Deeper Than Ink

M.A. Ellis

Everyone’s heard of Becca Wiley’s kickass inking skills, including the Master at a

local BDSM club. He wants her to ink his subs with ultraviolet possession tattoos in
exchange for enough money to pay her mortgage for six months—if she can pass an
audition. All she needs is a human canvas.

For Chad Harrington, the last few weeks haven’t been a barrel of fun where his

friends-only relationship with Becca is concerned. He’s ready for more, and what better
way to say “I’m your man” than by offering a fresh patch of flesh for her audition,
while safeguarding her from any other plans the Master may have in store?

Becca is shocked by her response to the eroticism at the club, but not as much as her

reaction to Chad’s unexpected kiss and bold, scorching caresses. In less time than he can
say “on your knees”, she learns what she’s been missing. And knows she wants more.

D

EEPER

T

HAN

I

NK

M.A. Ellis

Dedication

For M.L. Joy—Because there really is no one better than you.

Deeper Than Ink

5

Chapter One

“Four UVs. Without accent color. On the back of the neck or between the shoulder

blades. As close to identical as you can make them. The fifth one, all the way around.”

Becca Wiley stared at the drawings she’d been handed and weighed her options,

trying to ignore the imposing man on the other side of the counter. His wide shoulders

and thin waist were highlighted to their fullest in a fitted charcoal-gray T-shirt that

refreshingly did not sport a graphic design. His physique reminded her of the plastic

gladiator breastplates her nephews were forever bringing to her condo to slay

imaginary beasts or the invading masses.

And while the delivery method of the proposition was a little too cloak-and-dagger

for her liking, Becca sure as hell wasn’t about to shoot the messenger himself. He was a

good-looking man. And lately, she’d been dreaming about handsome men. Or rather,

one good-looking man in particular. One who was decidedly off-limits. One with dark-

brown hair that barely brushed his collar and haunting light-blue eyes.

Becca glanced from the drawings to the man’s round face. A corner of his mouth

curved upward, his expression turning smug. It made it easy for her to admit Spartacus

Junior wasn’t for her. That he wasn’t that hot.

She saw attractive men each and every day. Some flocked to the Galleria to gamble,

some accompanied their wives or significant others on shopping expeditions of

Kardashian proportions. A good number strolled through the door of More Ink to

partake of the services she or one of the other seven artists provided. Being talented

enough to work in one of the city’s premier parlors, Becca had seen a lot of guys over

the past two years. She brushed off their attention as easily as she wiped away the

overflow of ink from their skin.

There had been times where she had to look some dude square in the eye and

remind them she had a sharp, pointy object in her hand and it could penetrate their skin

at a hundred-ninety drops per second, if she chose. But the true assholes were generally

few and far between.

Becca had rules, the most paramount being no fraternizing with customers once

they got up from her table and strode away. It was a good decree, but there had been a

few temptations. Leroy Verral, the bass player from Tormented Angels. Jonathan

Hendricks, her ex’s former boss and vice president of accounting for one of the

country’s largest investment firms. And Chad Harrington sommelier from the Michelin

Guide-praised eatery nestled on prime, corner real estate five units down.

The musician had her taking notice because Becca was a huge fan. His previous tats

were sick and she felt honored that he’d done his research and sought her out. He’d

told Becca’s boss he wanted her or else the patch of skin on his right inside forearm

M.A. Ellis

6

would remain un-inked forever. He had flirted with her mercilessly but she had stayed

strong. Little did anyone know, if he had swaggered in a few months earlier she’d have

tossed her tattoo gun aside and hauled herself up the three steps it took to get onto his

tour bus and rocked his thrash-metal ass. Until he dumped her in the next town.

The VP had ferreted her out as well. He’d been looking to get an old-school pinup,

but Becca believed he was there to tell her in person that Vinnie had just been fired for

embezzlement…and asked if she was available for dinner the following weekend. In

Brussels. He had known the sordidness that accompanied her divorce, had seen the

women who had come out of the woodwork one by one. She deserved better, Jonathan

had said, and he was right. But at the end of the day, she knew he’d want her to be a

showpiece. Just like Vinnie had.

