by Kira Blakely
I climbed onto the bed, peppered kisses up her calves, knees, thighs, past the wet center that would be my heaven. I sucked the skin on her hip and nibbled on it, left a mark that was mine. Cain’s mark on Margot.
There for a week at least.
And after that?
I’d have to leave another one.
She tasted like fucking magic. Like every mouthful of the best food or drink on the planet. I scooped my fingers upward and pinched one of her nipples, then the other, hard enough that she’d feel it and love it.
“I want you,” she whispered.
“I know you do, Margot.”
“How long have you known?”
I moved up to her breasts, forced them together on her chest and fondled them, enjoyed their size. Not too little, not too much. Probably considered small, conventionally, but so fucking right for me.
I sucked both her nipples into my mouth and more. She was so supple. Malleable beneath my fingers. She groaned and tugged on my earlobe. “Cain!”
“Patience.”
“No!”
“You want it now?” I asked. Good thing she’d come already. This was the culmination of years of waiting for her. The minute I got inside this woman, I’d probably blow my fucking load. “You want it now, you’d better have a condom.”
“I’m on the pill,” she whispered.
“Uh-huh?” I licked a circled around her nipples, working her tits beneath greedy fingers. “And?”
“I’ve been tested. I—” I interrupted her by nibbling and biting. “Fuck! Just fuck me! Stop teasing me. You’ve been teasing me for years. I can’t take it anymore. I need you, baby. I need you so bad I’m going to explode. I can’t take it anymore.” The words rushed out of her, clipped and breathy.
“I have a condom,” I said.
“I want you bare,” she groaned. “I want your cum inside me.”
Fuck. Holy fuck.
I’d never been with a woman without a condom before. I’d never risked it and had sworn I never would. Either way, it was a recipe for disaster, for saddling someone with a responsibility they didn’t need.
“Please,” she whispered, practically quivering. “You gave me my first orgasm. Be the first man I’ve ever fucked without one. Please.”
She’d never done it without either.
“You know this is going to change you. Every moment I’m inside you will be like the first breath you’ve ever taken. Like the first dream you’ve ever had. I’m going to make you into a new person, Margot. Remember you asked for this when it happens.”
“I want it.”
I released her breasts and positioned myself above her, reached between us and placed the head of my dripping dick at her entrance. “It’s going to be quick,” I said, and ran my dick up her lips to her clit. I massaged it, slapped it lightly, then pressed my cock back to that hole.
“It won’t take long,” she whispered.
I bent and kissed her. “Don’t look away. Watch me.”
Margot nodded.
This feels like the first time. Ever.
I entered her in one swift stroke, pierced her and myself all in one. The room whited out. Margot remained. She cried out, wrapped her legs around me, slapped her hands onto my back.
“Fuck! Oh my god. Oh my god, you’re so fucking big.”
Her pussy closed around me, tightened up so it was impossible for me to move without blowing my load inside her.
I focused. Don’t fuck it up. Quick, but not two fucking seconds.
This was beyond anything I’d felt before.
I pumped into her once.
She scratched my back.
A second time and she bit down on my bicep, suckled on the flesh and whined like an animal. A third time and my balls tingled. Fuck, I was already too close. My body scraping against hers, hard against her softness, her breasts, the planes of her thighs and stomach.
Connecting on every level.
“Margot,” I growled.
“I’m coming.” She dragged me down and dug her teeth into the muscle on my shoulder, arched her back upward to meet me. She pulsed around me, her pussy sucking, teasing me past my brink.
I couldn’t hold on another second.
So I didn’t.
I exploded inside her, pulsing, pressing my cum deeper and deeper, as deep as it could go. “Fuuuuuck,” I groaned. The sensations settled into my skin, and I fucking rode through them, tugging on her hair, kissing her lips, gripping her hip and squeezing the flesh there, taking her. Staking my claim on her soul.
Finally, the pulsing subsided.
