Missing Ink

by E J Frost

  “What’s got you overwhelmed, girl? Too many rules?”

  I shake my head and try to choke down the tightness in my throat. “Snuggleslut.”

  Mac rumbles deep in his chest. “You are my snuggleslut, Bren. I’ve never met someone more deserving of snuggles, and I’m going to give them all to you. Never doubt it.”

  Like that helps me wrest back any control.

  “Sir, I—”

  “Shh, girl. Read the rules and tell me what you can’t live with.”

  “Okay. I can do that.”

  I wipe my face and uncoil from him enough to pick up the tablet and look over the list. He keeps me resting against his chest, my legs tucked to the side, his arm loosely around my shoulders. The position is just so Mac. He never crowds me. I never feel smothered by him, even though I was sure I would when he said he wanted my submission twenty-four-seven.

  I read through his rules slowly. There’s nothing I can’t live with. Nothing I even feel the need to negotiate. Will he think I’m not taking this seriously if I just accept his rules as written?

  “Sir, um, I have read them.”

  “Mmm, and what do you think?”

  “What will you think of me if I just agree to them all?”

  Mac snorts. “I’d check you for a fever and if you didn’t have one, I’d pat myself on the back because I’ve finally gotten something right on the first try with you.”

  I twist so I can look into his eyes. He’s smiling at me but there’s worry in those sky blues. “Oh, no. Mac, you get lots of things right with me on the first try.”

  He kisses me on the forehead. “Good to hear, girl. I’m doing better, but I’m still kicking myself over the way I treated you after our first scene.” He takes a deep breath and pulls the tablet from my hand, sliding it onto the nightstand. “I’m also concerned you think I’m looking for some kind of do-over of my relationship with Amy. That’s not at all what this is.”

  I was worried about that, I admit. Hearing him acknowledge it, air it as a worry, takes away all of its sting, though. I’m not looking for a do-over, either, but I certainly don’t want to make the same mistakes I made with Edz and Ten and Rob with Mac. I’m learning from my past, and I think that’s what Mac is doing, too.

  “What is this, Sir?” I ask, and I hold my breath against him tossing out a flippant, “it is what it is,” the way Ten did when I asked him a similar question.

  “It’s a future, Bren. One where we’re dedicated to making each other happy. In whatever form we want that to take.”

  I let my breath out on a long sigh.

  “I’m good with that, Sir.”

  “Think you can live by those rules while we figure out the shape of our future together?”

  “I can, Sir.”

  “On Monday, we’ll make it formal. Sign the contract in front of Logan and Emily, if you’re okay with that.” He taps the hollow of my throat just below my collar with his forefinger. “I have something I’d like to add to your collar. You’ll tell me if it’s too much.”

  I can’t imagine what Mac might give me that would be too much. He’s not a “too much” kind of guy. He keeps hitting it just right. Like the freaking Goldilocks of Doms.

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “You seemed good being with me at the club today. Any concerns about that?”

  “You mean resigning? I have that meeting with Chess on Saturday.”

  “I meant how you felt about being at the club but not being a house submissive. Any weirdness?”

  I remember Theo’s discomfort at dinner. Then I shake my head firmly. Whatever weirdness there is will be from the Doms, not from me. “All good, Sir.”

  “Logan’s asked me to join. Help him manage the house subs. I’d like to, but only if you’ll feel comfortable at the club as my submissive.”

  He’s including me in his decision? That warmth blossoms in my chest again. “I’ll be fine, Sir. No issues from me. How will you feel about it, knowing I used to scene with the other Doms?”

  “I’ll do my best to keep my head outta my ass.” He kisses my forehead again. “You willing to work through it with me? I don’t want to do this without you. I need my snuggleslut.”

  He has me. “I’m all yours, Sir.”

  Chapter 14

  She’s mine, this beautiful girl, sleeping in the crook of my arm. She probably didn’t mean those words the way I took them, but I am taking them.

  She’s mine .

  I trace her sleep-softened features with my eyes in the dim light from the bathroom and feel again that swelling, crushing sensation of my heart lying outside my chest. This girl could fuck me over so easily. I’ve opened myself to her too much, too fast. I’ve clung to her like a lifeline because I’ve been adrift, coming out of the service, finally ending my marriage, seeing the wreck my daughter’s making of her life. But I’m not reversing course. Bren’s given herself to me and I’m keeping her.

