by Emma Luna
Piper
Managing Mischief Book One
Emma Luna
Copyright © 2020 by Emma Luna
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
Emma Luna asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
Emma Luna has no responsibility for the persistence or accuracy of URLs for external or third-party Internet Websites referred to in this publication and does not guarantee that any content on such Websites is, or will remain, accurate or appropriate.
Designations used by companies to distinguish their products are often claimed as trademarks. All brand names and product names used in this book and on its cover are trade names, service marks, trademarks and registered trademarks of their respective owners. The publishers and the book are not associated with any product or vendor mentioned in this book. None of the companies referenced within the book have endorsed the book.
First edition
Editing: Emma Luna at Moonlight Author Services
Proofreading: Dani Black at Black Lotus Editing
Cover Design: Harley Quinn at HQ Artwork
Formatting: Emma Luna at Moonlight Author Services
Contents
Author Note
Prologue
Chapter 1
Piper
Chapter 2
Piper
Chapter 3
Piper
Chapter 4
Piper
Chapter 5
Piper
Chapter 6
Ollie
Chapter 7
Piper
Chapter 8
Ollie
Chapter 9
Piper
Chapter 10
Piper
Epilogue
Follow Me Links
Acknowledgments
About Emma Luna
Other Books by Emma Luna
“Out they scampered from doors,
windows, and gutters,
rats of every size,
all after the Piper.”
The Children of Hamelin by The Brothers Grimm
Blurb
How far would you go to get the family you crave?
Piper Newton is a respectable person in the community, or at least that's what she wants people to think. Raised by a crack whore mother and in constant fear of her disgusting pimp boyfriend, Piper never knew what true family was. After a life changing event, she meets Reggie who changes her life forever. Finally having the family she longed for all her life, Piper will go to any lengths possible to keep them safe. Until she meets Ollie.
Ollie Parker craves being part of a family again after his is tragically stolen from him. When he meets Piper she offers him the world, but it comes at a price. Ollie discovers that some prices are harder to pay than others, and he must decide if Piper and his new family are worth the cost.
Piper is the first book in the new Managing Mischief series. This crazy, gritty, and sexy, dark romance by Emma Luna is torturously good and you don't want to miss out.
Buy Piper now to find out what price you have to pay to join Piper's Mischief.
Author Note - this book is intended for readers over the age of 18. It features scenes that maybe a trigger for some people. Please email for more details.
Piper was originally released as part of Torture: A Charity Halloween Anthology but it has been extended, edited and an epilogue added to develop it into the first book in the Managing Mischief series.
Author Note
Thank you for taking the time to read this book, I really do hope you enjoy it. However, this book does contain scenes that may be a trigger for some people. It also contains scenes that are only suitable for those aged over eighteen. So please, only read on if you are a lover of dark romance.
I am an English author and this book is set in England. Therefore, I use English spelling and phrases, so please, take that into account when reading.
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www.emmalunaauthor.com
For Debra -
Thanks for always putting up with my crazy side and sticking by me since we were kids.
You are more than my best friend, you are my family, part of my insane mischief!
Prologue
Piper
I love Halloween. There's just something about this night that soothes my soul and allows me to be free. Most people use Halloween as an excuse to dress up with their kids, go to scary haunted houses, and eat lots of sweets. But that's not what it means to me. For me, it’s the one night of the year I can truly let my hair down and go wild. Everyone has a kink, and whilst I do indulge in my kink throughout the year, Halloween is the one night that I can truly go crazy. This year will be no different and I’ve already got the star of my show picked out. If he thinks a night with me will be fun, just wait until the main event.
People put their masks on for Halloween, but I take mine off. I get to be the real me for one night of the year and make a real show of things. This is an event I have been perfecting all year round, but they were all practice runs. This is the main show.
One
Piper
Looking in the mirror normally doesn’t evoke any type of response from me, I know what I look like because that’s the image I created. My naturally blonde hair is always perfectly styled and flows down my back like it belongs in a shampoo advert. My make-up is always done in the latest fashion trends that highlight my pale skin tone and helps my unusually coloured violet eyes stand out. My body is perfect according to every women's magazine. I’m petite with a tiny waist, good sized tits and arse, and at five-foot six, I stand at the perfect height. Whilst I am naturally blessed with my figure and height, I do run daily to make sure that I keep that perfect figure. I also ensure that the clothes I’m wearing are of the latest fashion trend and suit not only me but my situation. Basically, I put a lot of effort into looking normal.
I don’t put all that effort in because it pleases me to look good, or because I need to have that adoration from other people. I couldn’t give a shit about that. I do it to fit in. I do it because of that word, ‘normal’. When you are anything but normal, it’s important that other people don’t know. So, when I look in the mirror, all I see staring back at me is an image. I don’t connect with it or even feel like it’s me. I just ensure that the image staring back looks like all the images in the magazines I use for inspiration.
