But this time when I come down, his arms are tight around me, his body is warm against me, and my face is nestled in the crook of his neck, where I can feel his pulse beating steady against my skin.
“Never had sex in a men’s changing room before.” I breathe in his rich, masculine scent of sex and body wash. “You sure know how to treat a girl right.”
Ray chuckles and brushes a kiss over my forehead. “The shower is next. And maybe if you’re good, I’ll do you over the table.”
“Does that mean my Ray is back?”
“It means you’d better not have any plans for the rest of the night.”
But what about the night, the day, the week, and the month after that?
Chapter 15
Show me what else those sweet lips can do
“I’ve got a request for a full ass piece on my voice mail.” Rose looks over at Christos, Duncan, and I as we drool over the latest gadget Torment has procured for us, a Cheyenne Hawk Thunder. The new gun mimics the feel of a pen with the grip and needles in a disposable cartridge and is perfect for the 3-D designs people have been requesting.
Christos shakes his head. “I’m no good with ass work unless it’s a girl’s ass. And we had a bad gig last night. I’m feeling delicate.”
“Sia?” Rose raises a perfectly plucked eyebrow and I glare. She knows I hate ass work.
“I’ve got an ass today, thanks. And I’m surprised you forgot. I thought you and Doctor Death had lunch the other day.”
Rose turns three shades of red. “Actually, we skipped the lunch part.”
“Rose! You dog. A lunchtime quickie. Never thought you had it in you.” Duncan chortles, but his smile fades when he catches Christos’s scowl. “Come on, Chris. Aren’t you happy for Rose? She’s had a dry spell of what…two months?”
“Three,” she says, now recovered from her uncharacteristic moment of embarrassment. “But who’s counting?’
“Me.”
The room chills at Christos’s icy tone, and without another word, he storms out of the studio.
“Uh…did I miss something?” Duncan scratches his head.
“Unrequited love.” I give Rose’s arm a squeeze when her brow creases in a frown. “Don’t worry about him. Jealous is good. Jealous means he cares. Jealous means he might get his head out of his ass and tell you how he feels.”
“Sure.” Rose shrugs. “I’ve only been waiting three years.”
Duncan’s Russian client, Yuri, drops in while Rose and I are going through the schedule for the day, to see if anyone has time to ink some crosses on his knuckles. Rose says Christos can fit him in and excuses herself to go and find him. Yuri looks down at me sitting in Rose’s chair, his unblinking ice-blue eyes making my blood run cold.
“So you work here every day?”
I shake my head. “I take a day off every week, depends when we’re not too busy.”
His golden bracelets clang when he folds his arms over his massive chest, and I will him to go and sit where clients are supposed to sit—in the client lounge and away from me. Unfortunately, Yuri doesn’t hear my silent plea.
“You ink all the fighters?”
“Some of them.”
“You ink the Predator?”
Again with the Predator, and he doesn’t look like the fanboy type. The skin on the back of my neck prickles, and I look back over my shoulder to where Duncan is inking a client. At least I’m not alone.
“Yeah, I inked him. Not finished the piece yet though.”
Yuri nods. “I saw the outline. Very nice. So, he’ll be back for more?”
“I guess so.”
Mercifully, Rose returns with a calmed down Christos, and they whisk Yuri away to Christos’s chair. For a moment, I toy with the idea of adding a note to his virtual file that one or two fighters should be present anytime he comes in. But why? Although he looks threatening, he has only ever been polite and cordial when he’s been in the shop, albeit a tad inquisitive.
Half an hour later, Doctor Death arrives for his appointment, and Rose’s melancholy fades as she basks in the glow of his smile. Christos glares when Doctor Death whispers something in Rose’s ear that makes her blush.
“He’s gonna use her and throw her away, and she’s gonna get hurt.” He mutters obscenities under his breath along with conjecture about what might happen if he ever met Doctor Death in a dark alley.
“You’ve got it wrong,” I whisper. “Rose is him but in female form. And she’s the one pulling the strings. He didn’t have a chance from the moment he first stepped through the door. My money is on her using him and me getting to do a new broken-heart piece on his other ass cheek next week.”
