The Tattoo Artist's Mate

by Doris O'Connor

  All the names she’d read in her hot as hades stories filled her mind. So did the way reading them made her hot, wet, wanting, and bloody horny. The damp panties became wet, and goosebumps covered her body. So why was she thinking “no, not in a million years, proper, improper, impromptu or imposter, not gonna happen.”

  Sodding Julian of course. How would she know what a proper Dom looked like any way? She’d thought she’d found one in Julian, and that was a big fat, not on your Nellie, damp squid if there ever was one. Great judge of character she obviously wasn’t. So what if this guy made her panties wet, her juices gather and her nipples so hard it was a wonder they hadn’t put holes in her blouse? So what if he tugged on every sense she possessed? So what if he made her want to renege on her vow of no more men? So what? How did she judge what was real and what was wishful thinking?

  “I know more about you than you imagine, sweet Isla. Do you want to listen? Or.” He lowered his voice. “Are you gonna chicken out?”

  “Cluck, de cluck.”

  Gaspar chuckled. “Oh pet, we’re going to have so much fun.”

  She shuddered. “Not pet. Please not pet.”

  “Baby? Ma Belle?”

  She sighed. “Baby makes me want to puke. Ma Belle? Unoriginal but if you have to. Pet reminds me of something nasty I’d rather forget.”

  He scrutinized her for a long minute, until she was ready to squirm and then gave one decisive nod. “So wouldn’t it be better to give you happy, not nasty associations with it…” He paused and then said emphatically. “Pet.”

  Isla thought about it for a second or two. What he said made sense but… “With the proviso if it icks me out you stop and swap?”

  “I promise.”

  “Then I’ll do my best not to baa, bark, or meow.”

  He snorted.

  “Now, pet. Behave. Let’s have fun. Oh, and I promise I can make you purr, pet.”

  Okay, it wasn’t the time to decide what he meant by fun. Or why her heart was still missing the odd beat and she felt lightheaded. Now was “do I, don’t I, get this tattoo changed”? For a start anyway. Isla accepted her life was about to change, and for once she was sure it would be for the better.

  However, why was he staring at her so intently? And sniffing at her for God’s sake. She couldn’t smell. She hadn’t eaten garlic, had enjoyed a shower, and used her favorite body spray, and it was no way was it warm enough to negate that. He was just plain rude.

  “Do you need a hanky?” She fished a tissue from her pocket and held it out. “Here. It’s clean.”

  “What?” He glanced at it and then away again to stare at her face.

  Did she have a dirty mark on her cheek? A spot on her nose? She was sure she didn’t. But his eyes bored into her, like a laser or a heat-seeking missile with the emphasis on heat. Isla surreptitiously wafted the hem of her blouse around.

  “You’re sniffing. I hate sniffers. Blow your nose.”

  Gaspar made a noise somewhere between a snort and a howl. Did you call it a snowl? Whatever it was, it was unusual and very, very, hot. Her juices began to make a slow slide down her legs, and Isla pushed her thighs together. That was all she needed. Not.

  “Woman, you’re off the plot.”

  Chapter Four

  Gaspar couldn’t remember the last time he’d had so much fun. He couldn’t help but tease. The memory of how her thoughts had invaded his had popped out without him thinking amazed and delighted him. His woman—for whatever she thought, his sweet pet was his—was a walking mass of delicious cock-hardening contradictions. Of course she didn’t know he could hear her thoughts as clear as his own if he chose to, but oh, how he’d like to threaten to wash her mouth out for her little and not so little white lies. Not that he would, that sort of thing wasn’t in his repertoire, but a nice wee scribe with his claw would make her stop and think. And show anyone who needed to that she was his. Plus of course, he’d willingly demonstrate to her how to mark him as hers. Gaspar was all for equality in that respect. Then one day, show her what they could be if she accepted and…

  Ha, in his dreams. She would more than likely laugh and tell him to get out of fancy dress than accept that part of him.

  For now. However, he’d worry about that later. Now, he just wanted her to accept she was his. He made himself turn off his ability to tune in to her. It wasn’t right, or ethical, to eavesdrop one someone’s thoughts unless absolutely necessary. Especially now he knew who she was. Last time he’d not been prepared. It was part of their creed that you only heard the thoughts of those who mattered, who were part of you. In theory.