  When my phone beeps softly, I wake her, stroking her cheek with my thumb. “Rise and shine, my dirty girl.”

  She cracks open one eye. Slams it closed again. But her lips quirk like she’s fighting a grin. “What unholy time is it?”

  “Seven thirty. I let you sleep in.”

  “For a whole thirty minutes,” she grouses without opening her eyes.

  “I want to go over to Logan’s and make everyone breakfast, then work out. Come box with me, my little badass.”

  She lets out a gusty sigh. “Naked.”

  “Naked boxing?”

  She stops fighting it and lets that cocky grin spread across her lips. “Yes, Sir.”

  “I suppose you’re angling for orgasms?”

  “Would I?”

  She would. And since she’s mine and there’s nothing better than claiming what’s mine, I roll her over and bang her into the mattress before dragging her to Logan’s without letting her shower.

  We leave through the front door of the shop since, despite the hour, Nicky’s already got the lights on and the shutter up. He’s sitting with a client on one of the couches in the reception area, flipping through Brenna’s design book spread on the coffee table in front of them. Bren gives them a wave as we pass but doesn’t interrupt.

  “Did I remember to give you back the mermaid, girl?” I ask as she locks the front door behind us.

  “You did, Sir. It’s back in the book, along with one of the designs you didn’t pick. I hope you don’t mind.”

  “Not at all.” I pull the leash out of my jacket pocket, clip it to her collar, and loop it around so it doesn’t strangle her when I drape my arm over her shoulders. She shoots me a glance that’s equal parts chagrined and aroused. “Glad you’re getting use out of it.”

  “Would you like to do some more work on your mermaid today, Sir?”

  “No, my plan for the day would be precluded by fresh ink, but if you have time when you’re back at work on Tuesday, I’ll take you up on that.”

  “Do I get to know the plan?”

  “Depends, what do I get for letting you in on it?”

  Bren screws up her face at me. “The pleasure of a subbie who’s appropriately dressed for the occasion.”

  “Eh. How about the pleasure of a subbie who goes without another orgasm until bedtime?”

  “Not seeing how this is pleasurable, Sir.”

  I squeeze her shoulders and try not to laugh at her chagrin. “Very pleasurable for me, girl.”

  “Sir.” She huffs out a breath. “Lunch-time.”

  Her grudging submission is its own pleasure. “That’s a deal, girl. Hope you don’t mind a late lunch.” I chuckle when she elbows me. “How about a swimming lesson?”

  Her eyebrows shoot to the brim of a black beanie she’s pulled over her dreads. “You’re going to teach me to swim?”

  “That’s the plan, girl.”

  She slides her arm around my waist and tucks tight to my side as we walk through the already-busy morning streets. “Good plan, Sir.”

  L
ogan’s given me keyless access to his house. In case he and Emmy have decided to sleep in, or are otherwise engaged, I let us in without ringing the bell. The cat greets us at the door. While Bren strips down to a T-shirt, it meows like it’s starving to death then runs through the great room towards the kitchen. As we follow, I notice a nose-wrinkling, gassy, overripe-fruit smell. Very at odds with Emily’s housekeeping.

  “Eww,” Bren says behind me. “Something’s gone off.”

  It’s the cat, as it turns out. When we reach the kitchen, we find a half-chewed banana on the floor. The cat flops next to it, showing off its creamy belly, and more of the gassy smell fills the air.

  “Sable,” Bren scolds. “You stinky kitty.”

  The cat stretches hugely and purrs.

  “I don’t think bananas are kitty chow,” I tell the cat, scooping the half-eaten banana off the floor.

  “Bloody hell—” Logan’s footsteps thump across the hardwood behind us. “Please tell me that’s not your cooking, Mac.”

  I shoot him the bird over my shoulder as the cat perfumes the air again.

  “Fuck.”

  “Can cats even digest bananas?” Bren asks, giving the cat a wide berth as she heads to the refrigerator.

  “Not without difficulty,” I say.

