by M. A. Ellis
“How would you even notice in this place?” she replied.
“No kidding. I got your request for room four,” he said, his demeanor turning businesslike.
“There’s not a problem, is there?” It was the largest room in the shop. The only one that would hold Herzog’s entire entourage.
“No. I’d have called you if there was. But that love bite I noticed while you were swinging your hair around like some bimbo in a shampoo commercial, along with the shit-eatin’ grin you can’t hold back—I’m thinking you might not have answered. You got everything you need?”
A flush rose up Becca’s neck and settled in her cheeks. Joe’s innuendos never made her blush before. He didn’t crack a smile. Right now, she’d show him she could be professional. When she got home, she’d kick Chad’s ass.
“I’m doing some UV work. Using the ink I bought a few months ago. No color—”
He held up one weathered hand and stopped her. “You don’t have to give me a rundown of what you’re using or not using. When do you start?”
“Noon. I have a total of five today,” Becca said.
“There any chance four of them would be together?” he asked.
“Maybe.”
“They’re already here. Came in about fifteen minutes ago. Had to prod like hell to get the one chick to talk. All she said was, ‘We’ll wait.’ The rest just sat there, not looking up at all. Fuckin’ freaky if you ask me. I couldn’t even get them to sign consent forms. You’re going to have to take care of that.”
“No problem. Thanks, Joe.”
“Yeah. Good luck with that.” She heard him mumble, but she was already on her way to the reception area.
Becca was startled to find it wasn’t the four women waiting for her. The man was there, but the platinum blonde was absent.
Which means it isn’t the guy getting the collar.
Becca shook her head. That tattoo was going to be her biggest challenge. She remembered the woman’s alabaster skin. The ink would be awesome, but Becca still couldn’t comprehend the possession it represented. The sooner she got the smaller ones started, the better. She grabbed the paperwork off the corner of the counter and said, “Follow me.”
She led them through the shop to the room in the back, garnering stares from the other artists as they followed her single-file. Once they were inside she motioned to the table. “Who wants to go first?” she asked.
Silence.
She let her gaze rest on each of them. The tall, skinny man with mocha-colored skin and a sky-blue afro. The ridiculously skinny girl with a jet-black pixie cut. The voluptuous older woman with long dark-blonde hair. And the leggy brunette whose fists were clenched at her side.
“Listen. One of you is going to have to talk. This vow of silence or whatever it is you do with Andres can’t apply here, okay? I’m going to ask you questions, now and while I’m inking you, and I’m going to need answers.”
They raised their heads and looked at Becca with an intensity that made the base of her neck tighten. They remained silent. She’d inked the most exalted rulers of some of the country’s largest motorcycle gangs and they hadn’t made her this uneasy.
She was getting paid well. She’d make it work.
“We’ll start with you filling out the consent forms. Joe said you didn’t want to do that earlier but they’re required by law. Real names—”
“You mean we can’t use our aliases?” the brunette asked in a sarcastic tone.
“Delia!” The full-figured woman turned her head and chastised her friend.
At least Becca assumed they were friends. How could you be ordered about by the same controlling person, forced to kneel in supplication, and not form some type of kinship?
The brunette raised her chin a little higher. “She thinks we’re like strippers, Gretchen. That we hide behind some insipid stage names.”
“Delia, don’t.” The man reached out and grabbed her arm. “The Master ordered us not to speak.”
She shook free of his grasp. “She thinks we’re ashamed of our lifestyle, Franco. But what does she know?” The woman stepped closer to Becca. “We don’t need to lie like other people. Master makes sure of that. A person like her couldn’t begin to understand that. Or us.”
Becca straightened her spine, drawing herself to her full height. Customer or not, she wasn’t about to put up with her condescending tone.