I pressed my forehead to hers and stared into her eyes. “Stay,” I said, before she could iterate anything. “Sleep here tonight.”
“I shouldn’t,” she whispered.
I kissed her so deep and hard, she lost her breath.
“But you will.”
Chapter 10
Margot
Sunlight streaked through the windows of Get Ink’d and trickled across the wooden boards, hit the crimson walls, the pictures I’d hung—many of which had been part of my father’s collection.
Artsy drawings. Displays of tattoos we’d done before.
Did I feel guilty about sneaking out of Cain’s apartment at five in the morning?
No. I didn’t. Because I had responsibilities to attend to, and I’d already allowed myself to feel too much for him. And feeling for Cain was death. The death of everything I’d known, at least.
But if I didn’t feel guilty about it, then why couldn’t I stop thinking about it?
“Cameraman is here,” Nat said, behind me. “He’s at the back of the shop. He says he wants to take a shot of us together, arm in arm and shit. I told him I’m not doing it unless Cain is involved. I mean, he’s the boss too, right?”
“Uh-huh,” I said.
Cain.
I still hadn’t made the goddamn decision about whether we’d script this or not. And it was weird, but maybe I didn’t want it scripted. Maybe, strict order wasn’t everything.
Last night had probably been the best night of my life.
Even if I couldn’t do it again—and I shouldn’t—I could learn from the experience.
Loosen up a little.
“Boss?”
“What?” I asked, and faced her.
She held out a mug of coffee, and her lip piercing bobbled as she smiled. “You all right? You seem, uh, distracted this morning.”
That was putting it lightly.
Last night, I’d handed my body, mind, and soul to Cain on a platter.
“Thanks,” I said absently, and accepted the cup. I slurped from it and hid a grimace. Nat had worked for me for an entire year now—we’d brought her on when dad had fallen ill—and she still didn’t know how to make a cup of coffee the way I liked it.
“Is it OK?” she asked, and twisted her gauge. “I tried to do it how you like it.”
I’d pasted the instructions up next to the coffee machine for her. “It’s great,” I choked out, and forced a watery smile. “You’re doing great.” Pity I didn’t have a fake potted plant to dump this in when she wasn’t looking.
I forced down another gulp.
“Oh, that guy’s here again. The cute suit.” Nat pointed to the front door.
Guy waved from the other side of it, bearing his cheesy smile and a briefcase today.
I put the mug down on the reception desk—thank god—and hurried to let him in.
He swept into the shop and nodded to Nat then me. “Good morning, ladies. How are you two lovely women today?”
“Gag,” Nat said.
We both stared at her.
“Oh shit, did I say that out loud? Sorry. I forgot to put my filter on.” She turned an invisible key next to her mouth. “Done.”
I barely restrained a laugh.
“Nat, could you get Mr. Simmons a cup of your awesome coffee?” I asked. “I’m sure he’d appreciate it.” No one got that inside joke except for me, and it made holding back the
laugh even more difficult.
Nat scurried off but sent me a thumbs-up over her shoulder.
“She’s a character,” Guy said. Hadn’t he said that before?
“Good thing she’s around, then. Good for the show.” I walked to the reception desk, and he joined me. I placed my palm against the warm coffee mug but didn’t lift it. “I didn’t expect to see you here today. The producer mentioned they’d be working pretty much on their own with us.”
I’d never realized how little these guys needed to shoot a reality TV show. They skimped on everything. They wouldn’t film anywhere that might cost them money, and they used the smallest crew possible.
It totally made sense to me, but it certainly wasn’t what I’d envisioned going in. I’d figured we’d be surrounded by people.
“What’s with the briefcase?” I asked.
The cameraman meandered into view, fiddling with his equipment and frowning.
“Well,” Guy said, “I took the liberty of bringing the script our writer prepared for your show.”
“I haven’t decided whether I want to use a script or not yet,” I said.
