by Anne Jolin
Her body shudders, and she cries out a broken version of my name into her arm as I softly nibble down on her clit and watch her fall apart for me on the surface of my desk.
“Can I keep you?” She grins, her chest heaving as she props herself up on her elbows to look at me, my face still buried between her legs.
Upon standing up, I lean over, kissing her softly. “That’s the plan, sugar.”
“I can taste myself,” she whispers shyly when I pull away.
“You’re my favorite thing to eat.” I wink at her, and she blushes crimson. “Now, wait here,” I demand. “Let me get something to clean you up.”
After disappearing into the en suite bathroom in my office, I come out with a wet towel and wipe between her legs before helping her back into her clothes and subsequently putting mine back on.
“I have something for you,” she says excitedly, grabbing her purse off the floor, where it must have fallen during my fireman carry.
When she finally reaches me, I sit down in my desk chair and pull her on my lap. “Show me.”
Rummaging in her purse, she lifts a plastic bag out before unwrapping it slowly. “I know it’s silly,” she starts, “but I wanted to keep it.”
My eyebrows come together, confusion rattling my brain, as I try to think about what it could be. Clarity comes the moment she reveals a section of cast. When she turns it over in her hands, I can clearly see the area that says, Jay’s Sugar, and I grin like an absolute idiot.
“I love it.”
She climbs off my lap and moves to the shelf on the wall before leaning it against one of the picture frames. “It belongs here with you—just like I do.”
I’LL ADMIT THAT my dreams last night were definitely not PG rated. I’m pretty sure they were the high standard of wet dreams, complete with a soundtrack, mood lighting, and slow motion. Seriously, it was hot as hell. I’ve been squirming all morning during my first day back at work from just thinking about getting my hands on him again.
I’ve hardly had any experience, but we far exceeded the base of my knowledge yesterday, and I am eager to go there again. Truthfully, I thought the idea of doing anything with a man again would scare me. The shrink I saw briefly told me that he considered it a form of post-traumatic stress disorder, but it seems that, with Jayden, he is always the exception to the rule.
I didn’t think much about what second chances look like for most people, but more than that, I never once thought about what a second chance might look like for me. The more I consider it, the more it seems to become clear that, if I were lucky enough to get a second chance at happiness, my second chance looks a hell of a lot like Jayden King.
“Earth to love-sick puppy.”
Turning my head from the receptionist desk, I see Lennon standing with her arms crossed over her chest, one eyebrow cocked, and a smirk on her face.
“Yes?”
“I called for you three times, but you were too busy dreaming about the King’s cock to hear me,” she sighs dramatically.
Rolling my eyes, I stand and cross the salon. She snags her coffee off the counter and brings it to her lips.
“How did you know he has the king of cocks?”
“Shit,” she sputters, coffee spilling out the sides of her mouth as she chokes on her laughter. “That is not what I meant and you know it. If you tell Jami I said that, I’ll kill you.”
I shake my head, snickering as she points her finger in my face.
“No, no. No laughing. Not the ‘I’ll kill you for shits and giggles’ kind. I’m talkin’ dragging your scrawny ass out to Burns Bog in the back of my SUV and leaving you there.”
My eyes widen in mock horror. “Wow. You’ve really thought about what you’ll do with a dead body, eh?”
“I’m serious,” she scowls. “That jealous fiancé of mine will tan my hide if heard I was talking about another guy’s dick.” She stops, pondering her words for a minute before tilting her head to the side. “On second thought, tell him.”
I furrow my brow in confusion.
“I don’t mind a little spanking now and then.”
“Good lord,” I laugh. “I think that’s more than I needed to know. What did you need my help with?”
“We work in a hair salon, Peyton,” Lennon scolds me. “It practically has a sign on the front door that says, Oversharers Welcome Here.”
True.
“I need your opinion on the way Mrs. Lugo’s hair is lifting. It feels like it’s taking too long.”