  In practice? Faint hope.

  His woman stuck her nose in the air. “I do not appreciate you speaking to me that way.” Her words were defiant, her demeanor, anything but. “What planet are you on. Owww, you bully.”

  He’d given in to the temptation to growl, swing her around and tap her ass. Not too hard, but with enough force to sting.

  Isla glared. “Do you like your body the way it is? Or do you want your balls rearranged?” She bit her lip and blushed. “Sod it. I mean—oh God, you make me so cross, and I never lose my temper. I came in to talk about a tattoo and ended up being molested. And don’t you bloody growl at me. What do you think you are? An animal?”

  What would she say if he said “yes”?

  “Some say so,” Gaspar said equably. “You’ll make your own mind up when you’re ready.”

  “Argh.” Isla threw her hands up in the air. “How the hell did we get to this?”

  “Fate.”

  “Fate?” she asked incredulously. “Don’t talk rot.”

  “You’ll learn. We are fated to be what we are to each other.” He didn’t think it was the time to go into details. Or tell her what he’d heard from her and what he’d seen.

  “Oh, all right then,” she said, deadpan. “Fate. Yeah. Why does it hate me? Tell it to give me a break already.”

  Gaspar watched as all the temper drained out of her. She looked … forlorn he decided. Lonely, unhappy, and bewildered. A horrible state to be in. Would she let him help her?

  “I always said I didn’t believe in fate,” Isla said flatly. “No point.”

  “Serendipity?” he suggested. “Like knows like? A meeting of minds? True love finds a way? One of those things?”

  She snorted. “You’re off your trolley. I’ve got to go.” She tugged her hand from his, where he’d held her to him. “Please.”

  “Okay, no more.” Yet. “Let’s start again,” Gaspar said. He couldn’t let her walk away in the state she was in. Okay, he couldn’t let her walk away, period. “Hello, I’m Gaspar MacDonald. Owner and inker, Bear at the Bare. How can I help you, Miss…”

  He held his breath.

  ****

  Isla considered the man who stood next to her. Much to her amazement, he’d intrigued her, interested her, aroused her, and yeah, as her mate would say, “hornified” her. Horny was an understatement. If she took off her panties—and she didn’t intend to—she’d be able to wring them out. Her nipples ached, her clit throbbed, and she needed to get out of there and find her bullet pretty damned quick.

  “I’m Isla Campbell. I, er, well look, this is a bit embarrassing,” she said in a rush. “I’ve been an idiot and agreed to get my asshole of an ex’s name tattooed on my ankle. And now I need it gone.” She stopped for a moment and thought over what she’d said. “Scrub part of that, I don’t think I did really agree. Asshole Julian told me as his sub I had to, and I … rrghh…” She took a stumbling step back as Gaspar’s eyes became more amber than ever and flashed with rage. She could swear his hands curled into claws, and his features began to change. He reminded her of an unfriendly grizzly about to pounce. What next?

  She grabbed hold of the wall as the floor shook.

  “I’m sorry,” she gasped. “But you’re scaring me and…” Holy hell, was that a growl? I really do have bears on the brain. “Gaspar, Mr. MacDonald, whoever, whatever, please, stop i
t.”

  “He was no dom.” Gaspar shook his head and took a deep breath. “Sorry I scared you. Give me a minute. I was angry.”

  How weird she could tell he didn’t invest the word Dom with a capital D.

  “I guessed that,” Isla said dryly. “Later. When I realized he wasn’t I got out pretty damned quick. But damage was done. Oh, not physically,” she added in a hurry as Gaspar’s eyes flashed again. “But it took me a while before I cottoned on to the fact he was a fraud. A charlatan.” Her voice shook as once again she thought how stupid she’d been. “A wannabe with nothing going for him. God, I was so clueless.” She thumped the chair arm, wishing it was bloody Julian. “I’m happy now to be me, and me I’ll stay. A happier me if you can get his bloody name off my ankle. I’ll go with a honeypot.”

  Gaspar nodded. “And a bear. You won’t regret it.”

  Isla sighed. He was like a dog with a bone. Or a bear with a whatever it preferred. “And a bear. A happy, smiley one. To make me a happy me.”