“Look, it’s gotten to the point where if you don’t use the script, we’ll likely go somewhere else and find someone else to film. From what the crew here have told us, not that much is happening that’s really exciting. The script will solve that.” He plonked the suitcase down and opened it, then extracted the papers from within. “Here.”
“We don’t need a script.” Cain’s voice grated across the interior of the shop, from the front door.
I swiveled, my stomach bubbling like a fucking volcano.
Cain stood framed in the entrance, the light streaking past his shoulders, not in silhouette precisely, but illuminated like he was some kind of Greek god come down from the heavens to mete out justice on the earth.
Holy fuck.
He was mouthwatering.
Rein it in, Margot. Business mind. Not sex mind.
“We’ve talked about this,” Guy said. “A script.”
“Trust me, we don’t need a script,” Cain repeated. “Things are about to get much more exciting around here.”
“How so?” Guy puffed his chest outward.
The camera guy spotted the potential for a TV-worthy moment and fiddled with his camera, lifted it to his shoulder.
“I’ll show you,” Cain grunted.
He thundered across the boards and right up to me.
“Wha—?”
Cain’s lips connected with mine. He tugged me against his chest and wrapped his arms around me. Melted me with a kiss that could’ve cut through steel.
Oh god. Thankfully, I moaned it in my head and not out loud.
I was instantly aflame.
A shriek cut through the moment, followed by the tinkle of breaking porcelain.
I sprang away from Cain and looked around. Nat stood beside the camera guy, gripping her cheeks with white-tipped fingers, another ruined coffee mug at her feet. “Oh my god. You guys are a thing? Why did nobody tell me you guys were a thing? I’ve totally been fantasizing about Cain for the past week. Oh, I feel so guilty.”
“Nat, filter!” I snapped it out.
She clamped her hands over her mouth.
Guy’s eyes were round as saucers, but the camera guy? Man, he ate it the hell up. He grinned behind his viewfinder.
“Told you,” Cain said. “Things are going to get much more interesting around here.”
This was a disaster.
The last thing I needed was for everyone to think I was unprofessional, that Get Ink’d and its show were nothing more than one vast publicity stunt after the next. People came here because they wanted to make permanent marks on their lives. Not to watch me drool over Cain.
“Well,” Guy said. “This is certainly—”
“The best thing you’ve ever witnessed,” Cain filled in.
“It’s—” I cut off and glanced at the camera guy who was still filming. “I’m sorry, Guy, but I need to speak with Cain in my office, right now. Leave the script with me, and I’ll get back to you about it. Is that all right with you?”
“It will have to be, won’t it?” Guy’s cheesy smile didn’t reach his eyes now.
Cain had a knack for wrecking relationships, professional and otherwise, wherever he went.
I took the script from Guy’s hand and nodded to him then walked past the jaw-dropped Nat toward my office door. I didn’t wait for Cain to follow me, didn’t even ask him outright, just opened up and entered.
I tossed the script onto my desk and fumed. I headed to my chair and took a seat, dropped my face into my hands, and rubbed my eyes with the heels of my palms.
This was too complicated. Cain was a loose cannon, and I’d encouraged that last night.
No amount of butterflies or electricity could erase the fact that I needed this business to work for my mom and for Jemma-Kate. I had to nip this in the bud before it got out of hand.
The office door snapped shut, and I looked up.
Cain took my breath away again.
He filled the room. He was all presence and ego, dark-haired and broad-shouldered. His eyes flashed some emotion close to anger, and the hazel turned burnished gold. How could he make me so angry and yet so needy all wrapped into one?
It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right. We weren’t in high school anymore.
“What the fuck was that, Margot?”
“I could ask you the exact same question,” I said. “You kissed me. You kissed me in front of all of them. What gave you the right to do that?”
“It’s not a right, it’s a privilege,” he replied and winked.