Nodding, I follow her back to her client. Then I take a peek under the foils before giving my recommendation that it seems fine but should sit another twenty minutes or so.
The rest of the day goes by quickly, and I find myself shocked at how much I really missed my work. I get that I’m not saving lives or anything, but what I do matters to me, and frankly, I’m really fucking good at it.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I tell the girls before pushing the front door open and stepping into the September air. It’s still warm, but the autumn chill is without a doubt lurking around the corner.
Picking up my pace, I pull out my phone to confirm my dinner takeout order. Jayden’s doing the first session on my tattoo today when the shop is empty, and I’m beyond excited. He suggested—actually, he demanded—that I bring dinner over with me because he didn’t want me to faint. He seems to underestimate my threshold for pain, but knowing I wouldn’t get around it, I obliged, ordering sushi from the place around the corner.
The wait is short, as it usually is at Maguro’s Sushi, and before long, I’m pulling my car into the parking lot by The King’s Mistress. This is yet another strongly suggested recommendation from Jayden: no walking too far in the dark when I’m alone.
Just as my hand closes around the handle to the driver’s-side door, I hear the theme song from Bad Boys start playing in my purse. I can’t help but sing along like a goof as I rummage around in my massive bag, mentally cursing myself for not having put it in the side pocket. I finally locate my iPhone and grin when I see Colt’s smiling face light up my screen.
“Well, if it isn’t my favorite hungover teddy bear,” I tease when I answer his call, leaning back in my seat.
“Funny,” Colt sasses before his voice turns serious. “How are you feeling?”
Letting my head fall back onto the headrest, I smile to myself. “I feel great. The cast came off yesterday, and today was my first day back at work.”
“And that went fine? No pain?” he presses.
Colt’s always a worrywart, but I appreciate it, given his in-depth knowledge of my past. He plays the role of the big brother I never had but desperately wanted.
“Nope. I’m good to go.”
He sighs on the other end.
“How’re things with Alyssa?”
The receiver is silent for a moment before he answers me. “She’s . . . Oh, fuck if I know. It feels like she never wants to see me,” he groans, frustrated.
“I’m sorry,” I tell him. “Maybe we should all get together again sometime soon?”
As soon as the words leave my mouth, I mentally kick myself, the memory of how painful that dinner was rushing back to me. Truthfully, if he tells me that they’re breaking up, I’d probably do a little happy dance—not in front of him, of course, but alone. In my car or something. Like, right now.
“She’d love that!” Colt exclaims, jumping on my offer. “She asks about you a lot. I think she’s just looking to make a friend,” he says as if sensing my hesitation through the phone.
“Okay, well, we can set something up, then,” I chirp, my voice overly chipper to compensate for my lack of excitement.
“How’s the asshole?”
I shake my head. “He’s not an asshole, Colt,” I groan into the phone.
“Uhm, Peyton, he’s definitely an asshole.”
Resting my forehead on the steering wheel, I smile through my words. “Fine, but he’s my asshole, and he’s great. Thanks for asking.”
<
br /> Another long pause on the line.
“Have you told him?” he finally asks.
Closing my eyes, I feel the guilty weigh settle over my chest. “No.”
Colt sighs heavily. “You need to tell him, Peyton. Before this thing gets too deep. He deserves to know.”
“But what if he doesn’t . . .” My voice trails off as I fight through the dry lump forming in my throat.
“You listen to me, kid,” he says firmly, in full brother-bear mode. “If that boy can’t handle the skeletons in your closet, he’s not the man for you. But either way, you need to learn to open up to someone who isn’t me, because I might not be around forever. Okay?”
I briefly wonder what he means by that but concede in agreement. “Okay.”
“I gotta go. Shift’s starting. Be good. Love you.”
“Love you too. Be safe,” I whisper into the receiver before it goes dead.
Once I’ve tossed my phone back into my monstrous-sized purse, I stare out into the parking lot for a moment before shaking off my doom and gloom. Then I climb out of my shitty car.
