by Kira Blakely
“Yeah.”
“All right, you can have my cock in your mouth,” I said, “but you don’t get to taste my cum until I’ve been inside your pussy.”
Margot undid the top button of my jeans, then unzipped them. She pulled them down and they fell to the floor. I didn’t step out of them, just stood there and admired her as she did me.
She traced the lines of the V that led to the smattering of pubic hair right above my cock. It throbbed for her, precum dribbling from the opening.
“What are you waiting for?”
Margot slipped off the table and got on her knees in front of me, looked up, those blue eyes wide and so fucking trusting. Goddamn, this woman made me feel like a teenager again. I was already on the cusp of nutting for her.
She took hold of my dick at the base, and I drew in a sharp breath.
Margot dragged her tongue along the underside of my cock, right beneath the head at its most sensitive point. I thrust forward into her mouth, groaned. “Fuck me, that’s good.”
She moaned in response and set to work turning my cock into a slobbery mess. She was good, she was too fucking good. She spat in her palm and smoothed it down my shaft. She took me so deep I hit the back of her throat, and she slurped noisily while doing it. She licked my head, circled it and teased, then she set up a rhythm that drove me through the fucking roof.
“Slow down,” I grunted. “I’m going to come if you don’t stop.”
Margot looked up at me, gaze sparkling with the defiance I’d come to love about her. Love? What the—?
She quickened her pace instead of slowing and shots of pleasure spread from my balls upward to my cock. I dug my fingers into her scalp and guided her. “Shit,” I said. “Shit, you’re good at that. You’re so fucking good. Stop before I come.”
Margot drew back, rested her lips against my dick’s tip, and challenged me with a stare. “I want you to come,” she said, softly. “I want your cum in my mouth, on my tongue and my lips. My face, even.”
“Your face. You’re too naughty, girl.”
“Please,” she said, and raised an eyebrow at me. It wasn’t a question. She expected me to come on her face, on her lips, in her mouth. She believed I’d do it.
“Pussy first,” I replied. “Get up.” I grabbed her by the elbow then lifted her onto the desk and plonked that voluptuous ass down on it. I stepped up between her legs, pressed my hand to her chest and forced her back at an angle.
Margot’s hand slapped onto the pad behind her, and the penholder on her desk rattled.
That triangle of soaked white fabric was presented to me. Her pussy was my wrapped gift, and I couldn’t wait to rip into it. I ripped the cotton to one side and placed my dick at her entrance.
Her lips were so swollen, so wet. They were red for me. She blushed in two places, face and cunt. “Please, Cain. I need it.”
I held the thong to one side and entered her in one swift thrust, twisting the fabric against my fingertips. I threw my head back and roared. “Fuck!”
Margot cried out but kept herself upright. She gripped one breast and pinched her nipple through the lace of her bra, massaging and watching my dick entering her, again and again, coming out wetter and wetter each time. She closed around me, but it wasn’t enough. If she wanted my cum on her lips, it was nothing compared to how badly I wanted her to break beneath me.
I used my free hand and played with the little pink pearl above her lips, toyed with it, pinched and pulled, then circled and kept an even pressure.
Margot’s head fell back. She shuddered from head to toe. “Oh god,” she moaned. “Oh my fucking god, Cain, that’s good. Cain. I’m going to—” Her ass lifted off the desk and I pinned it back down again.
She shattered into pieces, clenched and milked my cock for all it was worth. Margot’s orgasm took me to my edge too fast.
“Get off the desk and on your knees.” Margot looked up at me through the haze of the remnants of her orgasm. “You want my cum on your face?”
I pulled out and she slid to the floor right away, licked my head and sucked on it.
“I want it,” she said around the mouthful of dick. “I want it all. Give it to me. I want it everywhere.”
“Fuck.” I pounded into her, hit the back of her throat, and she gagged. Cum pulsed from me, squirted into her mouth. I aimed for her lips, then her cheeks, then the slopes of her petite breasts.
Margot swallowed and sighed, eyelids fluttering. “Good,” she whispered. “That was so good.”
