MidnightInk-epub

by MI

  The boy had issues—big and apparently insurmountable. As a result, he’d forgotten how to love…anyone really. It was sad but true, and she’d long since resigned herself to the fact. Most people probably assumed it was nothing more than a simple fear of intimacy or commitment, but Sophie knew it was bigger than that.

  Had she ever wished things could be different? Of course she had. She’d been half in love with him for years and completely in lust with him for even longer than that. But, then again, who hadn’t been?

  It was odd really. He was good-looking, but not stunningly so, and not nearly as tall in real life as pictures and television made him seem. He was a good friend and a good artist but as a human being, he definitely had his faults. He was honest and direct, but not particularly sensitive. The subtle gene had totally passed him by. If you asked his opinion on something, you’d best be looking for the unvarnished truth. On the other hand, when it suited him, he could charm the pants off of practically anyone.

  Ever since his debut on the popular series Inked in O-Town, he’d been making a career of acting like a jackass on national TV. Frankly, she’d never thought it seemed like that much of a stretch. Yet people loved him anyway.

  All the personal charisma that made him so popular on TV was even more potent in real life. Even back when he was just starting out, Sophie was pretty sure he could have bedded at least nine-tenths of the women he tattooed if he’d wanted to. For all she knew, he had. She’d given up worrying about that the day she realized she was only going to make herself crazy. She was never going to be able to fix what was wrong with Declan, and he was unlikely to change on his own. The best she could do was to be his friend, enjoy the ride, and keep her own feelings in check.

  It wasn’t even his fault that he was the way he was. Some wounds simply ran too deep to heal; they just scarred over. As long as he was content to remain emotionally unavailable, to remain mired in the past—in his own guilt and pain and heartbreak—it was hopeless. She doubted he’d ever be able to move forward. And, unless he did, no good was ever going to come from losing her heart to him.

  Sophie opened the door to her apartment and was immediately greeted by her roommate’s cat. She’d been caring for Lagniappe while Lida was out of town. The big, gray tomcat rubbed against her ankles, meowing loudly to get her attention. He weaved between her legs, his tail quivering with anticipation, seemingly unaware that his actions were hampering her efforts to get to the kitchen where his food was stored. It was a miracle she didn’t trip over him.

  Lida always claimed that his extra toes—the little something extra for which he was named—made him especially sure-footed. If that was true, Sophie wished she’d been born polydactyl herself. He was a handsome cat, yes, but definitely not worth falling and breaking an arm for.

  Handsome, affectionate, totally focused on his own needs and completely oblivious to how easily he could hurt her… Hmm. Didn’t that sound familiar? It was probably just because he was already on her mind, but at the moment, Lagniappe reminded Sophie an awful lot of Declan.

  After she’d fed the cat and poured herself a glass of sweet tea, Sophie collected her sketchpad and a set of watercolor pencils and took a seat on the couch. All day she’d been brainstorming ideas for her tattoo. Oriental poppies were currently at the top of her list, in part because they were her birth month flower. Their bold shapes and bright colors struck her as being cheerful and dramatic, exactly the kind of thing that couldn’t help but lift her spirits whenever she looked at them. Or so she hoped.

  She’d switched on the television before she sat down—mostly because she liked the noise. It kept her company while she worked. After only a few minutes, however, she found herself putting the sketchpad aside and reaching for the remote once again. She couldn’t help herself.

  She scrolled through the list of shows she’d recorded earlier until she found the one she wanted, then pressed play on a recent episode of Inked in O-Town. It was one she’d seen before and, yes, Declan was heavily featured, but that’s not entirely why she chose it.

  Declan’s client in this episode was a serviceman who’d been injured in an explosion. Sophie could tell herself she’d chosen it because she wanted to study Declan’s technique, because she wanted to watch his face while he covered up scars that were, in some ways, even worse than her own, or because she needed to convince herself that this was something they could both handle.

  All that was true, but there was a much more basic reason too. She might hate herself for being so weak, but sometimes she just got hungry for the sight of his face.