  “Daddy? Omi—gosh. Is that the garbage?” Emily asks as her light footsteps patter across the floor.

  Bren snickers. “It’s your dumpster of a cat.”

  “What? Oh, Sable, are you sick, boy?” Emily kneels next to her cat and rubs his tummy soothingly, which causes the stink to thicken.

  “Jesus.” I back away. “I’m re-thinking our breakfast plans.”

  “I’ll open a window,” Logan says. “Mac, you want to get the girls some bathrobes from my bedroom? It’ll be too cold for them to sit in here naked with the doors open.”

  “Yup.” I check on my bold girl, but she’s got breakfast under control, lining up the ingredients for pancakes on the counter, even while she flicks on Logan’s fancy coffee-machine. She gives me a nod.

  When I return with two bathrobes, the stink has dissipated enough that it’s not souring the good smells of coffee and pancakes. Emily’s sitting cross-legged on the floor beside the purring cat with tears in her eyes while Logan squats behind her. He rubs her back while he talks into his cell.

  “Maybe a third of the banana, mate. Couple inches.”

  He listens to the reply and kisses Emily’s temple. “Okay, that’s good news. Thanks for taking my call, Ry. Really appreciate it.”

  After he hangs up, he gathers Emily into his arms. “Sable’s going to be fine, baby doll. Ryan says banana won’t hurt him. He was a feral cat and Ryan says they learn to live off anything.”

  “Aww, Emmy.” I go to a knee beside them. “Don’t worry about your kitty. My Ma had a cat who used to break into her pantry and eat her sourdough starter. Cat threw it up a few hours later and was absolutely fine. Lived until it was twenty.”

  Emily blinks wet eyes at me. “Really, Master Mac?”

  “Really, sweetie. Your kitty’ll be fine.”

  Emily nods tearily before burying her face in Logan’s shoulder. I hear her whisper, “He’s so smelly. You won’t make me take him back because he’s smelly, will you, Daddy?”

  I give Logan a sharp glance. He meets my eyes and nods calmly. He’s got this.

  I hand him the robe, rise, and make my way to Bren. “Cold, girl?”

  “I’m okay next to the stove, Sir.” She shifts eggs she’s scrambling off the heat and turns to wrap her arms around my waist. “Thank you for being like that with Emily,” she whispers in my ear.

  “I’m just as fond of her as you are, sweetheart.”

  She smacks a kiss on my cheek before turning back to the eggs. I help her assemble breakfast, grilling turkey sausage links and cutting up orange wedges while Bren creates a towering stack of pancakes.

  Logan and Emily return from where he’s taken her to the bathroom to clean up, and probably to give her a quick orgasm to calm her down. She’s smiling as they set the table. I’m a little surprised, however, when they set the table for six instead of four.

  Once the table’s set, Emily disappears upstairs and when she returns, she has Max and his little, Cynnie, an angelic Asian girl who reminds me so much of Naomi it makes my chest ache, in tow. Max greets me with a bear hug and Cynnie, who is in the cutest bumblebee onesie I’ve ever seen, gives me a curtsey and a cheery, “Good morning, Master Mac.”

  “Good morning, sweetie. Are you on oat milk this morning?” I ask. Having stayed over at Max’s several times, I’m aware Cynnie has a dairy allergy.

  “Yes, please.” She has a slight lisp this morning, which Max has told me means she’s in little space, which I could have guessed from her onesie.

  Once we’ve got all the food on the table, I swathe Bren in terrycloth, so she doesn’t catch a chill from the open window. She pours me coffee and fixes it the way I take it without any instruction from me, a small service gesture I like almost as much as her ritual of kissing my cock goodnight. As she’s busy stirring, I see Emily swap out the coffee cup to the left of Brenna’s plate. She’s so quick she could be a professional pickpocket. I catch her eye and shake my head at her.

  She dips her head and colors like the sunrise.

  Beside me, Bren takes a sip of whatever’s in the mug to wash down a bite of pancakes and sputters all over her plate. “Damn-IT.”

  “Language,” Logan growls, but it’s to cover his chuckle.

  Bren pats her chin with a napkin while holding the offending cup out to Emily. “What even is that?”

  “Turmeric tea,” Emily says. “It’s really good for you.”