Then there was Chad. Not a rock star. Not a corporate darling. Just an “average guy

who knows his wine” as he liked to say. He offered Becca a daily dose of enticement on

more than a few levels. Unlike the others, he was alluring and attainable. In the past

eight months he hadn’t done one thing to land him on Becca’s personal Prick List. He

wasn’t going to ride away to the next venue or jet off into the sunset. He was a man

focused on stability. Their afternoon chats over café Americano and white-chocolate

apricot biscotti had revealed that and a whole lot more. Like the fact that no matter

what he proclaimed, he was far from average.

“You interested or not?” The man interrupted her daydreaming in a commanding

voice. That pissed her off. Becca had been enjoying her little reverie. Hadn’t even gotten

to the life-changing part where Chad had held a prominent position in his family’s

engineering firm until his father had collapsed in the middle of a shareholder’s meeting.

Massive coronary at fifty-one. Within a month Chad had chosen a new career path, one

he could enjoy without the fear of leaving his own family, when he had one, alone and

morose.

Becca was a fan of life changes, most of her customers got tattoos because of them.

Even though there were times when her personal defeats still tried to rear their ugly

head she knew the importance of keeping a positive attitude. Better than most. And

there wasn’t a damn thing wrong with dreaming big.

But fantasies about friends who may or may not be fuckable weren’t going to pay

the mortgage. But the exorbitant sum the man’s boss was offering would do just that.

For the next six months. With enough left over to help with the ongoing shoe addiction

Becca was slowly trying to kick.

She took one last look at the drawings. They weren’t half bad but she doubted the

man standing before her had worked on them. Four of the sketches showcased a

delicate chain coming from each shoulder before dipping downward and being joined

with a Tiffany-style heart in the middle. The links were tight. Fine lines that a rookie

would find difficult, if not impossible. But Becca had mastered that technique early on.

She knew for a fact she could hit all the criteria his boss desired, even with the fifth

drawing.

Deeper Than Ink

7

She checked out that design once more. A thick studded collar with the same

distinct heart attached. Juxtaposition of punk meets Park Avenue if ever there was. But

a part of her knew they probably weren’t intended as homage to Sid, Nancy or the

Ramones.

Becca glanced at the pristine white business card she still held between her fingers.

The neat, handwritten number was an insane amount of money for five ultraviolet

tattoos, even from someone with her skill. She rotated her wrist, the crimson text

jumping out at her as she read the club name again. She didn’t recognize it but she

knew exactly what type of businesses the four hundred block of Coronado Street held.

“Exotic dancers or a band of bathhouse regulars?” she asked in a savvy tone.
He leaned over the counter, invading her personal space before he rested his elbows

on the counter and laughed. The sound echoed through the reception area, the scent of

sandalwood, thick and cloying, accompanied his closeness. She hated sandalwood and

took a step backward.

He offered her a seductive grin. “I’d love to play twenty questions with you, just to

see the look in your crazy-colored eyes when we get to the end. But I don’t have time.”

With lightning speed he reached forward, grabbed her wrists and trapped her

hands against the countertop. The sides of her hands hit the top so hard she thought the

glass would shattered down on her boss’s collection of vintage tattooing needles and

old-school Rose of Jericho flashes. Becca flexed her fingers and the card fluttered

downward, falling on top of the designs. Her heart thudded in her chest but it wasn’t

from fear. One good head butt and he’d let her go. It was the warmth emanating from

his fingers as he trapped her wrists, the power beneath his minimal exertion, which sent

a flutter through her abdomen.

“Doms and submissives, sweetheart. Most exclusive club in the tri-state. Is it too

much to hope that you’re into the scene? Or maybe you’d just like to play? I’m trying to

figure if you’d be a top or bottom. You send mixed signals, you know?”

Becca tugged against his grip but he didn’t let go. She was thinking an actual

forehead-to-forehead encounter might be the only way to break free when the door to

the shop opened and the chime under the thick rubber mat sounded. She looked up

quickly. In four long strides Chad Harrington was standing in front of her, his dark

brows furrowed with concerned, his hands fisted at his sides.

“Everything okay, Bec?” he asked, searching her face. She pulled her arms back

over the counter and stacked her hands on her hips. It was her go-to position. The one

that always made her feel relaxed. More in control. Now, if the trembling inside her

body would just stop, she could convince both men she was totally unaffected.