  Of course, the years had brought a few changes to that face she missed. The scruffy beard and longish hair had been early casualties. They’d been replaced the very first season by a shorter, more stylish cut and a meticulously groomed goatee. One thing that hadn’t changed was his voice. One of her favorite things about watching him on TV was that she also got to listen to him. She got to listen to him a lot. Because it seemed like he rarely ever shut up.

  He’d always been vocal—especially in bed. It wasn’t just dirty talk either, although he’d certainly excelled at that. He’d made demands, made promises, made observations; more than anything, it seemed, he’d used words to direct their lovemaking. And Sophie had loved it when he did.

  It had been kind of an eye-opener. She was not the world’s most passive person, either in bed or out. Following orders was not her thing. Being restrained, being told what to do, begging to come, begging for pain—hell, begging for anything—she’d never had any degree of interest in any of it, until she got around Declan, and then she couldn’t get enough.

  Something about him made her crave it. Even now, even just the sound of his voice on TV, when he was talking to someone else in a totally non-sexual context, caused her whole body to flush with heat.

  “Stretch your arm above your head,” Declan said. “And let me get this stencil in place over your ribcage. Yeah, that’s nice. This is gonna be a good one.”

  Sophie abandoned all pretense of working. She slid lower on the couch and slipped her hand into her pants, imagining it was Declan’s, calling up the memory of one of the last times she’d seen him…

  It was after he’d gotten the call about the show. They’d gone out to celebrate and then come back to the tiny studio where she’d been living. They were in the hallway, outside her door, and she’d just turned her key in the lock when he stopped her. He took her by the shoulders and turned her around to face him.

  She wasn’t surprised when he kissed her or when the kiss lingered on and on. It had hit her too that evening. The clock was ticking. Things were changing between them. He was leaving soon, and the odds weren’t good that they’d have many more nights like tonight. What did surprise her was when she felt him pop the button on her jeans and lower the zipper.

  “What are you doing?” she asked against his lips when he slipped his hand into her pants, one long finger stroking over her clit. She shuddered in response, barely resisting the urge to buck against his hand. “Stop…oh, God that feels good.”

  “Gonna make you come,” he muttered, his voice husky and raw.

  She didn’t doubt it. And, on the whole, she was heavily in favor of the idea. There was just one small problem. “Wait. Let’s get inside first.”

  “No. Here.”

  “That’s uh…that’s a really bad idea.” They’d both had a few drinks, but she wouldn’t have said either of them was drunk. So why was he acting this way? “C’mon, stop. Someone might see.”

  “Yeah. Want ’em to.” The hand that wasn’t in her pants clenched in her hair. He tugged her head back and nipped at her throat, and her mind went blank. “Want everyone to know.”

  Sophie whimpered in response. “Know what?”

  “What you do to me.”

  Okay, that was… “Backwards. Totally ass-backwards.” All anyone was going to see was what he did to her—which was to make her lose her ever-loving mind.

  Declan sucke
d harder on her neck, an evil chuckle vibrating in his chest. “Okay, if that’s what you want. We could do that. I could take you from behind right here.”

  “What? No!”

  “Why not? Isn’t that what you just said? You’d like it too. I know you would.”

  “I would not. I…I…I…” Oh, fuck. Yes, she would too. Her nipples got so hard at the thought it felt as though they were going to burn right through her shirt. She wanted him to turn her around, press her hard against the door. What was wrong with her?

  “Mmm. Wet,” Declan murmured as his fingers continued to play with her pussy. “I might have to strip off these jeans right here and have a taste.”

  In another minute, she’d probably let him. Sophie groaned. It was time for drastic action. She fumbled around behind her back until she located the doorknob. She grabbed it and turned. The door, propelled by their joint weight pressing against it, swung open. Her hand on the doorknob helped her stay upright, the door itself supporting her. Declan, on the other hand, completely lost his balance. He stumbled forward several steps before tripping and landing on the floor. Sophie couldn’t help but laugh at his pained expression as he lay groaning on the tile.

  He twisted around and looked at her. “Laughing? Oh, hell no. You’re so gonna pay for that.”