Takeout containers in hand, I walk towards the shop as the sun starts to set. The King’s Mistress will be closing soon for the night, and it will just be Jayden and me. Well, and the tattoo gun, of course.
Pulling open the door, I see that he’s at his table with a client. He looks up, giving me the sign for one minute before going back to finishing up what looks to be a consult. I pop the sushi onto the receptionist’s desk when I hear a voice that sends chills rattling down my spine.
“Thank you for fitting me in last minute,” the cool voice says.
The echo of boots coming up through the shop has my body frozen in place.
“No worries. I’ll give you a call when the sketch is drawn up and you can come take a look.”
“I look forward to it.” The slithering sound of his movements stops a few feet behind me. “And who do we have here?”
“Sugar?” Jayden asks, his arms coming around my waist.
Taking a deep breath, I turn around, feeling protected by a man’s presence for once. When I lift my gaze up, my eyes lock with Axel’s and I feel the warning bells in my head go off again.
What are the chances that this is a coincidence?
“Ah, belle pétale.” He smiles a Cheshire grin my way.
My heart’s beating a thousand miles a minute, my nerves wrung tight and my body stiff as a board. Jayden seems to pick up on the drastic change in my demeanor and positions himself so he’s standing protectively in front of me.
“I’ll call you about the sketch,” he snarls. “We’re closing up for the night.”
Axel nods, walking backwards towards the door. “Au revoir,” he whispers, a hint of promise in his voice before he disappears into the evening.
I don’t even realize the way my body is violently shaking until Jayden’s hands close down over my shoulders.
“Peyton?” he calls out, but my nearly comatose state refuses to fade just yet. “Peyton? What the fuck just happened?” He tilts my chin up so I’m looking in his eyes. “Come back to me, sugar. I’m here and you’re safe.”
I’m safe.
The fog in my eyes clears, and I hurl my body towards his chest. “Thank you,” I whisper against the black cotton of his shirt.
“Who was that?” he presses, his voice soft as he runs a hand up and down my back to soothe me.
“Axel,” I murmur.
He growls in frustration. “I know his name, Pey. Would you care to elaborate on the catatonic state he put you in? You looked like you were ready to bolt through the glass window to get away from him.”
“While we eat, okay?
He nods but doesn’t look any less determined on getting to the bottom of what just happened. After carrying the sushi into his office, I disperse the containers across his desk while he locks the front door. Then we settle into the chairs to eat.
“You need to tell me, Peyton,” he pleads.
I nervously twirl the chopsticks around in my hands, unsure of what to tell him. Axel’s never actually done anything to me. He just gives me the creeps. How do I even explain why without explaining my past?
Oh, the tangled webs we weave when the white lies begin to pile up on us.
“He came into the salon a month and a half ago or so.” I pause, chewing on my bottom lip. “He gave me his number and told me to call.” I can feel the jealousy pouring onto the desk. “I didn’t. He weirded me out, and I wasn’t interested.”
“Okay . . .” He hesitates. “So, that’s it?”
“No.” I sigh, blowing out a huff of air that moves my hair around. “I saw him again, after the break-in.”
“When?” Jayden asks, forced calm caging in his voice.
This is the part that I know will piss him off, and my nervousness at the situation doubles. “Uhhh,” I stammer. “Remember the first day you brought me to the shop?”
He nods.
“When I left here, I saw him in the parking lot before Lennon got here.”
“Did he touch you?” The venom spits from my boyfriend’s perfect mouth.
I nod weakly. “He kissed my hair and held on to me.”
“Why the fuck didn’t you tell me some creep was harassing you?” he booms. “I would have taken care of it.”
My spine drips with steel. “Don’t get mad at me. This isn’t my fault, and I wasn’t your problem to take care of at the time. Remember?”
His jaw begins to tick, and my resolve is weakened by how sexy he looks when he’s pissed.
“You are always”—he stands rounding the desk—“mine to take care of. Always,” he growls.
