful girl. Bite me. Show me how much you want it.” He slides his thumb over my clit, circling, rubbing, and then he pinches and I’m gone, biting his shoulder as hard as I dare to muffle my screams.

Ray pounds into me as I climax, drawing out my pleasure until he follows me over the edge, his cock pulsing deep inside me.

When I soften against him, Ray carries me to the bedroom and lays me down before going to dispose of the condom. Almost immediately, panic seizes me. Sweat beads on my forehead and my heart pounds. Rolling off the bed onto all fours, I squeeze my eyes shut and try to take long, deep breaths, but my chest is too tight and darkness claws at my vision.

“Shhhhh.” A warm hand strokes down my back, and then Ray curls an arm around my waist and pulls me back into his chest, his hand between my breasts.

“Your heart is beating too fast. Gotta slow it down.” His voice is low, soothing. Calm. So calm. “Breathe for me.”

Shaking violently in his arms, I try to take a breath, but only a whisper of air gets through.

“Wherever you are, you gotta come back, Sia.” His voice echoes in the darkness and his arms tighten around me. “Promised Fuzz I’d keep you safe. He’ll go fuckin’ ballistic if anything happens to you.”

Tag. I imagine his face and my heart warms. But it isn’t Tag with his arms around me, murmuring in my ear, keeping me safe. It’s Ray. Here and now. And my heart warms even more.

“You okay now?”

I draw in a deep breath, and then another. “Yeah. Thanks. I like listening to your voice.”

“Had to do something to bring you back.” He rests his forehead on my back and draws in a ragged breath. “It was gonna be that or CPR.”

We hold each other for the longest time, and then Ray releases me. My cheeks burn and I stiffen, preparing myself for him to walk away from a woman who is so obviously broken. Instead he stands and lifts me into his arms. “Discovery Channel usually has a two-hour special at midnight, and I’m thinking we should stay away from the bed.”

“You’re staying?”

“’Course I’m staying. I didn’t leave you alone after your fight with Tag, and I’m not leaving you alone now.”

Stunned and overwhelmed, I say nothing until we get to the bedroom door. “I can walk, Ray. You don’t have to carry me.”

“I like carrying you. I like everything about you, and I don’t just mean your wicked mouth or your lush body or the way I can make you scream with pleasure. I like that you’re beautiful, soft, and innocent and artistic. I like that you see the world a totally different way from me. And that you’re loyal and loving to your friends and family.”

“I’m broken.”

He stretches out on the couch and tucks me up against him, then grabs the throw from the back of the couch and tosses it around us.

“So am I. My life has been one fucking tragedy after another. I lost my brother and then I lost my wife, Lisa.”

My heart in my throat, I push myself up, but he tightens his hold, hugging me against his chest. “Same as Scott,” he says softly. “I wasn’t fast enough. We were stationed together in Afghanistan. She was a medic and I was in the infantry division. We’d only been married a couple of months. Base was ambushed. She ran out to help a soldier who’d been badly hit. I saw the rocket launcher on the hillside. And I ran. God did I run. But I wasn’t fast enough.”

My breath catches in my throat and for a moment I can’t move. How does anyone move forward from that kind of tragedy? But he has and he’s here, and he needs all the comfort I can give.

“I’m so sorry.” I wrap my arms around him, holding on as tight as I can.

“It’s part of the reason I don’t get seriously involved.” Ray strokes his hand down my back. “That and the fact I just can’t go through that kind of loss again. I’ve had enough for any lifetime. And I just can’t carry any more guilt. So yeah, I’m broken too.”

An ache blossoms in my chest, spreading through my body. So what is he doing with me? With all my hang-ups, I’m hardly worth the effort of a casual relationship. And yet, why worry about it? I don’t want a relationship either. I’ve had enough of opening up and leaving myself vulnerable. I’ve proved to myself time and again that I can’t trust my own judgment with men who take my breath away: Luke; my high school biker, Peter…and Ray.

“Sure. I understand.”

And I do. I just wish it didn’t hurt so much.

You shouting at my girl…that’s my fight

Two minutes after I arrive at work Monday morning, exhausted and emotionally drained from spending Sunday with Jess dissecting my previous evening with Ray, Slim walks in the door.