  Declan climbed to his feet, eyes gleaming with mischief. Sophie dodged around him as he reached for her and ran—making it all the way across the room before he caught her. She thought she knew what was coming next. Thought she’d be over his lap in the next minute with her jeans pulled down just enough for him to lay his hand on her cheeks.

  That first slap landing on her ass always sounded so loud—horrifyingly so. A wave of heat would wash up her face until even her ears burned. She’d be mortified, embarrassed and completely turned on. She’d be convinced the whole building could hear it, that the whole block knew exactly what he was doing to her, and how much she loved it. By the time the third slap struck home her eyes would be watering from the sting. By the fifth, she’d no longer hear the sound his hand made as it struck her heated flesh—in part due to the rush of blood in her ears, in part because, by then, her moans would have drowned out any other sounds. If they made it to ten, she’d cream so hard she’d leave wet patches on his pants.

  He’d pretend annoyance and order her to her knees, instructing her to suck him off good for her penance. She loved that even more. She loved tracing the veins along his shaft with her tongue. Loved teasing the ridge with her tongue piercing. Loved tasting his cum. Filling her mouth with him. Losing her breath on each deep downstroke. His hand in her hair exerting just the right amount of pressure really sent her over the top.

  Her heels folded beneath her would draw her attention to her sore ass. Pressure would build between her thighs, the need to come. She’d try to clamp her legs together in an effort to alleviate it. If he let her. He rarely did. Usually, he’d demand she keep them spread so he could watch. Usually, she’d be naked, and he’d toy with her nipples as well, tugging and twisting the little gold bars of her piercings until she’d completely lost her mind.

  The harder I pull, the better you suck, he’d always tell her. And if he hadn’t restrained her arms, if he’d left her hands free so she could play with herself, she wouldn’t need anything more than that. His voice, those words, and she’d be coming to pieces right there on the floor with his cock in her mouth.

  This time, he surprised her. He tumbled her onto the bed, rolling with her until she was pinned beneath him with only one arm free.

  He smiled down at her. “Now, where was I?” Since his hand had reclaimed its place in her hair, and was already exerting that delicious pressure she’d come to crave, Sophie was pretty sure they both knew exactly where they were—and where they were going.

  All the same, a little reminder never hurt. She gazed up at him expectantly. “I believe you said something about making me come?”

  “Hmm. We’ll see about that. Stretch your arm up over your head and leave it there.”

  “Like this?” she asked as she moved her arm into position.

  “Perfect.” He pushed her shirt and bra out of the way. “Now don’t move again until I tell you.”

  “I’m not sure I can do that.” Much as she wanted his touch, the idea of not being able to shield herself if she wanted to unnerved her.

  “Am I going to have to tie you up?”

  Sophie gasped in surprise, not because it would be the first time they’d done it, but because she’d only just now remembered a key point about the last time they’d done it here. Afterward, she’d never actually gotten around to removing the padded handcuffs they’d affixed to the bed frame.

  Declan had obviously learned to read her expression with uncanny accuracy. Either that or he’d read her mind. His gaze turned speculative as he stretched his own arm toward the corner of the bed. He rooted around for a moment in the space between the bed frame and the wall. “Aha.” His eyes were sparkling when his hand re-emerged holding the slightly dusty, cream-colored cuff.

  Sophie bit her lip. Her heart was pounding. Her thoughts tumbled over one another in her mind. Yes. No. Yes!

  “Trust me?”

  She had to clear her throat before she could answer. “Yes.”

  “Sure about that?”

  She was. She wanted that thrill of vulnerability, even if it was mostly make-believe. In a weird way, it made her feel closer to him somehow, as though she’d let him inside her skin. When he restrained her like this, even a little bit, the outside world seemed to fade away. Her focus shrank and sharpened until it seemed like nothing even existed anymore except the two of them. She licked her lips, wanting desperately to explain even part of that—how close she felt to him tonight, how very much she’d miss him—but she was out of words. She met his gaze and nodded, hoping he’d read a little of that in her eyes as well, and then barely managed not to flinch when he snugged the cuff in place a little more tightly than usual.