“I know plenty of strippers, honey, and guess what? They’d have signed the fucking paperwork without going off on some rant. Especially if they were getting inked for someone they loved. Someone they respected. Which leads a person like me to assume you don’t hold Andres Herzog in as high of regard as he thinks you do. How ‘bout that, Delia?” Becca asked, not expecting an answer. “And let’s not even go into the fact you’ve somehow lost all semblance of subservience. What would your master think about that?”
“No,” Franco gasped and rushed to Becca’s side. He trapped all ten of Becca’s fingers between his soft hands, palms together as if in prayer. “Don’t be angry with Delia. There’s no need to tell the Master. Delia’s just jealous.”
“Jealous?” She looked at Franco then back to Becca. “Of that cu—”
“Enough!”
It was the pixie whose voice cut them all off. Her deep commanding tone belaying her petite appearance. “Don’t say another word, Delia. If you fuck this up, we’ll all pay. And I’m too close to ending my apprenticeship to allow that to happen.”
She moved between Becca and Delia and addressed the brunette face-to-face.
“You are a submissive. And a submissive you will always be. Don’t allow something our Master views as his latest challenge to cloud your sensibility. Think of what you truly want. Then act in accordance.”
That “latest challenge” statement was pretty clear. Becca didn’t want their master’s attention.
Seconds passed, then the brunette replied. Soft and contrite. “Yes, Shawna.”
The woman turned and Becca couldn’t deny the air of confidence that surrounded her. “Do you require an apology?” she asked.
Becca mentally applauded the woman’s finesse. The gentle flip from the role of intimidator to that of complacency. The tension swirling through the room suddenly dissipated and Becca exhaled.
“Not necessary,” she finally said. “But you can all fill out the paperwork and I’ll get started. Do you want to go first? The others can go shopping or grab a bite to eat.”
“We stay together,” Shawna replied. “Master’s rules. But I’ll be happy to go first.”
Chad balanced the pizza box and another to-go container on top of that and opened the door of room four, surprised to see it filled to capacity with Herzog’s slaves. Becca looked up from her current customer, the heavier woman with massive boobs.
“What are you doing here?” Becca blurted, her surprise clear.
He should have been used to that response from the employees of More Ink, including her. He figured it was the evening attire as opposed to muscle shirts and wallets on chains.
“Well, thank you, baby,” Chad said, setting the pizza on top of a pile of magazines stacked on the small end table. He looked up to find three pairs of eyes glued to the red-white-and-green graphic of a rotund man in a tall chef’s hat. “It’s always nice to know I’m wanted. I dig the new do, by the way.”
He wasn’t shocked by the shade. She changed hair color more often than any woman he’d ever met. But it was pretty easy to figure out that she’d left his bed and apparently hightailed it directly to the salon. Was that—and her curt greeting—symbolic? Maybe she regretted them hooking up and was trying to change whatever she could to ensure she wasn’t reminded of anything. Starting with the way she appeared when she looked at herself in the mirror.
“It’s dinner rush, that’s all I meant,” she explained, offering him a wide grin that made him want to kick himself. He didn’t need to constantly wonder if she was going to bail. “What are you doing here and no
t at work? How did you get away?”
“Someone placed this huge carryout order and there weren’t any runners who could deliver it. So here I am.”
He watched her wipe away the final bit of ink from the woman’s shoulder blade.
“How huge?” Becca asked.
One of the women chuckled and he looked over in time to see the man pinch the too-skinny chick’s arm.
“Watch it,” Chad warned. The man dropped his hand to his sides and stared straight ahead, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed hard.
Chad moved to the table and stared down at the woman who remained motionless. “I brought enough margherita pizza for my favorite tattoo shop. I dropped all but this one in the break room. Didn’t know if you’d want that or what’s behind door number two.”
She set her gun down and looked up at him. She tried to downplay her curiosity. But it was there in her eyes. “And what is that?” she asked.
“Chicken parm. Extra sauce.”