“You’ll need a live canvas with the initial meeting,” the man said before she could

reply to Chad’s question. He shifted his feet, putting a little more space between him

and Chad before he continued. “If the boss likes the results, you get half in advance.

You ink them where you want, but final approval has to be at the club, under our

lights.”

M.A. Ellis

8

The man eased upward off the counter and Chad moved closer. Becca knew Chad’s

GQ image was deceiving. Beneath the blue-and-white-striped dress shirt and neatly

pressed trousers there was a man who was currently giving off a time-to-kick-ass vibe.

The guy who just wouldn’t quit talking was apparently too stupid to notice it. Or he

was purposely ignoring it.

Becca had witnessed Chad’s understated authority more than once. It was a hell of

a lot more attractive than the alpha pissing matches she usually encountered but now

probably wasn’t the best time to evaluate why she found Chad’s laid-back control so

undeniably sexy.

“The boss expects perfection for that payday and when he gets that, you get the

rest.”

Chad’s low voice interrupted him. “Becca. I asked if you were okay.”
“Hey, man. I’m not done here.” He spun, finally giving Chad his full attention.
Becca could have sworn the man had actually puffed out his chest. Jesus, she hoped

she wasn’t going to have to call one of the guys up from the back. She really didn’t want

to have to explain any random blood splatter Chad might cause to her boss.

Lean, built like a swimmer, Chad had one of the most toned bodies this side of a

beefcake calendar or the unending line of firemen who waited their turn for her to ink

them. It took months of deflecting invites to hang at his pool before Becca had sucked

up her insecurities and saw those rock-hard abs and well-defined arms up close and

personal.

Chad slowly crossed his arms, his blue eyes flashing a warning as he widened his

stance and eased one foot backward. The ripple of tension that bounced between them

was palpable and she tried to think of something to say, something that would defuse

whatever was about to happen. If her visitor thought all it was going to take was an icy

stare and a few strategically timed pec bounces to make Chad back down, Becca knew

he was sorely mistaken.

“You’re done,” Chad said, his voice barely above a whisper.
Becca couldn’t control the shiver that went through her. The man quickly glanced

her way, checked out her goose bumps then looked back at Chad’s hardened

expression.

“Shit. Now this makes more sense,” the man said.
Becca had no idea what he was talking about but if his previous need to hear

himself speak was any indication, he’d expound in a second or two.

“I didn’t—”
Chad cut him off. “Leave.” The command was deep and rang with a finality that

didn’t allow further argument.

He turned from Chad to stare at her for a moment longer and then looked back to

Chad.

Deeper Than Ink

9

“Got it,” he said, tapping his index finger against the tip of his nose. He glanced

down at Becca’s wrists once more. “You’re stronger than you look. Bet that makes

things interesting, to say the least.” He began carefully stepping backward toward the

door.

“We carry equipment too. Highest quality you can find. Custom like you’ve never

seen. They make any sub thankful and every Master proud.”

From a safe distance he offered Becca a wink and a grin. The unwarranted,

conspiratorial kind that made her skin crawl. Then he walked out the door.

Chad Harrington had been perfectly fine standing outside the window. It hadn’t

been the first time he’d participated in a voyeuristic round of the Rebecca Wiley edition

of “I spy with my little eye”. He always liked the part where it was time to spy a nice

ass in vintage Red Tab Levi’s. They were his favorite. He hated when she wore any of

the other ones. The ones with pocket flaps. Or even worse, the really dark pair with

flaps and buttons. They made her perfectly formed booty look distorted and misshapen.

Which was criminal.

Her talking to some dude at the counter had never bothered him before. She was a

sought-after artist and her client base was predominately male. Professionally, she was

worlds beyond most of her peers, not in experience, but definitely in expertise. She

hadn’t bragged about that during the hours they’d logged in meaningful conversation.

But her boss promptly displayed all his artists’ awards and recognitions on a rotating

basis. Becca’s spread in Inked had held the place of honor this past June.

Chad looked at her wrists then up her arms, checking to see if the guy had grabbed

her anywhere else. Her pale skin was unmarred and it reminded him again how savvy

she was. She knew she needed to stand out. And she did, not by any full sleeves or wild

designs, but by the fact she was virtually tattoo-free from an exposed standpoint. The

upper edge of one of the tattoos on her chest was barely visible when she wore her

uniform tank tops.

