MidnightInk-epub

by MI

  She waved hello to the gentle giant Caliph who glanced up with a smile from the client he was tattooing, and at Eli, their darkly beautiful piercer, who was talking on his cell phone, before stashing her purse in the cabinet at her station. She was glad to see Sassy, the tattoo shop’s manager, had set her up already with a sheet of plastic wrap over her counter, the small plastic ink pots lined up in a row, stuck to the wrap with ointment. Her first appointment of the day was due any minute. She hung her sweater on a brass hook set into the raw brick wall and sat on her wheeled stool, rolling her shoulders. She was still sore all over from the play she’d had with that monster of a man.

  Finn.

  Her head was spun—that was certain. She didn’t like it. In retrospect, she probably should have ended the scene as soon as she realized what an impact he was having on her. It was unfamiliar. Dangerous. The idea that she really might have done anything he asked of her…

  But God, the sex had been amazing! She was sore from that, too, but in the best way possible. She felt deliciously used. And damn it, she was getting wet again just remembering.

  Switch to work mode, girl.

  “Hey, Sassy?” she called up front. The shop was one big room with open stations, so access to the reception desk was always a shout away. Sassy was used to it. “Who’s my first client? I didn’t check the schedule before I left the other night. And is coffee ready? I’m in dire need.”

  Sassy looked up, wrinkled her brows at her. Rosie noticed she’d changed the streaks in her long, dark hair—they were fire-engine red today, which looked great against her caramel skin. “You okay, Rosie? You sorta look like hell—no offense, chickie. And sorry I missed you coming in—I was in the office placing a supply order.”

  Rosie shrugged. “Sure, I’m fine. Just…recovering. I could really use that coffee if you have a sec. And crap, do I look that bad?” She reached for her lip gloss stash and the compact mirror she kept in a small basket at her station.

  “You’re gorgeous as always, sexy bitch, but I know you and something’s a little off. Maybe you’ll tell me about it later. Meanwhile, coffee coming right up.” Sassy walked past Rosie’s station to where her infamous coffee was brewed in the back. “Oh, your first client…he’s not a local. Hang on and I’ll check the name.”

  Rosie scrolled through email on her phone for a moment, then Sassy was back with the coffee.

  “Ah, thank you. Your coffee is a little bit of heaven, Sassy, babe.”

  Sassy winked at her. “I’m told I have other talents, too.”

  Rosie grinned. “As long as it’s not my wayward cousin telling you that.”

  “Nah. Baby boss man Christie knows better. He wouldn’t last a day without me.”

  “He’s smart on occasion,” Rosie joked.

  She always had to give Christie a hard time. She actually loved that he’d bought the shop when their uncle Henry Lee decided to retire to Bali after beating cancer. As the new boss at Midnight Ink her cousin had decided to run a special event through December and January—all the shop’s artists had agreed to offer special rates to vets, cancer survivors and anyone getting memorial ink, as well as donating some of the funds to special charities. Rosie’s charity pick was the Why We Ink project, which hosted an online gallery of those who wore their ink for cancer, and raised funds for cancer research. She and Christie both felt it was an important way for the shop to celebrate Henry Lee’s survival, as well as the New Year.

  They’d always been close, despite the fact that Christie, a popular indie musician, had been on the road for too long—the dozens of postcards he’d sent from all over the world pinned to the bulletin board at her work station were proof of that. She’d missed him.

  Sassy moved to the front counter and tapped the keys of her computer. “Looks like your first tattoo today is…here. Rosie, this is Finn Carter.”

  Her heart dropped into her stomach before she even raised her eyes to him.

  Finn.

  How crazy was this? He looked as shocked as she felt.

  Shocked and so gorgeous in the muted afternoon light streaming through the front windows of the shop, tipping his platinum hair in silver.

  She realized her mouth was hanging open so she closed it and stood up.

  “Um..hi.”

  His brows furrowed. “You’re Rosie Gallagher?”

  “Yes. And you’re…my client. Why didn’t you say anything?”

  “I had no idea.”

  “You two know each other from somewhere?” Sassy asked, although it was obvious she already had a good idea.