My legs threatened to give out, and I caught myself on the desk with one palm. Kept myself from falling onto her. We gasped in the sudden quiet. Fuck, we’d totally lost control. I’d just come on her face, and she’d practically begged me for it. I’d owned her in so many ways now. First man to put a finger in her ass, first man to cum on her face, first man to make her orgasm.
“So good,” she muttered, and I looked down at her, sitting there on her knees, still dripping with me. Her eyes were shut as if she wanted to hold onto the moment for as long as possible.
I pushed myself upright, then fetched my shirt and got down on my knees in front of her. I grasped her chin gently then wiped the fluid from her skin, swept the fabric down to her breasts and did the same.
“There,” I said.
Margot opened her eyes. “You ruined your shirt.”
“I don’t care,” I said.
I fetched her clothes for her, and we dressed in silence, zipped up our jeans. She pulled on her shirt, and I stayed bare chested. “Margot,” I said. “I’ll do whatever it takes to make the show work. I won’t let anything happen to the business, do you understand? I’ll never do to you what he did to you.”
She looked down at the desk and the closed album that lay there.
“And if you need more money.”
“No,” she whispered. “I told you, I’m not a charity case. I don’t want money like that. I want us to earn it, fairly.”
“And we will.” I caught her arm and tugged her to my chest, pressed her head to it and inhaled her hair and that unique perfume, coconut today. “Once the pilot airs this weekend, we’re going to get a lot more people in here, asking for tats or piercings. Business will pick up. You’ve got to believe that.”
She didn’t answer me, simply hugged me back hard. And for now, that was enough.
Chapter 22
Margot
The scene was set for ultimate viewing pleasure.
A coffee table stacked with treats, my favorites, and Mom and Jemma’s too. Spicy buffalo wings with Mom’s famous—well, not technically but it should’ve been—creamy blue cheese dip, a bowl of popcorn, cucumber and carrot sticks, cupcakes bearing the Get Ink’d logo, and an entire pitcher of iced tea.
It was a feast, but there were only four of us.
Four instead of three.
I sat on the sofa in the living room and looked up at Cain, sitting next to me, probably a little too close to avert any suspicion my mom had about what’d happened between us.
“Wow, everything looks great,” he said and ran his palms down the thighs of his black jeans.
“Yeah, I don’t know how we’re going to finish it all,” I replied.
“Speak for yourself.” Cain’s stomach grumbled. “I haven’t eaten all day in anticipation of this. When you said your mom was making the blue cheese dip, I nearly lost my mind.”
The last time he’d lost his mind, we both had, had been three nights ago in my office. Since then, we hadn’t skirted around each other, we’d actually gotten along. No fighting in the shop, no private tiffs about how to run the business, nothing.
But that tension was there, a constant between us, as tight as a rope, and I swear to god, I’d had to change my panties twice a day just being around him. I’d caught him staring at me, hard as a rock, several times throughout the workday. The shape of his cock pressing against his jeans haunted my fantasies every night.
Mom entered the room, carrying a plate of n
achos, and Jemma came in behind her, carrying some plastic glasses on a tray, her tongue peeking out of the corner of her mouth, totally focused on not dropping anything.
“Thanks for inviting me over to witness this, Mrs. Reed,” Cain said and hopped to his feet. “Do you need help with anything?”
“No, no, I’m fine. You relax, Cain, that’s why you’re here. It’s wonderful to have a man in the house again, as anti-feminist as that might sound,” she said, then laughed. “It’s been a while since I’ve heard a deep voice rumbling down the hall.”
“I’ll try to keep it down,” he said in a stage whisper.
“Don’t.” Mom put down the nachos, then took the tray of plastic glasses from Jemma and set them down on the already-stacked table. She stood with hands on her hips, gripping a kitchen towel in one fist. “Well,” she said. “Do you think we made enough food?”
“No,” Jemma replied, and barreled onto the sofa next to Cain. She looped her arm through his. “There’s not enough because I’m gonna eat it all.”