Her eyes lit up and he vowed to make that happen more often. He knew she didn’t need extravagant reminders of a person’s devotion. He’d heard all about her opinions on that when they’d discussed her past life. Her ex.
“Thanks so much. But you didn’t have to—”
“How are they looking?” he interrupted.
The man got up without being asked and shut off the overhead light just as Becca hit the other switch that shrouded the room in a white-blue glow. Like little soldiers the others lined up at the head of the table and turned away from Chad. One by one they lifted their shirts, baring their backs to show him the artistry Becca had created. He took it all in. Not only the designs but the way the inkees had responded. He glanced at Becca. She had a tiny smile on her face. Being with them for half a day must have made her somewhat immune to the strangeness.
“Very, very nice, Becca.” From this distance the chains seemed identical. The letters on the charms were the only difference. F, D, S, G. Their names, no doubt. Chad had almost expected to see Herzog’s initials. Egomaniacal creep that he was. He wondered what Becca had learned about the type of relationship they all shared. And he wondered how often Herzog recruited new members. There was no doubt in his mind the old fart would have creamed his khakis if Becca had told him she’d take her payment in cash and tutorials.
“Thanks, guys,” Chad said. “You can go ahead and put your shirts down.”
Becca patted the woman’s shoulder. “All done, Gretchen. You did great. You all did but listen up. I want to review how to take care of these. You can help each other. You’re going to have to if you don’t want to end up with an infection. Understand?” In unison, she received a chorus of “Yes Mistress”.
Two days ago, hearing that response would have made him laugh. But not anymore.
Becca turned and placed a hand on his forearm. “Can you wait for me in the break room? I’ll only be a minute.”
He should say yes. He wanted to talk to her about later tonight. About how he wanted the evening to end. But he was worried that she wouldn’t react the way he thought. Or more so, that she’d tell him it had been just sex.
“I have to get back to work, Becca. The mayor’s going to be at his table in about fifteen. I just wanted to let you know I was thinking about you.”
Another giggle. Was it coming from the dude this time?
Chad took her elbow and steered her to the doorway, standing with his back to their audience. He reached into his breast pocket of his suit jacket and pulled out a small white envelope. He leaned closer to her ear and spoke in a hushed voice.
“I’ll text you the gate code. The key will open the condo. I know you’re getting ready to argue but don’t. I want to see you tonight. Whether you’re stark naked or in your favorite pajamas and those nutty Horton slippers you can’t live without. I want to come home and find you waiting.”
She didn’t hesitate and his heart started beating double time.
“You don’t want to find me on my knees, palms turned upward, resting on my thighs?
“Like that’s an option.” He brushed an errant strand of her newly reddened hair behind her ear. He thought of her naked in the position she described and his balls tingled. But in his mind, when she rose upward, those Horton slippers were still on her feet. He chuckled, giving her shoulders a quick squeeze. He would have preferred to kiss her, but her stance on PDA was one thing they hadn’t covered.
“Just let me know when you’re inside, okay? I’ll text you when I’m on my way.” That didn’t sound too demanding. Did it? He held his breath. Waited.
“It’s a plan, wine man,” she replied, rising up on her tiptoes to plant a quick kiss on his cheek. “See you later. Now go kick some mayoral ass.”
“Kick? Or kiss?” He walked backward toward the door.
“Whichever gets you home quicker,” she replied.
Assuming there’d be no dinner talk, Becca went over the post-tattoo instructions while the four of them devoured the pizza. Keep them covered ‘til the oozing stopped. Wash daily with antibacterial soap. Stay out of the sun, which shouldn’t be an issue considering the darkness of the club. And the secret weapon—Lubriderm the hell out of them.
Becca asked them stop eating once, making sure each of them understood what to look for if the unlikelihood of infection should occur. Nobody questioned her and when they finished she gave them each a card with her cell number on it and told them not to hesitate to call. When she was done, Franco pulled a cell phone from his pocket, dialed a number and told someone they were ready to be picked up. Less than five minutes they were gone.