  If only her pale Irish skin didn’t blush so damn pink!

  Pull it together.

  What would Henry Lee do? That was always her go-to solution whenever there was an issue at the shop. But Henry Lee had tattooed plenty of the women he’d slept with—it was no secret that he got around—and never batted an eye. This was different.

  But did it have to be?

  She stood up straighter. “Why don’t you come on back, Finn, and we’ll talk about what you want.”

  His blue gaze snared hers, and she saw what he wanted in the way his eyes gleamed. Wicked. Taunting. Deadly serious.

  Oh, she was not going down now. Not in her shop. She suppressed a groan and the urge to drop to her knees in front of him.

  “Need some more coffee, Rosie?” Sassy asked, an edge to her tone.

  “I’m good.”

  “Finn? Coffee? I make the best coffee in N’awlins, honey. Best not to pass it up.”

  “Sure. I take it black. Thanks,” he said, never letting his gaze stray from Rosie’s. Once Sassy had headed to the back of the shop and her sacred coffee pot he strode in, towering over her. “You were introduced to me as Roisin,” he whispered harshly.

  “I am Roison,” she said, her heart thundering in her chest. “Roisin is Irish for ‘rose’. Hence Rosie, my professional name, and the one I use everywhere but at the club. Anyway, a lot of people use scene names.”

  He ran a hand over his hair, looked away for a moment, then back to her. He had an odd grin on his face.

  “I’ll be damned. And I likely will be. But you. Here. To tattoo me. This promises to be interesting, don’t you think, pretty girl?”

  She felt her eyebrows shoot up. She said in a low voice, “Don’t do that shit to me here, Finn. Here we’re on my territory. Hard limit.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said, humor in his tone. “Come on, Roison. Loosen up. We’re going to be here for a while.” He leaned in closer, and she could smell the ocean scent that made her knees weak. “And to be honest I don’t mind that one bit. Are you going to tell me you do?”

  She bit her lip. She did. And she didn’t. Being near this man was a pleasure. But it was going to be pure torture, too.

  “Of course I don’t mind. But let’s try to concentrate on the work. We need to leave the other night out of it, okay?”

  He grinned. “I’ll do my best, sweetheart.”

  “Okay,” she agreed warily. “Sit down and tell me about the design you have in mind.”

  Sassy handed Finn his coffee and gave Rosie a lingering glance before moving to her desk at the front of the shop. Rosie had to force herself to focus on the art as they talked about the full chest piece he wanted done.

  “I always love the Japanese idea of the koi becoming the dragon,” she said, nodding over the notes she was making on her iPad. “I love tattoos showing that progression in life.”

  “Or in death,” he muttered.

  “What?”

  He shrugged. “It’s a memorial piece. For my friend Kenji.”

  “Ah.” She’d assumed Finn wasn’t the sentimental type. He hadn’t appeared to be—not until now. And now, after this show of sentimentality, the chink in his armor, she liked him in addition to finding him incredibly hot, one of the best players she’d ever been with, and a master in the sack, too. The sex last night had been…

  Focus!

  “Do you want to tell me more
about your friend?” she asked. “I don’t mean to pry, but sometimes getting a sense of the person you’re memorializing can help to guide the work. His name is Japanese?”

  “Yeah, Japanese. Kenji was…a good guy. Always happy. On the outside, anyway. I don’t think anyone really knew him, though.” He paused, looking away for several long moments. “Maybe I didn’t even know him. I like to think all that shit clarified when he moved on, eh?”

  “Yes. A metamorphosis in death. The koi transforms into the stronger, more powerful dragon, attaining its true self.”

  “Yeah, that’s it. And put better than I could.” He smiled. “I like that you get it.”

  “So, are we doing it all in black and gray?”

  “That was my thought. I don’t have any color on me.”

  Rosie nodded. She’d noticed. Oh, God, she’d noticed. The tribal work he wore was incredible. Incredible ink on perfectly taut, hulking muscle.

  “Take your shirt off,” she said.

  He chuckled, one eyebrow raised. “Can’t get enough of me, eh?”