“You?” Cain asked, and made an exaggerated face—shock personified—at my niece. “Where will you put it all?”
“It’s a well-known fact that Jemma-Kate has hollow legs. The food shuttles right down her throat, past her belly, and into her toes,” I said.
Jemma nodded, proudly. “I’ll eat it all!” She slipped off the sofa again and looked over at Mom for approval. “May I have a cupcake please, Gamma?”
“Yes, sweetheart. Tonight’s a celebration, you can have whatever you want.” Mom smiled as she sat down, then crossed her hands in her lap, over a pair of plaid pj pants I’d bought her for Christmas last year.
Everyone was comfy, except for Cain, who’d come in his work uniform. The fact that he even wore it made me feel… god, it made me happy, that was all. On some level, he had to care about the business or he’d never do this.
“Are we ready?” I asked and lifted the remote. I’d paused the show on the title screen. Excitement bubbled through me—this was it! It was the pilot of our show, and if people liked it, the entire season would be on our screens.
Cain in the shop, me tattooing with him, and Nat providing her own unique brand of purple-haired humor.
“Ready,” Cain said, and slipped his arm around my shoulders. I leaned into him and Mom gave a small, sweet smile, tucked strands of gray hair behind her ear, and settled back. Jemma returned to her spot on the sofa with a cupcake and bit into it.
“This is it.” I pressed play.
The title hung paused on the flat screen against the wall, with the Get Ink’d logo front and center. The song was all rock ’n’ roll and the flashes of the interior of our store, images of Cain and of me talking to people in the front or wielding the gun, brought actual tears to my eyes.
This was fucking amazing.
This was everything I’d wanted, and the fact that it’d actually come to fruition made me emotional.
“Oh wow, Margot, this is amazing,” Mom said, and grabbed the bowl of popcorn. “This is fantastic.”
“Look, there’s Cain!” Jemma squeaked around a mouthful of cupcake. “Wow, that’s cool. Look, there’s Madgie!”
“Madgie,” Cain whispered, and kissed my temple where the hair met my skin. “Well done, gorgeous, you deserve this. You deserve every second. You should be proud of what you’ve achieved, because I know Frank would’ve been.”
The tears blurred my vision, but I didn’t pause the show—didn’t want to ruin it for the others.
Hopefully, Cain was right. Hopefully, Dad was up there looking down on us and approving of everything we’d done. Then again, he’d been kinda set in his ways toward the end. He likely wouldn’t have been happy with people traipsing through the shop and recording our every move and tattoo.
Finally, it started, and the show opened on me. That’s not embarrassing at all.
“My name is Margot Reed, and I’m one of the owners of Get Ink’d,” I said on the screen, my cheeks slightly flushed.
They were flushed that day because they filmed me right after Cain had brushed past me, and the mere suggestion of his body against mine had sent me into a mental tailspin.
The screen changed, and Cain popped up next, looking absolutely sweltering hot in a T-shirt that was chewed-up by his biceps and stretched across his pecs. The tattoos along his neck peeked out above the collar of his shirt—which wasn’t part of the uniform. This had been filmed prior to his change in attitude.
“I’m Cain Foster, and I’m an owner of Get Ink’d.”
I placed my hand on Cain’s thigh and squeezed. He tugged me closer to his body. It was surreal, watching ourselves on the screen, remembering how things had gone down and when, comparing now to then.
God, if things went wrong I’d always have this episode as a memory. Don’t think like that.
Nat flashed onto the screen next, her hair tied up on her head in the semblance of a purple pineapple. She grinned, and her lip ring bobbed. “I’m Nat, and I work the front desk at Get Ink’d.”
The first portion of the show was an interview section, except the questions were fun, and meant to build anticipation. First me, then Cain again.
“What do you think of the people working in the shop?” asked Ben, offscreen.
“They’re fine,” Cain said and shifted in his seat. He ran his finger down the side of his nose, past the hook where he’d broken it long ago. “They’re nice enough. Margot gets on my nerves, but that’s about the only problem I have.”
“Why?”