“Ugh, I’m so not in the mood for your special brand of humor, Cain. This is serious. That was super unprofessional, and it’s not how I run my shop.”
He walked across the room, that natural charisma bubbling around him, threatening to mute all my complaints.
Cain laid one massive hand on the top of the chair in front of my desk. He dragged it back, then took a seat, rested his thick forearms on his thighs, and clasped his palms together. “You’re going to go against me at every turn, Margot. I see that.”
“Go against you? It’s my—”
“No, it’s never been your shop. It’s always been a partnership. And now it’s our shop. You need to come to terms with that fact, or your unwillingness to cooperate with me is going to bring down your entire business.”
“Is that a threat?”
“Of course not,” he said, and cocked his head to one side, studying me as if he’d never seen me before. Every time his gaze danced over me, it felt like the first time we’d laid eyes on each other. “I don’t make threats. I make promises.”
I screwed my eyes shut and counted to ten in my head. It shouldn’t be this difficult. “Cain, I want people to take what we do here seriously. I highly doubt they will if we’re smooching all day long in front of the cameras. It’s unprofessional. I mean, the people who watch the show are potential customers. They might live in the Lakeview area and be on the cusp of making a decision regarding their tattoo. We don’t want to put them off.”
“There’s nothing about you that could put them off,” he said softly.
My eyelids snapped open. The expression he wore heated me from the inside out. It tightened me up, but it didn’t help our current situation.
“No more kissing,” I said.
“On camera,” he replied.
He was incorrigible.
Cain swept up the script and leafed through it, reading the lines set out on the pages. He snorted. “Banal crap,” he said, and tossed it back down. “If you think that’s going to help you win viewers and keep the show, then you’ve got another think coming.”
“Fine, what do you suggest?”
“Can the show. Let me give you the money you need to set the shop up. Fuck it, I’ve got so much money, it’s coming out of my ears. I don’t know what to do with it. I’ll give you what you need, Margot.”
“No,” I said, my pulse skipping up twenty bajillion notches. “I won’t take handouts, and throwing money at this problem isn’t going to solve it. I need to create a sustainable income for the future.” As tempting as it was to think that all my problems could disappear at the snap of Cain’s fingers, it would never work for me. I’d be indebted to him for the rest of my life.
“Fine, then fuck the script. Let’s go somewhere.”
“How is that going to solve the problem?”
Cain’s smile split his lips wide and sent another wave of flutters through my chest and stomach. “Because we won’t be going alone.”
Chapter 11
Cain
Convincing Margot to do this had taken more time than I’d expected.
Fuck it, I’d never had to convince anyone of anything in my life. I spoke and people did what they were told—that or they fucked off and I got someone else to do it. That was how it’d always been.
But she was different. I’d do what it took to convince her. And that made me… uncomfortable.
I stood in the bathroom of the luxury suite in the Tokyo Station Hotel, Japan, and admired my reflection in the mirror above the marble-topped sink.
I’d chosen my usual outfit for today’s little trip—a white cotton shirt tight enough to make Margot’s mouth water, and a pair of jeans that would probably be unforgiving if she wore anything remotely revealing today.
She wouldn’t, of course. Margot was the consummate professional.
And Japan? It was her obsession, behind tattooing, the shop, and giving me grief every minute of her waking life, whether intentionally or not.
I shrugged off the thoughts and made my way out of the hotel room and down to the lobby to meet the entourage. Camera guy, producer, and Margot. A small team, and I only gave a shit about one of them.
I reached the lobby and strode across the blocky carpeted floor, beneath chandeliers, past travelers who turned to stare. Men loathed me, women wanted me—the usual effect I had wherever I went.
Apparently, being Cain knew no boundaries, country borders included.
Margot and the two mouth-breathers stood near the reception desk.
She turned, and I caught my first view of her full-on. The lobby blurred—the colors and lights, the view from the front doors out into the street beyond, the people. All of it mushed into a long streak of nothingness with Margot at its center.