He, like more than a few of their acquaintances, had wondered about the ink she

was keeping hidden. In the time he’d known her, she had never worn shorts. He’d

nearly cried the day she finally agreed to hang out at the pool with him. He’d wanted

her companionship but a part of him was crazy curious about seeing her ink. And he’d

been blown away by her torso cascade and how pristine the main images still were after

ten years. The outer blending, she’d explained, was recent. Since her divorce.

The shithead he’d walked in on had definitely been there on some sort of business

call and not to take a run at picking up a local celebrity. So why was Chad’s gut still

clenched? She’d told him repeatedly how she found dating the clientele unwise.

Sometimes, he thought she was using that line to fish. Saying it to find out his personal

opinion on sleeping with people you worked with, a habit that ran rampant in the food

and beverage business. But she’d never once come straight out and ask if he had a

girlfriend. They’d covered every other topic under the sun but that.

M.A. Ellis

10

He was pretty sure her lack of curiosity had something to do with not wanting to

reciprocate where private details were concerned. His ego wouldn’t let him think

otherwise. There had been more than a few occasions where the situation had been ripe

for introducing some friends-with-benefits action. But despite her in-your-face persona,

he knew Becca wasn’t easy. Under the jet-black hair, the rock-chick accessories and

lashes so thick they were either Tammy Faye fake or a gift from the gods, Becca Wiley

was one classy woman. That combo made her supremely desirable to him. And lately,

every time he’d rubbed one out, it was images of her that danced through his mind. Her

full, bowed lips wrapped around his cock, her thick lashes framing her blue-green eyes

as she looked up at him.

He knew she was divorced. Three years. But that was it. He’d asked once what had

gone wrong and she’d erected a wall that would have done the finest bricklayers proud.

He had dealt with that pretty well. Until now. They’d need to work on that particular

defense mechanism. And his what-the-fuck reaction to some other dude touching her

made it clear the time was fast approaching for him to face reality. He had plenty of

friends. He wanted more than a platonic relationship with Becca.

If that asshole hadn’t let go of Becca when he’d walked in, she’d have been

prematurely enlightened to the fact he desired a lot more from her than afternoon coffee

dates, once-a-month matinees and whatever music venues they could agree on. And he

couldn’t very well walk up to the counter and knock some douche bag out without

explaining to her what prompted him to do so. And he wasn’t quite ready for that.

Pussy.
Possibly, he told himself. For the first time in years, he didn’t want to fuck things

up. He had intended to enjoy the friendship they were building. And he was.

Eventually, he’d throw it out there. He was a patient man. Except when he saw her

being manhandled.

“What the hell was that all about?” he demanded, taking one more look in the

direction the dude had headed before giving Becca his full attention.

“The goose that laid the golden handcuffs.” She snorted, two dots of color washing

over her cheeks as she walked around the counter and made her way to the large

seating area. She plopped down on one of the black leather sofas with a loud whoosh

and her hair bounced around her shoulders before lying flat once again.

“Handcuffs? Not hand grenades?” he asked, looking at the drawings that had been

scattered across the display case. “Not even a few? Shoved up his ass, for starters. Did

he hurt you?”

She laughed, the sound soft and genuine. She didn’t placate him, didn’t pretend she

found his humor hilarious or his attitude charming. She laughed when she thought he

was funny and told him he was a jerk when she thought that, as well.

“I’m fine. Sorry I was late for coffee,” she said, attempting to steer the conversation

the way she wanted. Chad would readily admit she was a master at deflection. He’d

bring her back around and eventually get a straight answer.

Deeper Than Ink

11

“No worries. I figured you squeezed in a last-minute customer.” He straightened

the pile of artwork, picking up the drawings, looking at each one before bundling them

together and tapping them against the counter until they were neatly aligned. He lay

them carefully back down and picked up the business card.

CLUB ROSENTHORN
4821 Colonial Drive

He’d heard of it. More so from a professional standpoint than the usual curiosity

talk. Word was they had a decadent wine cellar. Their higher-end clientele deemed it a

necessity. The club had a sommelier, but no one had seen him or her. Their presence

was always absent at the Wine and Spirits Bureau’s monthly meeting where Chad and

his peers shared any new industry info or out-of-this-world picks.