  Too true, but she wasn’t about to tell him that.

  “I need to trace your chest so I know what kind of space I’m working with, you oaf.”

  “Ah, she’s a sassy wench. Luckily, I like that in a girl.”

  She sighed audibly. “Just take your damn shirt off and save the flirting for later.”

  He winked at her. “There’s plenty left for later, Roisin.”

  “I’m sure there is. Off with it.”

  He raised his arms and slipped his dark tee shirt over his head, revealing his heavily muscled chest. He was hairless, his skin a pale gold and beautifully smooth, other than a long scar over the left side of his ribs. Made her want to slide her hand over that wall of solid muscle, to stroke the flat nipples with her fingertips, to take them into her mouth and…

  Breathe, Rosie!

  She grabbed two sheets of transfer paper and taped them together to get a large enough piece to cover him from shoulder to shoulder, and began to trace an outline. She tried not to breathe him in, but somehow his fresh scent invaded her nostrils. It was all she could do not to close her eyes and luxuriate in the way he smelled, the heat of his big body only inches from hers.

  “I just want to be sure I have the exact space,” she murmured, “the curve of muscle…Do you have ideas about the background?”

  “Hadn’t thought about it. Right now I’m thinking about the fact that your hands are on me.”

  She was thinking about that, too. God, she was thinking about it—about where else she’d like to put her hands.

  “Well, stop it, Finn.”

  Stop it, Rosie!

  “We have work to do,” she said. “Talk to me about background elements.”

  “I thought I’d leave that up to you.”

  She couldn’t help but glance up then. “Oh, really? Handing over the control?”

  “You’re the artist. I’m just—”

  “The Dom,” she cut in.

  He arched a brow. “I thought we were leaving all that at The Bastille.”

  “Oh, we are.”

  “Hmm. I have a feeling there might be a little power play going on here right now.” He lowered his voice to a husky whisper. “Just don’t think for a moment that I’m not the Dom, pretty girl.”

  “We’ll see how you feel about that once I get my needle into your skin.”

  “Won’t change a thing,” he said, leaning back in the chair, all smug confidence.

  “We’ll see. Give me a few minutes to draw this up. Sassy will get you some more coffee if you want it.”

  “I’m good, thanks.”

  He raised his arms and clasped his hands behind his neck, giving her a view of his bulging biceps, the smooth line that ran along the tattooed underside. She’d always loved that area of a man’s arm—the tender skin there. Even more beautiful to her with the ink. Knowing how much it hurt to get tattooed there just made it hotter.

  She had to swallow once more as she went back to Henry Lee’s office—now Christie’s office—to draw at the big wood desk in peace. The station with the light tables the artists often drew on was in view of her station, and Finn. Too hard to concentrate.

  Damn it.

  The minute she sat down Sassy came in.

  “Jesus Christ on a popsicle stick! What the hell, Rosie? That guy looks like he wants to eat you alive.”

  “He already has,” she muttered.

  Sassy plopped down on the edge of the old desk. “Tell me everything.”

  “There’s no time. I have to draw.” When she saw her friend wasn’t about to back down she relented. “Okay. So I played with him at The Bastille on New Year’s Eve.”

  “And?”

  “And it was an intense night.”

  “You are so holding out on me.”

  “Sassy, he’s my client now and I need to get a grip. We’ll talk later.”

  “Yes, we will. And I’m gonna want details.”

  “Fine. Now go keep him entertained. I need a few minutes.”

  As Sassy left, Rosie reached over to Christie’s iPod dock and slipped the headphones on, cranked up some Godsmack and let the art take over her hands and her mind.

  The design came easily and twenty minutes later she thought she had something he’d like. She went back out to the main floor and handed Finn the drawing.

  “What do you think?”

  “To be honest, it looks perfect. It looks like…looks like Ken. I like it.”

  “I’ll blend where the water and the smoke meet in the middle around the Kanji symbols—strength and power for the koi and the dragon. And there’ll be a lot more shading on your skin.”

  Oh, God, his skin…

  “Good onya, then. Let’s do it.”