Doctor Death’s ass work is largely uneventful, although I have to step outside to “give him a moment” a few more times than with the usual ass. I keep the private room bright, the music loud, and my needle humming. There is no more talk about sleeping around nor is there any more talk about Syndee. At first I think it is because he is smitten with Rose, but while I’m applying the bandage, he mentions Ray.
“So, Rampage says you and Ray—”
“I don’t discuss my personal life with clients.” I pat the bandage a little too hard and his ass cheek tightens when he winces. Doctor Death looks back over his shoulder. “I’m hardly just a client. You’re part of Redemption. We’re family here.”
“Nosy family.”
He chuckles. “Guys like to know where they stand when there’s a beautiful woman on the premises.”
“You mean Rose?” Shifting uncomfortably in my seat, I apply the last piece of tape and hope he gets the message.
He doesn’t. “I mean you, Sia. I’ve had my eye on you since Fuzz brought you to the first Redemption party. Rose and I had fun together, but we’re too much alike.”
Backing my stool away from the client chair, I shake my head. “I’m flattered but I’m with Ray.”
“Really?” He pushes himself to his side, and I look away just in case I get an unexpected visual treat.
“He ever take you out on date? In public? Have you gone to a restaurant or a movie? Or anywhere that isn’t secured with a door?”
Puzzled, I frown. “We went for a walk once.”
“Somewhere deserted and in the dark no doubt.” He snags the towel from the back of his thighs and adeptly manages to push himself to sitting while keeping decently covered.
The hair on the back of my neck prickles. “What are you saying?”
His face softens and he sighs. “I’m saying there’s more to Ray than he lets on.”
My hand clenches into a fist, and I back up into the door. Oh God. Have I misplaced my trust yet again? “Like what?”
“Not my place to say. He doesn’t know I know. I just…don’t want you to get hurt when he walks away.”
“Then why did you bring it up?” My voice rises in pitch. “You hardly know me.”
“I know you well enough to want to get to know you better,” he says. “And I’d be lying if I said my motives were entirely selfless. But even if I weren’t interested, I would have said something. We look after each other at Redemption.”
Pulse pounding in my ears, I shake my head. “Ray’s part of Redemption too.”
“He trains here, but he doesn’t fight here,” Doctor Death says. “He’s not part of the fight team or the staff. And he’s made it clear he doesn’t want to be one of us. But you are, and we’ll always have your back.”
“Why do I feel like I’ve suddenly inherited a club full of Tags?” I reach behind me for the door handle and turn away.
“We were always here,” Doctor Death calls out. “You just weren’t looking.”
After Doctor Death leaves, I call Jess at work. She says I shouldn’t trust him since he clearly has an ulterior motive and instead of assuming the worst, why not just put it to the side and ask Ray about it the next time I see him? I tell her she is too levelheaded and clearly doesn’t understand that artistic types thrive on emotional drama
. Jess says she has enough emotional drama in her life for both of us. Tag showed up at her place last night.
We make plans to meet up for a drink after work, so she can share all the details, and for the first time since Doctor Death stepped through the door, my anxiety eases.
I spend the afternoon on two small walk-in pieces and yet another Redemption logo. But I don’t mind doing it and, in fact, I admire the loyalty the fighters have to the club. I suggest to Slim we all get Rabid Ink ass tattoos to show our loyalty to his shop. He suggests we get his name inked in our skin instead. Christos says Slim would look good on his ass. Many filthy comments ensue.
Ray walks in as I’m cleaning my station at the end of the day. He nods to Slim and Rose as they head out the door, then he sits on my chair and says he’s come to have his tat finished. I tell him I have plans with Jess. Christos and I are closing up for the night, and if he wants a tat, he needs to make an appointment with Rose. He leans over and whispers in my ear that he’s fucking the artist so he doesn’t need an appointment, and if I have a problem with that, he’d be happy to pull me over his lap and spank my ass until I’m ready to work. I tell him there seems to be a lot of talk about spanking but no real action. Ray grabs my shirt and yanks me over his lap. Then he whacks my ass so hard I gasp.