To the outside world, I am Piper Newton, a clinical psychiatrist from a small town in the northern part of England. All they see is the sweet, shy, prudish woman who smiles sweetly at them in the local shop and says hello to them and their children. They don’t see the scars I carry from my childhood and crappy upbringing. They know nothing about my inability to connect and understand them, or even that I have no desire to. But the biggest thing they don’t know is my secret night time hobby, and Halloween is the one night of the year that I can really enjoy it.
Pulling on my long, sleek, black, silky dress, I’m loving how smooth it feels against my bare skin. As it travels over every inch of skin, it’s like being stroked by a feather and it sets my nerve endings on fire. My body craves this and the preparation is all
part of the fun.
The black silk cascades down my body like a dark waterfall and hugs every curve I have beautifully. My breasts are perky enough to stay up and look good, the advantage of being just twenty-six years old. The material is plastered along my taut stomach muscles and when I move it catches on the belly button piercing bar that I’ve had since I was around thirteen. A beautiful white gold bar with a ball at one end and a small ruby jewel on the other, nestles nicely in my navel, just adding to my beauty. In this dress, everything stands out, so there’s no way I can get away with wearing even a thong because the lines would show up. At least, that's the lie I tell myself because classy women like to wear panties, they don’t have everything on display. But, this is the night I get to show off the real me. That means I’m allowed to feel the soft silk of my dress gently caressing my folds, or feel the cool bite of the air when I walk. The sensation of knowing my pussy is naked and covered by the smallest piece of fabric, —my dress instead of my usual panties—sends a heady erotic sensation across my body. I can feel the tell-tale tingling spread across my already heightened nerves, telling me I’m very turned on and looking forward to tonight.
The best part of this beautiful dress is the slit that runs from the bottom of the fabric, just in front of my right leg, all the way up to the upper part of my thigh. The point where the fabric finally joins back together is precariously close to my very exposed bikini line, yet that only adds to the danger. What I love most about the side-split in the dress is the fact that it allows me to show off something that I have to spend most of my time hiding. I get to show off my tattoo.
I love my tattoo and I most certainly am not ashamed of it, but at the same time, I know that a lot of men can be intimidated by it. Not exactly great when the aim of the game is to pick up said man. So, all year round, I keep it covered; either with trousers, dark tights, or some really good tattoo concealer. Even though I despise having to do it, it’s no different than adding make-up to my face or curling my hair. I am putting on my costume and getting ready to play a part. Just so happens that this particular role requires I don’t scare men off, and so my tattoo, the only real side of me that I show to the world, gets hidden.
Halloween is different, nobody questions what you look like or that your tattoo might freak them out. Instead, the rules change and people celebrate my tattoo, praising it for how cool and unusual it is. Of course, they think it’s fake, a transfer or henna to add to my costume. But they are wrong. I still remember walking into the tattoo parlour to get it done.
At just seventeen years old, I knew I was taking a risk by walking into a tattoo parlour without an adult with me, someone who by law is capable of giving consent for me. What a crock of shit that is. The only adults present in my life, and I use the term adult loosely, are my crack whore of a mother and her pimp. I’ve never met my sperm donor and have no intention of ever doing so. It’s bad enough I have to see that half of my genes come from the woman who, on more than one occasion, has tried to sell my body for a hit. She can fuck off if she thinks I’m going to be anything like her. I need to find a way out of this shithole of a town, but most importantly, I need to find a way to deal with the mixed up feelings that have been brewing inside my head since that clusterfuck of an evening last year.
Mrs. Ludley, the school counsellor that I was ordered to see after setting fire to my homework in class, is the only adult that I feel has ever given a fuck about me. She accepts my answers when I say nothing happened that night and she gave me some advice I will never forget.
“Piper, you are capable of greatness in this life, but you can’t take this Piper with you. She is tainted by her upbringing, by her anger, and by whatever things she chooses not to talk about. You need to be strong going forward and be a person who is worth all of these dreams you want to achieve. You need to learn to put on a mask and pretend to be the person people want to see. That is the only way they will give you anything you want. You can have everything, if they think you are worthy of it,” Mrs Ludley told me one day in her office. She wasn't trying to insult me. It's not news to me that I’m poor, come from shit DNA, and have no real future. But when she said that I could have it if I just make people think I’m worthy of it, well, that is something I can do. That’s the moment I learnt to wear my disguise and to hide away the real me. But there was one part of me I couldn’t hide completely. A part of my life I feel so connected to, I felt compelled to have it tattooed on my body for eternity.