“The boss is back.” He tips back his fedora and scratches his head. “Nice new digs we got here. Just had a meeting with Torment, and he said we could stay as long we need as long as Sia sticks around, so everyone play nice with her.”

“Why Sia?” Christos gestures his first client to his chair.

Slim shrugs. “If someone offers me free use of a fully equipped studio until my place gets fixed up, I don’t ask questions. Maybe he thinks having a pretty girl in the shop will be good for business. Maybe he wants to help out because her brother works for the club. Maybe he has an ulterior motive. I don’t care.” He turns to me and mocks a frown. “Don’t leave.”

“Yes, boss.” I give him a salute just as Doctor Death walks in the door.

“Morning all.” He flashes his brilliant-white smile and Rose almost melts into a puddle on the floor.

“Who is he?” she whispers. “He could give Chris Hemsworth a run for his money.”

“Just one of Oakland’s preeminent heart surgeons and a fighter and sometimes ring doctor at the gym. But he seems to go for women who aren’t available.”

“Well, I’m available.” She takes a deep breath and pulls down her shirt, exposing her freshly tatted cleavage, now fully healed. “And I’ve got a heart that needs a little doctor love.”

“Sia.” Doctor Death joins us at the reception desk. “I found out I’m on call every night this week, but since I need a cover, I thought I’d take the opportunity to spend some time with you and get it done by Redemption’s favorite tattoo artist.”

Duncan snorts a laugh as he straightens his workstation and Christos, already with his first client, mutters something about golden boys with silver tongues.

“Sure. Rose, do we have any openings today for a walk-in?” I give Rose a nudge, but she doesn’t move.

Doctor Death winks at her and then turns up the wattage on his smile. “I’m sure Rose can squeeze me in.” The word “squeeze” ripples over his tongue and Rose lets out a sigh. Slim snorts and heads to the back of the shop.

“Yes…of course…I can…squeeze you in,” she says, her voice uncharacteristically breathy. “How about now? I can juggle a few things around so Sia has a few hours free.”

“Perfect. I am indebted to you. You need a favor, just ask.” He leans over the desk and brushes a kiss over her cheek.

“How about lunch?” She lifts an eyebrow and Doctor Death startles. Aha. The master has met his match. Rose comes on all girly, but she’s a woman who knows what she wants.

“Lunch?”

“Today. Noon. You did say you owed me.”

His eyes glitter and a smile spreads across his face. “Indeed I did. Lunch it is.”

Duncan coughs. Christos chokes. I shoot them a warning look as I direct Doctor Death to my chair. Although he is rumored to have slept with a lot of women, Doctor Death is known as a decent guy, a skilled doctor, and a pretty good fighter. Rose could do a lot worse.

“So what do you need covered?” I take a seat as Doctor Death slides into my client chair and then pushes up the sleeve of his T-shirt.

His sunny smile fades when he points to the heart tat on his bicep with the name “Syndee” in the center. “I thought she was the one.” His voice is thick with dejection. “First woman I ever really loved. I wanted her inked into my skin forever, so I got two tats with her name on them. Went by her place to show her and caught her in bed with her second cousin twice removed, Gaylon.”

“Oh my.”

He lifts an eyebrow. “Not quite my reaction. But I had my justice. Gaylon will never perform that trick in bed ever again.”

Eeeep
. Doctor Death may be pretty, but he’s clearly got a dark side. “I’m so sorry you had to go through that.”

His face softens. “Thank you. Means a lot to me. Only had my heart broken twice before. But I don’t begrudge Amanda and Makayla their happiness. I’ve decided the cover for that tat should be a broken heart so I never forget the feeling.”

Amanda
and
Makayla?
I’d heard rumors, but I never really believed them. “That shouldn’t be a problem. I’ll work up a few designs for you. What about the second tat?”

He gives me a cheeky grin. “We’ll need some privacy. It’s on my ass.”

Oh God. Nothing I hate more than ass work, even if the ass is as fine as I’m guessing Doctor Death’s ass must be from the way his jeans hugged every taut curve as he made his way to my chair. Doesn’t seem to matter how much the needle hurts, you put a guy alone in a room with a woman, close the door, pull down his pants, and you’re spending some time in the hall giving him a “moment.”

“Duncan actually specializes in ass work—”

“I want you, Sia. This ass is precious. I only want the best hands on it.”