“It wasn’t a big deal. He just scared me pretty badly, okay? The guy gives me the creeps,” I confess.
After hauling me up by the arms, Jayden carries me over to the couch and then sits with me in his lap. He repositions my legs so I’m straddling him before cupping my face in his tattooed hands.
“I don’t care if it’s a bug bite or the old lady is mean to you at the grocery store, Peyton. I want to know about it. I can only protect you from the things I know about. So if you won’t do that shit for you, do it for me, okay?”
“But—” I start to argue.
“No buts, sugar.” He shakes his head. “I’m not going to tattoo a guy who freaks you out. The asshole can take his lame design and fuck right off for all I care.”
Leaning down, I crash our lips together, trying to show him everything he means to me through our kiss. It seems the most I can give of myself right now is half the truth and as much of my body as he will take.
I feel his thick cock harden underneath my butt, but he quickly breaks our kiss.
“If there is even a hope in hell of me tattooing you tonight and not fucking you for the first time on this crappy-ass couch, you better get up sugar.”
“Okay,” I laugh, torn between wanting him to do exactly that and wanting him to create art across my skin in equal measure.
I follow him out of the office and over to the corner of the shop that houses his workstation. I sit across from him, intently watching as he puts the pieces of his tattoo gun together. He makes it look effortless, and I’m nearly certain he could do it with his eyes closed or in his sleep. Few people find their passion in life, but Jayden has. Even in the darkest of his days, his soul bled out onto the skins of others. Pieces of his suffering are murals on the bodies of people he barely knows. A person whose pain resembles a jigsaw puzzle, only he created the pieces he’ll never get back.
He disappears to a printer before coming back again. “Shirt off, sugar. I’ll place it and then you can look in the mirror and tell me if it’s what you want, okay?”
I shake my head at him. “No.”
He furrows his brow in confusion.
“I want to see it when it’s done., Only then.”
“But, Pey, it’s a big tattoo.”
“I know.” I dip down to kiss his lips. “I trust you
.”
He hesitates, but the moment I pull my shirt over my head, he seems to concede to my odd request. “I need you to pull up your bra,” he says, his demeanor shifting into an artist’s focus.
“Do you want me to take it off?”
He hums for a moment before nodding. “It will make it easier, but you’ll need to hold them up.” He winks at me.
Reaching behind my back, I unclasp the black lace of my bra and let it slide down my arms, resting it on the adjacent table along with my shirt. His fingers trace the scars under my chest before he leans in, kissing each of them without saying a word. The guilt in my dishonesty tugs on my heart at his gentleness.
I cup my breasts with my hands as he carefully presses the wax paper over the area, transferring the purple lines over to my skin. Once he’s satisfied with the placement, he motions to the table.
“Lie down on your side. Try and get comfortable. This is going to take a while.”
I do as he asked, lying on my right side, facing towards him, my arms above my head. He dips the end of the gun into a pot of black ink before giving me a quick kiss on the lips.
“Here we go. Ready?”
“Ready.” I wink just as the small needles dig into my flesh.
I suck in a breath, gripping the edge of the table with one of my hands. I’ve never had a tattoo before, but I knew it would hurt. And it’s hardly any worse pain than the kind that brought me my scars.
He works steadily for two hours, stopping every once in a while to give me a kiss or ask if I need anything to eat. The pain makes me a little lightheaded, or perhaps it’s having his hands on me that does that. Either way, I feel perfectly content. After working into the night for another few hours, he rests the gun down on the table before picking up a squirt bottle.
He squeezes the cool solution onto my skin, wiping off the excess blood and ink, all the while inspecting his work. “I’d like to touch up some of the shading when it heals, but for the most part, I think it’s done. Do you want to see?” He looks up at me, excitement and pride in his eyes, with the briefest flash of hope—hope that I’ll like what he’s created for me.
Once he’s helped me off the table, he leads me to the long mirror in the corner, standing in front of it so I can’t see my reflection.