Walking into the tattoo studio, I’m not as nervous as I was expecting. Instead, I’m happy, almost excited. Not an emotion I often experience. The gorgeous, dark haired tattoo artist sat behind the counter, drawing. He looked up at me and did a double take. He only looks a couple of years older than me, but I can tell he suspects I’m not eighteen yet. That suspicion soon is overtaken by his primal male need to check out my body. I’m wearing extremely high rise Daisy Duke style denim shorts, to give him complete access to my leg. I’ve paired them with a baggy white t-shirt that hangs loosely off one shoulder exposing the fact I’m not wearing a bra. I know if he looks close enough, and I’m sure once he starts tattooing me he will, my nipples will be visible through the thin fabric of my shirt. I need him to be distracted by my body, my disguise, so he won’t question my age. Also, if he throws in a nice little discount, that would be much appreciated.
After he finished scanning my body, his sparkling gaze finally landed on my face. I know that he knows I’m not old enough, but I also know he can see the glassy stare and the hard exterior. He gives me a cocky smirk and I know he thinks he’s getting lucky after this. What he doesn’t realise is I’m the one who will be getting lucky.
“So, gorgeous, what can I get for you? I have you booked in for a full afternoon. Must be one pretty big butterfly you want.” His cocky attitude doesn’t faze me. He’s probably right that most girls my age, dressed the way I am, are looking to get a pretty little tramp stamp on their lower back. I keep my face stoic and don’t even bother to acknowledge the judgemental comment. Instead, I get right to business.
“This is the design I want.” I hand him a piece of paper with the design intricately drawn out, showing specifically what I want, including the placement of the tattoo. He looks at me with a strange expression and I know if I hadn’t just handed him the design, he would be questioning whether this was a prank, but there’s too much work gone into the prep of that drawing. He knows I’m for real.
“You actually want this tattooed on your leg?” he asks incredulously. This time I can’t help but hold back the laugh that breaks through. It’s not something that happens often and I can tell by the look on his face I’ve startled him. Shit, maybe my laugh is slightly more manic than I think. Might have to practice that.
“Why would I not? Don’t you think he’s beautiful?” I ask, confused as to what it is about the design he doesn’t think would look beautiful adorning my right leg.
“It’s a fucking rat. In fact, it’s not just one, it’s loads. The one at the top, the big one that you want decorated in a mandala style design could look quite good. But you want over twenty other rat silhouettes curling up your leg. It will look like a row of rats circling up your leg, all following the big guy at the top. Why would a young girl want a row of rats on her leg? It’s fucking creepy.” I can see him physically shiver and his disgust at these beautiful creatures is sending my blood boiling. But I don’t have time to argue with him. I came here for a tattoo and I am leaving with one.
“Firstly, a collection of rats is called a mischief. It’s also well known that they do follow the leader and they are incredibly resilient and intuitive. They will do whatever is necessary to stay alive and to conquer life. How can that strength not be beautiful? Now, can we get on with the tattoo? I need it finished today,” I reply factually and with more emotion than he deserves. I can tell he hadn’t ever heard the information I told him before, not many people have. Most people associate rats with disease or filth, but they are so
much more than that. All animals have the capability to carry disease. It just so happens rats are strong enough and intuitive enough to think of an escape plan, a way to survive. How can they not be admired?
Shaking his head at me, he clearly thinks I’m either mental or on something, but I don’t care. He takes me back to the couch and gets things all prepped. He must ask me at least another three times if I’m sure I want to do this. By the last one I don’t even bother answering him. He starts by placing the stencil of the largest, most intricate rat on the top front part of my thigh. It looks beautiful and I can feel my heart start to race. Finally, I will have a place where I belong. My very own mischief.
The bite and sting of the tattoo machine against my skin is more relaxing than it should have been. I almost feel a sense of euphoria as I feel endorphins building up in my body. It must be the pain response producing its own natural pain hormone and my body reacting in its own messed up way. Of course, I make the odd hiss or curse so the attractive tattooist, whose name I still haven’t bothered to ask, doesn’t realise I’m not reacting like most people do.
Across the studio, there is a guy a few years older than me getting some ridiculously impersonal tribal symbol tattooed around his bicep, most likely in an attempt to look hard. Whenever he sees me looking at him, he puts on this brave face and grinds his teeth through the pain. But when I’m not looking, it’s hard to ignore the cries of pain that echo around the shop. I try to hold in a laugh. I know, out of the two of us, it probably should be me crying with the pain, but I have experienced pain and this is not it. This is a tickle across the surface of my skin and each time the delicious needle punctures my skin, I feel a wave of intoxication because this is a pain I asked for. One I control and I gain something from. After each small section, the tattooist wipes away the excess ink and blood, this activates a pleasure sensation that shoots straight to my core again. I don’t know if it’s the pain, the tenderness of his touch, or the sheer joy at seeing my mischief, my family, finally etched onto my skin for all eternity, that is affecting me the most. Either way, it’s a fantastic combination and I can’t wait to take the lucky tattooist home with me tonight. He can meet the inspiration for my tattoo in real life.