She cleaned up the room, getting it ready for the platinum blonde’s intricate collar tattoo. The woman must have been with Herzog a long time to obtain what must be considered a place of honor. Becca thought of Shawna, imagining how the woman would have no problem issuing decrees men would obey. Or maybe it would be women. She hadn’t considered that.
Becca picked up the envelope Chad had given her and fished out the key. She’d been to his place a hundred times but this was different. This key and alarm code thing.
She wanted to see him too, but she didn’t want to read something into his words that might not be there. There hadn’t been any weirdness this morning. Other than him refusing to have sex with her. He hadn’t believed her when she said she wasn’t sore, which she was. A teensy bit. But she knew if he hadn’t allowed her to do so, she’d have never been able to push him back against the mattress and torment his cock with her mouth. She loved the way he looked down his body at her, the way his breathing changed when she reached up and cupped his balls. She’d been intent on sucking him to orgasm until he eased her head away and wrapped his fist around his saliva-soaked cock.
Chad had finished himself off with her watching. Learning what he liked. Fast, shallow strokes that contradicted every deep-throating technique she’d ever read. Becca couldn’t have imagined anything hotter. Until he’d forced her naked back against the glass tile of his huge shower and gone down on her, using his mouth and the handheld pulsating showerhead to drive her to a screaming orgasm she was sure his upstairs neighbors had to have heard.
She wasn’t sure how she did it but she managed to say goodbye, wish him a good day, and get the hell out of there with her heart intact.
Really, Becca? Really?
On a normal night they’d probably be getting off work at about the same time. It would be perfectly normal for them to go back home together, like couples did.
Holy fuck. Are we a couple? With just one day and night of great sex and stellar early morning oral?
Tonight would be an early night for her. Did she really want to go home alone? Or did she want to experience another night in Chad’s bed? If she listened to her heart, it was a very simple choice.
Becca finished straightening up and looked at the clock. She had some time to spare before Andres’ chosen one arrived so she headed for the break room.
“Hey, sweetie. Any chance you could yo
u have started screwing the wine snob sooner? This pizza is outta this world.” Tony Manfradini, whose attitude, politics and accent was quintessential Jersey, waved a slice at her. He folded it in half and devoured a good portion of it in a single bite.
“Chad and I are friends. Who I do or do not fornicate with is none of your concern, Guido,” she said it in her best Southern affronted voice.
“You two have been hanging out for nearly a year now and he’s never strolled in here and fed the masses before, now has he?” Brendan asked.
The redhead made an excellent point, although Becca wondered why he had kept track of something like that. She looked at the rest of the artists sitting around the table, wishing one of the other women would be there to have her back. The guys always treated them with respect but today they were in “brother” mode.
“Yeah. And what was in that envelope he gave you?”
Becca turned back toward Tony and stacked her hands on her hips.
“So, now you guys are so bored you’re peeking around doors? I’ll bet Joseph wouldn’t be so thrilled with that,” she said, adding a final take that inflection to her voice.
“Who do you think told us to get a better look? Your boyfriend brought Joe four mini cannoli. Just for him, not to share.” Tony crossed his ham-hock arms over his chest and nodded his head. As if that said it all.
“Becca. Look me in the eye and tell me again the wine dude isn’t gettin’ lucky with Kentucky?” Brendan leaned back in his chair and offered her an all-knowing grin.
“I’m from Georgia, you dipshit. Big difference.” She turned around and stormed out of the break room.
With any luck, the woman would be waiting. She walked past the work stations and circled around the front counter where Joe was holding court with several clients who were waiting for their artists. None of them were her woman. She looked out the window, the afternoon sun bright and inviting. She could wait outside, catch up on some texts. She stuffed her phone in her back pocket then made a snap decision. She turned sharply toward the reception counter and grabbed one of the mascarpone-filled wonders Chad had given Joe.