He set the card in the middle of the papers, turned toward her, then leaned back

against the counter. Chad crossed his arms, ignoring her when she patted the empty

spot beside her. He wanted some answers before he got close enough to smell her

signature perfume. Vanilla and black cherry. It was light and subtle. A treat for his

sometimes overworked olfactory system.

He shook his head. “I’m good here,” he said, not about to give up a prime vantage

point. He wanted to watch her reaction head-on. “Tell me why you’re entertaining

flunkies from the local BDSM club.”

“You know about that place?” she asked in a surprised voice. Her brows rose.
“I’ve heard about it. So what’s the deal?”
“The owner saw some UV work I’d done. I guess he was shocked at the definition

in the design and now he wants someone to ink his five friends.”

“Friends?” Chad snorted. “Four of those drawing reek of possessiveness and the

other one—the collar—that one screams ‘ownership’. I think that’s a hell of a lot

different than half-off matinees and the occasional Guitar Hero battles, don’t you,

friend?”

“I don’t know what to think,” she replied quickly.
“So next time we decide to play chess in the courtyard, I’ll just tie your arms and

legs to the chair and throw a ball gag in your mouth. All in the name of us being

buddies. How’s that sound?”

Chad watched the flush of color that crept up her neck and over her high

cheekbones. He wasn’t sure where that analogy came from, but thinking of her in the

position he’d just mentioned shot a little tingle through his groin. It was an

unexpectedly sexy way to imagine her. All but the gag. When she quit talking, he got

nervous.

He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t curious as to how she responded in bed. Or if

she’d keep up a steady stream of conversation the entire time. And how long it would

M.A. Ellis

12

take him to make her switch from her usual chatter to naughty talk. He smiled at the

thought.

“I’m glad you think that’s funny.” She crossed her arms over her breasts and

offered him a kiss-my-ass smile. “But I’m not sure how I’d checkmate you into oblivion

being restrained. And we both know that’s what usually happens.”

“There it is. Thank you for reminding me who needs to be in control. I’m bettin’ old

blond and muscle-bound didn’t like your attitude one bit. Especially if he’s part of that

scene. Is that why he grabbed you? To see where your preference lies? If you’re a top or

a bottom? If you were down with a little whip and tickle after you get done inking the

minion?”

He watched her mull that over, her gaze drifting behind him to stare at a spot

somewhere to the right. When she finally focused on him again, he knew that

determined look all too well. Knew a barrage of questions was coming his way.

“He mentioned top and bottom before he grabbed me and asked if I wanted to play,

for shit’s sake. And what was with him touching his nose and saying he knew how it

was? Like you two were sharing some sort of secret? Have you been to that club? Do

you know what goes on?”

“I haven’t been there, but everyone knows there are people who like a good

spanking every now and again and who am I to judge? I like the naughty science geek

and the strict headmaster fantasy as much as the next guy but—”

“Isn’t it supposed to be naughty cheerleaders?”
“I’ve had naughty cheerleaders, all they do is whine and I don’t know what the hell

he was implying when I walked in. All I could think about was kicking his ass and then

spending the evening with our friends in blue. Which I should have done now that I

know he was asking you if you wanted to go to the club and be his sex slave du jour. Or

you be the Master. Lead him around on a leash, his balls in a harness.”

“Shut the f— Shut the front door!”
Chad should have given her kudos for keeping her potty mouth under control but

instead he wondered if she’d even picked up on the fact he’d have risked having the

cops called as a result of that shithead disrespecting her. She was staring off into space,

as if she were mulling over the exact scenarios he had thrown out there.

“So what are you going to do, Becca? Tell his boss to go pound salt or accept his

offer and walk proudly into the lion’s den? Human canvas in hand. That part I picked

up on.”

She chuckled. “The Lion’s Den, Chad? That was the name of the adult magazine

and toy shop at Exit 382 near where I went to college. I haven’t thought of that in

years.” She exhaled quickly. Over the months he’d learned to read the little noises Becca

made. This one always indicated she had already run through a ton of outcomes in her

head and had it narrowed down to what she wanted to have happen.