  Shivers raced across her skin as his hand stroked down her arm, his gaze never leaving her face. He briefly cupped one breast, chaffing the sensitive tip with the pad of his thumb, but then moved on to slip his hand into her pants once again.

  She bucked a little against him. “Jeans. Off.”

  But Declan shook his head. “Uh-uh. I’ve changed my mind about that. I want you like this. I don’t even want you to move. I want to see if I can make you come using nothing but my hand and the sound of my voice.”

  Sophie groaned impatiently. Well, of course he could do that! Hadn’t he already proven it a thousand times over? She was pretty sure he could make her come using just his voice alone if they wanted to devote the entire night to the task.

  Tension ratcheted tighter. Having been told she couldn’t, Sophie wanted to move even more than usual. She wanted to arch and squirm and grind against Declan’s hand. Her pussy pulsed and ached with need. Exquisite though the sensations were, she needed more. “Bite me,” she whispered when she could take no more. “Hard.”

  He met her gaze. “What?”

  Heat flared in her cheeks. This was new—and a little bit edgy, even for them. She couldn’t repeat it. “Please.”

  Declan groaned softly. His hand tightened in her hair. Sophie’s heart beat faster as anticipation further sharpened her need. She squeezed her eyes shut.

  “Open your eyes, bébé,” Declan whispered as his lips grazed hers.

  It was a struggle to comply. Her heavy-lidded eyes didn’t want to stay open.

  Holding her gaze, Declan lowered his mouth to her breast. He teased the tip with his tongue, tugged on the piercing until Sophie was whimpering with need, and all the while his hand stayed busy between her legs He circled her clit with a firm, steady touch while the tips of two fingers pumped inside her. It was barely deep enough to count as penetration, but it provided exactly enough friction, exactly in that spot where her flesh was already over-sensitized.

  Sophie gulped for breath. Her nerves w
ere on overload. When Declan’s teeth finally closed on her breast, sharper than ever before, hard enough to leave marks, she flew apart. Declan held her through the aftershocks, gently cupping her mound, whispering soft words in her ear …

  Back in the present, all alone on her couch, Sophie shuddered through another orgasm. Declan’s voice was still there to soothe her.

  She refocused her gaze on the television, where Declan was hard at work. Even filtered through the lens of a camera, it was impossible not to see or be impressed by the passion he brought to his work. Maybe that was the real secret to his success?

  Soon, she was the one he’d have on his table, the focus of all his attention. His hands on her flesh, his gaze making love to her skin, leaving marks. Leaving more marks. As though he hadn’t marked her enough already.

  After she’d come that night five years ago, after he’d released her wrist, stripped off her jeans, and fucked her almost senseless, they’d lain together in bed. He’d been in a jubilant mood, full of plans for the future. It took him several minutes to even notice she was crying.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked. It was probably petty of her to be annoyed by the fact that he sounded more puzzled by her tears than truly concerned.

  She shrugged. “Nothing really. I know it’s stupid, but it just hit me how much I’m going to miss you.” It was true, but only half the story. What she’d also realized was how abysmally unsuccessful she’d been at restraining her emotions. It was actually a good thing he was leaving. A very good thing. It would save her the humiliation of having to admit to her deeper feelings. Or, even worse, begging him to love her back.

  Declan squeezed her tight. “So what’s the problem? You’ll come visit, right? Besides, who knows if things will even work out with the show? I could be back by Christmas. Probably you won’t even have time to miss me.”

  Sophie nodded, smiling through her tears, playing along. “Hmm. There is that. Given your track record, I guess it would be kind of a miracle if you managed to keep this job for more than a few weeks, huh?” But it was bullshit and she was pretty sure they both knew it. He would not be back by Christmas, no matter what happened with the show; he would probably not be coming back at all. Sure his roots were in New Orleans, going back for several generations, but the past few years had seen those roots ripped out and stomped on hard. That was probably not the kind of thing from which you could ever recover. He’d been barely hanging on, slowly dying in place—they both knew that too.