Taking a deep breath, I think about Mom and Dad and their mortgage. I think about rent and car insurance and saving for the shop I want to own one day. I think about the difference between big, white, hairy asses and lean, taut, tanned ones. “Okay. I’ll take you to the back.”

I keep it cool and professional as I direct him to the private ink rooms, while inside I laugh at the irony. I know women who would sell their soul for a peek at Doctor Death’s ass and yet all I can think about is Ray and how he cared enough to spend the night holding me, but not enough to want more than a casual fling.

While I wait in the hallway for Doctor Death to undress, my cell rings. I answer when I see it is Tag, and almost immediately he launches into an apology. He doesn’t know what he was thinking bringing up the incident with Luke. He’s not thinking straight. He just wants me to be safe and happy, and when he saw me with Ray, he was worried I would get hurt. But now, he’s not so sure.

“Why?” I lower my voice. “What happened?”

“He was at the gym yesterday when I was prepping for my Sunday Baby Boot Camp class,” Tag says, his voice tight. “He said he knew something bad happened to you and he wanted to know what it was.”

I suck in a sharp breath, at once annoyed Ray would go behind my back and perversely pleased he cared enough to ask. “You didn’t—”

Tag cuts me off with an annoyed grunt. “Of course I didn’t. I told him if there was anything you wanted him to know, you’d tell him yourself. But, of course, he’s the Predator and he wouldn’t give up. He said he didn’t want to fuck things up with you by inadvertently doing something that would make you run away.”

“He said that?” I walk to the end of the hall where I can’t be overheard.

Tag’s voice softens. “Yeah. I thought you should know. Still not sure whether I think he’s the right guy for you, but none of your other boyfriends ever threatened to bounce me around the ring if I didn’t divulge your secret. Tells me he cares about you. A lot.”

Reeling, confused, I slump against the wall. “He told me last night he didn’t want to get involved.”

“That’s not the message he sent at Amanda’s. He pretty much laid claim to you and warned everyone else away. It’s a guy thing.” Tag hesitates and then he says, “If you do decide to tell him, bear in mind that you don’t tell a man like Ray that someone hurt you and never paid for his crimes and think he’s just going to give you a sympathetic pat on the head. That happens with men like Charlie and James. Ray is…well, he’s like me. And when someone I care about is hurt and justice isn’t done, it’s almost impossible to bear.”

My breath leaves me in a rush. “I know I’ve asked a lot of you to keep that secret.”

Tag groans. “Sorry, Sia. I didn’t say that because I was trying to make you feel guilty. I don’t regret the decision we made and I would do it again in a heartbeat if you asked. It’s just all coming back because of this case I’m working on. It’s driving me fucking crazy. I can’t think about anything else. Even going to the gym is an effort because it takes me away from the investigation.”

The treatment room door opens and Doctor Death pops his head out. I smile and mouth “one second,” and he gives me a wink.

“Do you want to talk about it? We can meet up this week after work.”

Expecting him to decline, I am momentarily floored when he says yes he needs to talk about it, but it can’t be with me. When I suggest Jess and he says he’ll think about it, my heart skips a beat. It must be really bad if he would consider talking to Jess.

After taking a few minutes to calm myself, I check out Doctor Death’s tat, a beautifully wrought scroll of Syndee’s name on his beautifully taut ass, and make a few suggestions for covers. When we’re done, Doctor Death makes a tat appointment with Rose, and I follow him out to grab a coffee from the snack shop, returning to the studio just as all hell breaks loose.

“This is my fucking team.” Slim bangs his fist on Rose’s desk and glares at a scowling Torment. “I thought we had an understanding. I’m grateful for the use of the space and the equipment but I do have a reputation to protect. Half the clients coming into this shop are my clients. You want to paint a damn car race on the wall, do it when we’re gone.”

“It’s my studio.” Torment’s growl echoes through the room and Christos and Duncan shudder. “I own it, and I hired Seth to paint. He’s here. He’s got his equipment. And I want it done now.”

Seated on the couch, Seth, a tall, thin redhead with a scraggly beard, swallows hard. “I…can come back another time.”

“You will NOT come back another time.” Torment folds his arms and poor Seth cringes under the ferocity of his scowl. “I hired you to do it now, and you’ll do it now.”