“It’s a ton of money, Chad. I don’t see how I can refuse. That would take care of my

mortgage and the condo fees ‘til the end of the year. Give me a chance to save a little

Deeper Than Ink

13

cash. And I’m freakin’ brilliant at the invisible ink. Anyone else he gets is going to do a

shitty job.”

She’d obviously made up her mind. She wasn’t going to research the club or

reconsider the subject matter, Chad knew that. Of course, she’d done tons of tattoos for

customers who had countless numbers of strange reasons and requests. He’d met her

less than a week after she’d started at More Ink, so he was pretty sure he’d heard just

about all of them.

“If you’re going to say yes, ink master that you are, when you call him, tell him you

want an extra eight fifty. Then you won’t have to drool over those pink lizard wedges

every time we walk by the Louboutin display at Neiman’s.”

“What? He’s not going to pay—”
“He will. Men will give ‘til it hurts if it has to do with the people they truly desire.

Ask him for an even ten grand and I’ll bet you a bag of donuts he doesn’t hesitate at

all.” He walked toward her, hoping she’d take the bet. His latest addiction was the

sugar-coated, Meyer lemon-filled concoctions at the new bakery on Level Two.

She looked up at him, the golden flecks in her eyes darkening, making her irises

more green than blue. She reached out her hand to seal the deal. “No donuts, though.

Neither one of us need them. I can barely fit in my jeans now, between that damn

bakery and the late-night gelato runs. Joe expands the hours here and my ass expands

exponentially. And you’re always telling me to keep you as low carb as possible.”

He took her hand, knew he’d be passing on the perfect opportunity to tell her that

her ass was just fine. That men like him loved having something to hold on to when the

heavy thrusting began. He squeezed her hand, tickling her fingers as he offered her a

grin.

“No donuts, damn you. But if I’m right, you cook dinner. Your aunt’s Bolognese.”

She groaned, tried to pull her hand free but he tightened his grip. “If you’re right, it’s a

bottle of Rioja from my private stock and I’ll spring for the corkage fee at Sushi Blu.”

Her smile was quick and so bright it made his heart stumble. He wanted to see her

that way all the time. Morning and night. And at two in the afternoon over the coffee

and biscotti that were now a moot point for today.

“You’re on,” she said, shaking his hand in earnest.
“One more thing,” he said, stepping closer until their feet were nearly touching.

“You use me as the canvas. I’d feel a lot better if you brought me instead of one of your

crazy-ass girlfriends.”

He felt the little shudder that went through her. Knew whatever apprehension she

may have felt had evaporated with his declaration. But he also knew the part of her that

thought she was invincible was getting ready to argue it wasn’t necessary. He headed

her off. “Plus, I can finally get some free ink and avoid that ridiculous waiting list of

yours. You come up with something awesome for me, Bec.”

She slid her fingers around his thumb and over his wrist, signaling she wanted a

hand up.

M.A. Ellis

14

He pulled her to her feet, not surprised when she wrapped her free arm around his

waist and forced their joined hands lower so she could lean her upper body into him.

She was a self-proclaimed hugger, the woman he was beginning to think he couldn’t

live without. It had made him uncomfortable at first but now he looked forward to her

caresses.

“Who’s better than you?” she asked, her delight clear in the tone of her voice.
“Yeah,” he agreed, wiggling his hand from her grasp to wrap his arms around her.

He pulled her close, her breasts teasing his chest and he held her as long as he dared,

determined to make her words a reality she could count on. He rubbed his jaw against

the silky strands of her hair and whispered in her ear. “Who’s better than me?”

Deeper Than Ink

15

Chapter Two

So, Becca owed Chad a home-cooked meal and a kick-ass, glow-in-the-dark design.

She texted him those exact words the minute she hung up with Andres, the man behind

the private phone number.

She received an immediate reply.

SUCK-AH

Then the wink icon.
Becca had high hopes for dressing up and falling into a sushi comma. Who in their

right mind dropped that kind of cash on five tattoos? She didn’t want to think about the

man too much but his demand to see a trial run of her work annoyed her. Her skill

spoke for itself but after a brief discussion she’d accepted the job. Right now, she

needed to focus on perfecting his drawings and then she’d design something

memorable for Chad. She’d arranged the audition for the following Monday, Chad’s

day off. She could have done it on Tuesday when she was free and before he had to go

back to the restaurant but she didn’t need the extra time. Two days was plenty of time

to do a little research and sketch, even though her weekend appointments were pretty

packed.