  “Welcome to hell, Bren,” Logan says, lifting his own cup of steaming, dark yellow water.

  “That’s disgusting. Seriously, dis-gust-ing. If you’re going to play hide the coconut with my drink, at least give me the chai. I can stomach that. This tastes like a goat took a shit in my cup.”

  “Language,” Logan and Max chorus.

  “I thought hide the coconut was a euphemism for sex,” I say to Bren.

  She blushes as brightly as Emily, which is charming on my cynical, sassy sammie. “That’s what we called that slight-of-hand game in Jamaica. I don’t know what else to call it.”

  I shrug and slide an arm across her shoulders. “Hide the coconut it is.” I lean in and whisper into her ear. “It’s also what I’m calling anal from now on. Get ready for some hiding of the coconut after we box.”

  “Sir.” She elbows me and I chuckle into my coffee.

  We demolish the pancakes, eggs, and links. Logan makes a second pot of coffee, real coffee for Brenna this time, although I notice she did drink the tea, despite her complaints, which attests to her fondness for Emily. When he returns with the coffee, he sends Emily and Cynnie off to watch cartoons. “Thought we might brainstorm about Bren’s skinhead problem while we’re all together.”

  I nod since we need to digest our pancakes before we box, naked or otherwise.

  “I’ve narrowed down where the skinhead lives based on his IP provider,” Max says. “Three block radius, if you want to put up posters again. It’s quite a way from Bren’s shop, which makes it surprising he’d try to get a tattoo there.”

  Logan rubs his hand over his unshaven jaw. “Set-up.”

  “Here’s the more interesting thing. There are repeated hits to Bren’s Google page from two other IP addresses. One’s definitely Mad Bob, but this one—” Max pulls a folded piece of paper out of the back pocket of his black jeans, pushes his dishes to one side, and smooths the paper out on the table. I lean over to see it and Bren presses into my side to get a view. It’s a printout of a Brooklyn street map with several blocks circled in red. “This one serves Brownsville. The headquarters of the Fairskin Knights are right here.” He taps within the red circle.

  “I’ve never had anything to do with the Fairskin Knights,” Bren says. “And I’ve been out of B
rooklyn for nearly ten years.”

  Max rubs his fingertips over the map. “Bren, I don’t want to scare you, but I don’t like the sound of these guys. They’re not Aryan Brotherhood, but they’re not far off. They’re white supremacists. They’re violent. If you’ve insulted a brother, or Mad Bob’s one of them and he’s trying to run off the competition, they’re going to escalate.”

  I snug Bren tighter into my side.

  Logan clears his throat. “Bren, would you be willing to wear a panic button?”

  She turns wide eyes up to me. I nod reassuringly.

  “I guess. Where, uh, do I wear it?”

  “I’ll get one ordered for you. Should be here in a few days. I can have it made into a bracelet or an earring, whatever you prefer.”

  “Earring, sir. I’d need to take it off while I’m working if it’s a bracelet.”

  “Okay, I’ll get that ordered. In the meanwhile, I’d feel better if you and Mac would move in here.”

  “Let’s play that by ear,” I interject before Bren responds, looking to balance her desire for independence with our need to keep her safe. The glance she shoots me is grateful.

  “I’m not stupid,” Bren says quietly. “I know the security here is much better than mine. I just don’t like these guys pushing me into a corner. Maybe we could change it up? A night or two at my place, with Sir, of course, then a night here and then a night at Blunts? That might keep them guessing.”

  Logan nods. “As long as you’ll let me put some cameras in your flat.”

  Bren sighs. “Can they not be in the bathroom at least?”

  Max chuckles. “Even if he put those in, I’d turn off the feed. Things I don’t need to see.”

  “You’ll be monitoring, too?” she asks warily.

  “Sorry, girlie. The more eyes on you, the safer you are.”

  Bren nods but I can feel her shoulders slump where she’s leaning against me. Since she’s wholly uninhibited in scenes, this isn’t about modesty, it’s about the invasion of her privacy.

  I press my lips to her temple and whisper, “I’m sorry, bold girl. I promise this won’t last forever and you can take all your frustration out on me downstairs in an hour.”