  “You’ll always be you, a happy you when you’re with me, I promise that. Whatever we do and however we do it. Will you give me a chance to show you?”

  Isla didn’t have to think twice. “Yes.”

  Am I out of my bloody mind? He could be anything. Worse than Julian or… Somehow, weirdly she knew he wasn’t.

  “Just like that?”

  She grinned as once more the hot as hades bloke she’d first met stood in front of her. “Yes, with bells on?”

  He laughed. “Yes, with bells on if you insist. I’d prefer you naked, but that can wait. Let’s have fresh coffee, ring for a takeaway, and discuss how I’ll turn your ankle into a work of art for a start. Okay?”

  It sounded good to Isla. “Very. What sort of takeaway?”

  “You choose.”

  “Debby’s Diner Dinner special. They’ll need three hours, but it’s worth it.” Would he get the fact she was happy to spend all that time with him? She mentally crossed her fingers. This was all so un-Isla like, it would have—should have—been scary, but it wasn’t. For the first time in ages she was happy and certain she was doing the correct thing.

  He handed her his phone. “Would you mind? For whenever you prefer. Me? I’d say after we talk, I tell you and show you a bit about myself and if you’re happy we make love, but that might be a wee bit late at night.”

  She let her breath out in a whoosh. He’d really said making love. Strange that it didn’t seem too fast too forward or at all wrong.

  “I’ll say eight?” That gave them nine hours. Surely that would be enough?

  Gaspar hunkered down in front of her, his impressive thighs straining the seams of his jeans. His eyes glowed, and once again she got a scent of wet animal.

  “Aroused animal. All for you.”

  There she was getting those strange thoughts again.

  “Not strange, pet. Just your mind beginning to open up and see what’s going to be.”

  Shit, now her thoughts were coming in Gaspar’s voice. “Er, Gaspar?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Oh, nothing. I’m wool gathering.” How could she say nonchalantly, “Do you believe in shifters and stuff? Can you smell wet animal? Am I crazy?” She couldn’t. Not without him calling for the men in the white coats.

  “Hey, stop worrying.” Gaspar moved her teeth from her lips and pressed a swift kiss to the bruised flesh. “You’re not crazy, my pet. Just coming to terms with our future. Just like I did.”

  Okay now I am going screwy. I did not say that out loud.

  “Are you a mind reader or something?” she demanded. Not that she believed in them either, but something was going on.

  “Or something. You say you can smell wet animal?”

  Isla nodded. “Yeah, not all the time but…”

  “When I’m aroused,” Gaspar said matter-of-factly. “Which is gonna be a lot more often now I’m around you.”

  That made no sense. “Yeah? Why?” Isla demanded. “Next you’ll be telling me you’re not really a human.”

  He nodded. “True. I’m a shifter.”

  Isla rolled her eyes. “Which of my mates put you up to this? The Isla reads all those books let’s give her a taste of what she reads scenario eh? Early birthday present. So now what do I do? Tell you to show me? Ask if you’re a wolf, a bear, or a squirrel.”

  He snorted. Then growled. He really did have the growl off pat.

  Isla bit back her first frisson of fear. He sounded … pissed off. “Great growl,” she said bravely and gritted her teeth and waited for him to respond.

  His eyes glowed, and he opened his mouth to show fangs and … bloody hell. Impressive teeth.

  “Oh yes,” Gaspar said, his voice gravelly and guttural. “I excel at growling. And roaring, standing on two legs and giving my mate, my pet, my girl, all she desires. Which if my senses don’t fail, is us. You and me. My shifter self wants us to mate. Us to be a couple and us forever.” He paused. “My human self wants that as well.”

  Fuck. Those words in his voice turned her to mush.

  “After what, two hours or so?” Isla said in a swift, and unexpected, show of defiance again him. “Unlikely.”

  “Tut-tut, what was that I said about lying, my pet?”

  Heat rushed into her cheeks. Was she going to get a punishment? Would he spank her? Would it be different from Julian’s efforts? Did she want to find out, or was it time to say no thanks and goodbye?