  Finn sat quietly sipping his coffee—damn good coffee, it hadn’t been a lie—watching Roisin get her machine ready, filling the ink cups up with black ink. What was it about this girl? She was beautiful, yeah, but why was it he couldn’t take his eyes off her?

  Eyes as deep blue as the sky at twilight when she looked up at him. “Ready?”

  “Ready as ever,” he said.

  She ran a razor over his chest, then wiped him down before applying the transfer sheet and pressing. Even through the paper, even though her touch seemed to be purely clinical, he could feel the heat from her palms on his skin. Enough to make him a little hard.

  He’d been hard for her all fucking day yesterday. Hadn’t been able to think about anything but her, if truth be told. He’d stayed in bed at Mick’s place most of the day, glad that his friend was with his girl Allie. He hadn’t been able to keep his hands off his cock any more than he’d been unable to get Roisin out of his mind. Her round breasts. Her perfect ass. The tight velvet that was the inside of her sweet pussy. Raging hard-ons all day that nothing had been able to alleviate. He’d come into his hand over and over, tried to distract himself with some porn, but all he’d seen onscreen was her. Her body. Her face.

  And now she was touching him.

  His cock jumped.

  “Take a look, Finn.”

  “What?” he realized suddenly that he’d closed his eyes, lost in yesterday’s fantasies.

  “Check out the placement in the mirror.”

  “Oh. Sure.” He got up and went to the enormous, brass-framed mirror mounted on the old brick wall. “Yeah, looks good.”

  He went back to the chair and sat down. Roisin had the tattoo machine in her latex-gloved hand.

  “My turn,” she said quietly as the machine hummed to life.

  “Your turn for what?”

  “To bring you pain,” she said, a small smile on her lovely crimson lips.

  “I can see you like the idea” He leaned toward her. “I don’t mind. I can certainly take it. And I’m sure I’ll have a chance to pay you back.”

  “Are you, now?” she asked, her dark brows arching.

  “You going to argue the point? Because even now, here in
your work place, I can see how your breath hitches when you’re close to me. I can see it in your eyes—how you want to let go. But you can’t here. Not here.” He paused, watched as her expression shifted, softened. “What time do you get off work?”

  She was silent a moment, and he really thought she might tell him to fuck off. But she only licked her lips and said, “The shop closes at ten.”

  He nodded in acknowledgment, not saying anything more. He just sat back and waited for her to put needle to skin. When she did, it was a sensual buzz that turned slowly into pain as she worked. He reveled in the familiar sensation of the needle, the ink burrowing into his flesh, making it burn a little. But he liked it. Loved it, really. Especially with the delicious Rosie bent over his chest. Her dark hair was up in a sleek, blue-streaked knot, baring the back of her neck, which looked strangely naked to him.

  Oh, he had it bad if he was turned on by the back of this woman’s neck.

  But he was. That and the way the needle dug into his chest—pain at her hands.

  What the hell was wrong with him?

  “So,” she started, her head bent in concentration. “Do you want to tell me more about your friend?”

  “Kenji?” He had to take a moment to shift the gears in his head. “He was another Dominant at my club in Atlanta, 2112. He was a Shibari master and rope photographer.”

  “Kenji Yoshida?”

  “Yeah, that’s him. Was.”

  “I’ve heard of him” she said, talking as she worked. “I actually saw a demo he did at The Bastille. Beautiful rope suspension.”

  “Yeah, that’d be him.”

  “What happened to him?”

  “Pancreatic cancer. Poor bastard never had a chance. He lasted barely six months.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said, pausing to look up at him, sincerity in her gaze. Sincerity and a wash of her own pain somewhere behind the lovely blue. “He must have been a good friend for you to get a whole chest piece in his honor.”

  “Yeah…well. The tattoo is maybe as much for me as it is for him. Learned some stuff through him dying.”

  Why was he telling her these things? The hard truths he’d been milling over since Kenji’s funeral a month ago. He didn’t want his life to end in the same way—with hardly anyone who gave a shit. He’d come to understand that the way he’d been living his life, it could very well end that way.