“Is it the timing or the design that’s the problem?” Impressed by Slim’s willingness to stand up to the man whose name alone instills fear into the hearts of most fighters, I touch him on the arm to draw his attention.

Slim grabs a picture from Rose’s hands and thrusts it at me. “Look.”

Although I try not to grimace at the brightly colored scene of a NASCAR race, my mouth curls.

“It’s a…very nice piece,” I say to Torment. “But it’s not really right for a tattoo studio. You’ve been in other studios before. Usually the feel is edgier, more offbeat, something to draw people’s attention away from the pain of the needle, and take them out of their everyday life. Tattoos aren’t mainstream. And the people who get them want to feel that they are making a statement. The shop is part of that statement. A stock car race scene isn’t really the right vibe.”

“Don’t recall inviting you to be part of the conversation.” Torment’s voice rises to a shout. “This has nothing to do with you, so stay out of it.”

“Voice.”

Torment’s head jerks up, and I look back over my shoulder. Ray is standing in the doorway, arms folded, one ankle crossed in front of the other. Artlessly casual to anyone who doesn’t know him. A warning to those who do.

“Oooooh,” Rose whispers. “The cavalry has arrived.”

“Not your fight, Predator. Move on.” Torment dismisses him with a jerk of his head, but Ray doesn’t move.

“Sia wants this fight, she’s got this fight.” His gaze flicks to me and back to Torment. “But you shouting at my girl, that’s my fight.”

Torment’s lip curls. “Man’s agitated, he’ll speak however he wants. And Sia interfering in my discussion with her boss is agitating.”

Emboldened by all the support, Slim steps forward. “That’s ’cause you know she’s right. And I’ll tell you something else. You have Red over there paint a fucking car race in the shop, and we’re outta here.”

“I’m doing you a favor letting you work here.”

“We’re both benefiting from this arrangement,” Slim says. “And I’m only asking for a coupla weeks, then my shop will be fixed up and we’ll be outta your hair for good. But in the meantime, we’ve got an image to uphold. We’re Rabid Ink, not fucking Race Car Alley. A gal who comes in to get her clit pierced or her boobs inked doesn’t give a damn about race cars.”

Rose snorts behind her screen. She held my hand when Duncan pierced me. Jess, of course, held the other.

“Why don’t you let Sia do it?” Ray says quietly. “She paints. I’ve seen her work, and it’s damn good. Edgy stuff, although she might have to tone down the color.”

“No.” I glare at Ray. “I don’t paint anymore. I haven’t painted for years. I’m not interested.”

“You painted the other night.”

My stomach clenches at his betrayal. I opened myself up for him and only him, and he’s exposing me to the world. Why doesn’t he just tell them what else we did?

Torment studies me, considering, and then looks at Slim. “Sia or the car race. I’ll expect an answer in fifteen minutes. And if neither of those work for you, feel free to clear out.” He stalks toward the door, pausing only because Ray doesn’t move. “Predator, I’ll see in the ring Friday night. No one fucking tells me to lower my voice in my own gym.”

Ray gives him a curt nod and steps to the side to let him pass. Red grabs his art bag and scurries after him. The room heaves a collective sigh.

“I’m not doing it,” I say to Slim. “Duncan’s an amazing artist. I’m sure Torment will be happy with whatever he comes up with.”

“He said it had to be you.” Slim puts a gentle hand on my shoulder. “Come on, Sia. We’re making a killing here. The next coupla weeks could cover us for the clients we’ve lost since the shop was closed.”

“I don’t care if we have to leave or if we have to work in a shop with a car race on the wall. And it’s totally unfair of you to put this on me. I won’t do it. I won’t even consider it. I don’t paint anymore. So leave me alone.”

A shocked Slim puts up his hands in a warding gesture. “Hey. Chill. I didn’t realize it was such a big deal.”

“It is.” Nausea curls in my belly, and I head to the staff room, painfully aware of Ray following behind me. He closes the door and I can’t bring myself to turn around. Usually this room is an oasis, furnished with soft, caramel sofas, a plush beige area rug, and dark wooden tables. Torment spared no expense and fitted it out with a fridge, sink, hot plate, and a coffee maker so complicated we all go to the café for our caffeine fix.

“What’s going on?” Ray’s voice echoes in the quiet space.