Scrambling off his lap, cheeks burning, I turn around. Far from being shocked, Christos is laughing. He tosses me the keys and heads out to his gig. I am left alone with Ray, a lungful of mortification, and a burning ass.
“I’m never going to live that down.” I gesture toward the closing door. “He’s going to tell everyone.”
Ray turns in the chair and pulls me between his legs. “I’ll make it up to you. You can ink me while you’re naked and sitting in my lap.”
“I’m thinking that’s going to be more for your benefit than mine. And there’s no way I’m stripping down in the studio or doing a tat from your lap.”
He lifts my shirt and presses a warm kiss to my stomach. “We’ll see.”
Half an hour later, after securing the door and sending Jess an apologetic text, I’m still clothed, but straddling Ray’s lap on my client chair with the tattoo machine in my hand.
“This is so unprofessional,” I say after I put away the disinfectant. “I can’t believe the things you talk me into.”
He cups my breast in his palm over my T-shirt and licks his lips. “If I remember correctly, I didn’t have to talk.”
My cheeks burn at his reference to our moment in the staff room when he kissed me so hard my knees went weak and I moaned into his mouth.
“Yeah,” he says, his voice soft. “She knows what I’m talking about.”
Despite Ray’s protests, I have plugged my iPod into the sound system and the first mix starts off with Coldplay’s “Viva La Vida.”
“Christ.” Ray grimaces. “You sure know how to take a mood down. You got any hard rock? Linkin Park? Isn’t the client supposed to choose?”
“I’m sitting on your lap,” I say with a little grind over the bulge in his jeans for effect. “I’m also working instead of going out with my bestie. You’ve pretty much gotten everything you want from me. Is it too much to ask for a little musical indulgence?”
His hooded gaze rakes over my body. “Maybe if I were inside you—”
“Seriously?” I hold up the tattoo machine. “The tat is forever. If I slip up, it is a permanent mistake. I don’t want to do that to you. Also, you know it can be painful. You might not be able to…you know…keep it up.”
He lifts an admonishing eyebrow.
“Okay. I take it back. You are all lion all the time. But I have to draw the line at having sex while doing a tat.”
“Fine. I’ll give you a break.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“Pleasure.”
“You probably already know this,” I say, “but the shading can be much more painful than the outline, so let me know if you need a break.”
He raises his eyebrow again, higher this time.
“Right. Forgot you are too manly to feel pain, just like every man who comes in here. However, when the pain overrides your pride, let me know.” Taking a deep breath, I try to ignore his cock pressed up against the curve of my sex, his body warm beneath me, and his hand caressing my breast as I begin shading. I manage to relax into the design and listen to the music, but after ten minutes of silence, I sigh.
“We call clients who don’t talk cadavers.”
“Can’t talk.” Ray’s voice is husky and low. “It’s taking all my energy not to rip off your clothes and fuck you till you scream.”
“Don’t hold back.” My voice drips with sarcasm. “Tell me what you really want to do.” I wiggle on top of him. He is indeed harder than when I started. I wiggle again. Ray groans.
“Stop. I’m barely hanging on.”
“This was your idea.” I look up and grin. “And FYI, I’m going to be at least another hour.”
He grits his teeth and nods. “Go for it, but don’t move.”
But it is almost impossible not to move. Inking skin is, by its nature, an intimate experience, but with Ray it goes beyond intimate into the divine. In this position, with one hand braced on his chest, I can feel every beat of his heart, hear every rasp of his breath, soak in his warmth as I inhale the scent of fresh ink and the musk of Ray’s skin.
“Sia.” My name is a tortured groan on his lips, and when I look up, I see both pain and pleasure etched across his face.
“You need a moment?”
He shakes his head and strokes his hand through my hair, a gentle, caressing gesture that turns my body liquid.
“If it hurts…” My words trail off when he tightens his hand in my hair.