“Because she thinks she knows everything, and she doesn’t.”
Back in the living room, I poked Cain in the ribs and Mom chuckled under her breath. He leaned in and breathed into my ear. “I still think you don’t know everything.”
I laughed and turned my focus back to the screen. Next up was Nat.
“What do you like most about working at Get Ink’d?” Ben asked.
“Cain,” Nat blurted it out. “Oh god, he’s the dreamiest-looking dude on the planet. I mean, did you see him? And his arms. I’d like to butter him on a piece of toast and—”
I froze the frame and looked over at Jemma. “Perhaps, you shouldn’t be watching this, little sis,” I said. I called her that out of habit. “It’s a little above your age level.”
“I wanna see, Madgie. And I want some toast too.”
“The cupcakes will have to suffice,” Mom said. “Maybe just fast-forward through Nat’s parts, Margot?”
“Good idea.” I wound through Nat talking, and we watched her mouth move at length and at high-speed. Finally, the show switched to a view of us in Tokyo, Japan, and I hit play again.
We watched and laughed at the right spots, Cain’s arm around me, holding me close while Mom chomped on popcorn. Cain and I devoured buffalo wings and laughed when he got some dipping sauce on the tip of his nose. Jemma-Kate finished her cupcake, downed a glass of iced tea, then crawled up on the sofa and rested her head in Cain’s lap. Her eyelids drooped, and she fell asleep, one arm hanging off the sofa.
Warmth settled in my chest.
This was family. This was happiness.
I’d sought this so desperately with Steven, but I’d never quite gotten there with him—something had felt off, and it’d taken sitting here with Cain, with this rightness pulsing in the center of my chest, to realize it.
Whatever I’d had with Steven, god, it hadn’t been real love.
What are you saying?
I’d fallen for him.
Oh god, I’d actually fallen for him and that was a disaster.
Cain’s fingers tickled the skin near my elbow and drew goose bumps there. Was it a disaster?
The man sitting next to me now didn’t look as if he’d smash a camera or jump off a building or drink himself into such a stupor that he’d walk into a room full of people naked, totally unaware.
But how long could that last?
People didn’t change. Or they did, but not completely. Or—god, my
head was a mess.
The show’s credits rolled, and Mom gave a round of muted applause and a whispered cheer. “That was great, guys! You did so well. Baby, I’m so proud of you,” she said, and blew me a kiss. “Gosh, now I have to get Jemma up to bed. She’s always so cranky when I wake her up—this should be fun.”
“Don’t,” Cain said, softly. “I’ll take her.” He unhooked his arm from around me and shifted Jemma’s head ever so gently, then got up, bent, and lifted her from the sofa.
My heart nearly fucking exploded.
Could this night get any better?
He walked toward the door, and I followed him all the way up the stairs, then pointed out Jemma’s room. I held the door open and watched the sleeping beauty as she passed, her mouth hanging open and her golden locks swaying with each of Cain’s sure steps.
I hurried to her bed—the bedspread was festooned with images of Dusty from the Disney movie Cars—and shifted the duvet aside for her.
Cain laid her down, then we tucked her in, and I pressed a quick kiss to her forehead.
Finally, he offered me his hand and we left the room, clicked on the light in the hall, and left the door open a crack.
“Thank you,” I said, softly. “Cain, thank you so much for coming, and thank you for tonight. It was absolutely perfect.”
He brushed his palm down my cheek and pinched my chin between his fingers, but he didn’t smile. In fact, his expression had darkened, glazed over with some emotion I couldn’t quite place.
Whatever it was, it made my insides twist.
“Anything for you,” he said, then backed up a step. “I’m going to head back to the hotel, Margot. I’ll see you at work tomorrow.”
“You don’t want to stay the night?”
He smiled at me, but it didn’t crinkle the skin at his eyes nor shift the freckles on his cheeks. “Another time,” he said, then turned and walked down the stairs a little too fast.
I gripped the polished wooden balustrade and watched him all the way to the door.
He opened it and stepped out into the warm night. He didn’t look back.