  “Gaspar, this is all happening too fast,” Isla said in a shaky voice. “I’ve just met you. Yes, I’m attracted to you, but it’s all too much too soon. Especially after.” She waggled her leg so the horrible tattoo on her ankle showed. “After this. I’m scared. I’m not sure I dare open myself up again.”

  He hugged her tight, swung her up, and settled her on his lap. “How do you feel like this?”

  Chapter Five

  Gaspar held his breath as Isla wriggled over his rigid cock and almost made it break in two. Fuck, that was so erotic. So arousing and so bloody good. However, his dick now wanted to drill up her ass, and somehow, he didn’t think she’d go for that right then.

  One day he hoped but … not yet.

  “Like your cock is wanting in my ass,” she said. “I don’t do anal.”

  Bugger. Gaspar made a mental note to ask why and see if she’d change her mind at some point. In his mind, that slow, tight push into a hot as hades entrance, through tight muscles and then to sit deep and hard inside that secret place was one thing to be enjoyed above almost all else. The faith given to him not to hurt and the connection it gave was perfect. Even the thought of it made him ready to come.

  Cool it. “Sorry about my dick. It’s hot, hard, horny and eager to fuck with you. Okay, let me rephrase that. I’m hot, hard, horny and eager to make love with you. When you give me the go and not until. For now, though, horny cock withstanding, are you happy where you are?”

  Isla nodded and wriggled again. “Ah that’s better. Yep, I’m comfy.”

  Gaspar sure as hell wasn’t. If his eyes weren’t crossed they should be. “Okay,” he said in a strangled voice. “Let’s move on, to things we both need to know. First off. Do you trust me to sort your tattoo?” The sooner they got rid of the word Julian and changed it to something else the better. He had a few ideas on the bear and honeypot theme, but first he had to know, really know, she trusted him.

  “Of course I do, I wouldn’t be here else.”

  “Fair enough, then I’ll draw up some ideas for you. Bear and honeypot, yes?”

  Isla nodded.

  “Second, are you prepared to try us for size?”

  She sniggered. He laughed. “Yeah, that didn’t quite come out the way it was supposed to. You know what I meant. We have a connection. One we both recognized instantly. One we’d be mad not to act on and see what it means.”

  “MacDonald and Campbell on the same side? The ancestors will turn in their graves.”

  He snorted. “There is that. Are you worried?�
�

  “No, I don’t see why I should. My Gran warned me when the right person came along there would be pitfalls and I’d need to keep an open mind. I’m not sure she meant the breaking of bread with the enemy so to speak, but hey ho.”

  He let out the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. Now for the next question. “This is a bit more tricky. What do you know and think of Doms and BDSM?”

  Isla sighed. “That Julian wasn’t one, that I didn’t get what I should have. I was no sub to him, just someone to boss about without any thoughts for me and my wellbeing. Spanking fucking hurts, and is a major no go area, and scribing is another word for GBH.”

  Damn. Not as easy as he hoped. “Within a true Dom/sub relationship, it only hurts when it is mean to. Such as a punishment. For pleasure it hurts, it tingles, it morphs into something beautiful. And yes, I have been on the receiving end. I vowed never to do anything to my sub, I hadn’t experienced myself. Anything,” he stressed.

  “Hmm,” she said in a skeptical voice. “So you say. I’m not so sure.”

  Gaspar hugged her tight and stroked the side of her luscious breast. Her sharp intake of breath gave him hope. She wasn’t unaffected, so maybe she’d be open to learning a little more? “I could show you, my pet. Show you what a really loving Dom/sub relationship is all about.”

  He hoped to hell his yearning didn’t show in his voice. How Dom-like would that be? Uncertain and … fuck it, and human. “I hope I could,” he added. “It’s been a while. I swore I wouldn’t let my Dom out to play until I knew it was with my mate. I’ve kept that vow.”

  Fuck and shit, why do I keep emphasizing the word “mate”? She’ll ask why and then what? Bear comes out to play before time? That would put a right damper on everything. No human could be expected just to accept and understand. Fuck, even he had difficulty with the acceptance and understanding at times and he was born to it.

  Isla stared at him. “You’re holding something back,” she said with more perception that he’d expected. “Open and honest at all times?”

  He signed. “It sounds so far-fetched, you won’t believe it.”