“Like to hurt. Need to hurt. But when you’re doing the hurting…” His voice breaks. “Hard to stay in control. Just…finish it.”
So I do. I pour my soul into his tat, sweeping the wolf down his shoulder and over his pec. Although I usually prefer color to semi-tribals like this one, I think it is one of the best tats I have ever done. I show Ray in the mirror and he nods his approval. “Fucking awesome.”
After I’ve bandaged the tat, I sit back and give him a questioning glance. He has been so quiet, his body so tense… “You okay?”
He rubs his thumb along my bottom lip and groans. Taking a hint, I draw his thumb into mouth, wrap my lips around it, and suck, tasting Ray on my tongue.
“Christ. I can’t…” He eases me off his lap and then slides out of the chair, his body tense, quivering, as if he’s fighting for control. A tiny shiver winds its way down my spine when I glance at his face. It’s a cold, hard mask of concentration without the usual warmth I see when we’re together.
“Ray?”
He seats himself on my artist’s chair and grabs my hips, pulling me until I’m standing between his spread legs. Then he pulls me down, urging me lower until I’m kneeling in front of him.
“Suck me, beautiful girl. Show me what else those sweet lips can do.”
Oh God. That voice. Commanding. Sexy. Utterly dominant. My body tightens, need curling deep in my core.
Ray exhales when I help him ease his pants over his hips. His erection springs free, bobbing gently in my direction, and I lean forward and take a little lick.
He grips my hair, tilting my head back, and growls. “Don’t play.”
“Okay,” I whisper, torn between excitement and a niggle of concern over my ability to handle him taking so much control.
Ray wraps his hand around mine, curving us both over his thick shaft, and strokes hard. The feel of him hot and throbbing in my palm sends spasms through my groin.
“Harder.” He barks his command as he squeezes my hand around his shaft, his tone so gruff and unfamiliar my heart skips a little beat. Is this the dark side of him he didn’t want me to see? The Ray who likes pain?
We stroke him together until his cock is rock hard, and then Ray releases my hand and I lean forward and take him into my mouth,
my tongue stroking up and down his length, praying my inexperience doesn’t show. But whatever I’m doing must be right because he grips my hair and arches into me.
“That’s it. Take it all.”
His words make my clit tingle, and I take him deep, my cheeks sucking inward as I increase the pressure. Oh God. It’s so deliciously, illicitly dirty to be kneeling at Ray’s feet in the studio with his cock in my mouth, the wooden floor hard beneath my knees. How many times did I fantasize about doing something like this, never imagining for a second it would ever come true?
Wrapping one hand around the base of his shaft, I work it in counterpoint to my mouth. Ray’s breathing turns ragged and his erection thickens, becoming impossibly hard. I inhale his scent of soap and musky male, and try to focus on the slide of my lips over his smooth skin and not the ache at the juncture of my thighs.
“Touch yourself.” His rasped command is almost a relief. Without hesitation, I slide my hand between my legs and toy with my piercing.
“Fuck.” He wraps his hand around mine and squeezes, my grip on his cock at least twice as tight as before. Shocked at how hard he wants to be touched, I look up at him. Ray stares down at me, his fingers still in my hair. My breath catches at the raw hunger in his eyes—and something else, hiding in the shadows, feeding on his pain.
“Did I tell you to stop?”
Heat rushes between my legs, and I let out a moan as my clit pulses and throbs. God, I could come just from the filthy things he says.
“You like that.” He tugs my head back, forcing me to look up at him.
“Yes.”
“Good. ’Cause I’m gonna hold you still and fuck your pretty mouth, and you’re gonna dig your little claws into my thighs as hard as you can.”
“I can’t hurt you like that.”
“Pain pays for the pleasure.” He reaches down and pinches my nipple, finding my piercing through my clothes and pulling it so hard I gasp. “Pleasure me. Take me deep.”
And I do. I lean forward and take him in my mouth again, trying to relax my throat when he pushes in so far I gag. He pulls back just enough for me to recover, then holds my head still and plunges in again.
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