But Becca was a creature of habit, an organizer. Her previous life of providing social

backup for her ex had necessitated time management and she’d carried those

multitasking techniques right along with her to her new career. She’d found a great

balance between working, spending time with her girlfriends and lending support to

the few charities that remained near and dear to her heart. But the overtime Joey had

offered with the extended hours had been attractive. She had a few material items from

her divorce settlement but the cash portion wasn’t the golden payday it could have

been. Becca knew, without careful planning and a good deal of personal restraint, it

wouldn’t last for long.

The offer from Andres would ease a good portion of her angst. Much like Chad’s

offer to accompany her had. Her relief had been immediate. It wouldn’t have mattered

if it had been the grand poobah of one of the fraternal orders in town or the reigning

maven of the garden club. She’d have been leery of anyone who had sent a mouthpiece

to deliver an offer like that.

She pulled out a piece of vellum and cheap black and white colored pencils. They

worked best for monochromatic designs. She traced a small circle in the upper right

hand corner, over and over, deciding she’d concentrate on what Chad might want

M.A. Ellis

16

before she refined the drawings. If it wasn’t an audition, if she was given unlimited

time, she’d work up something more in depth for him. But she was going to have to

keep his newest ink pretty simple. It would unperceivable to the naked eye but she

could go back over it later with color if he wanted. That way, he could see it in daylight

and have it look extra kickass in the dark.

But wouldn’t it be nice if she could have something with a wow factor ready for

him? God knew he’d wowed her enough over the past year. The girls told her he was

the reason why she didn’t get her ass out there looking for a boyfriend. But why should

she when he was meeting just about all her needs? He stimulated her mind, his

communication skills were unbelievable, he was gorgeous as all get out, and he had the

ability to rein her in without the slightest bit of heavy-handedness when she started

getting a little too far off the charts.

All that’s left is the mind-blowing sex part.
Becca tried to ignore the voice in her head but since he’d offered to go with her to

that club and be her human canvas, the time she spent thinking about him had

quadrupled. She actually caught herself daydreaming of him loping up to her on a big,

black Percheron. When she was married she used to fantasize about well-built blonds

with bright-blue eyes. Shirtless firemen with massive pecs, their low-riding pants held

up by thick suspenders. Bad boys on Harleys with their ponytails whipping in the

breeze and biceps bulging against the sleeves of their tight black T-shirts.

How had those dreams evolved into images of a tall, dark-haired man with an

athlete’s build reaching a hand down from his trusty—albeit thoroughly outdated—

steed? It was crazy. She didn’t even like historical romance and that’s what the whole

image was like. A flashback to the old-school covers of the books her mom used to read.

The ones that were off-limits to her and her sister. Mickie had snagged them out of their

parents’ closet and read them anyhow. Becca chose the bookmobile instead, where she

stumbled across the horror and sci-fi genre and started drawing things that made her

parents question her mental stability.

Her folks had nearly cried with joy when she’d met a nice, “normal” boy at an art

gala and married him eleven months later. Thankfully, they’d honed their parental

skills at judging a man’s character.

Becca didn’t need their opinions to know Chad was a gem, as her mother declared

during a recent visit. Or a man who wouldn’t turn out to be as worthless as tits on a

boar hog, according to her father, wordsmith that he was. She wasn’t sure if she should

be happy or concerned over their two thumbs-up.

But Chad had never really led her to believe there could be something more than

friendship on the table. And until recently, she hadn’t allowed herself to think it might

be an option. The more comfortable she became with him, with the fact he truly seemed

to not care about all the little things her ex had found annoying, she was starting to veer

into that bad, bad area. The one where her feelings started to get the better of her and

she forged ahead and possibly fucked up a good thing. She watched it happen all the

time with her overzealous friends, both male and female.

Deeper Than Ink

17

His stepping up was huge and he did it in a way that didn’t scream, “Hey, look at

me. Look what I’m doing for you.” She loved that about him. She jerked at that thought

and stopped her mindless tracing. She glanced downward and the feeling that she was

rushing headfirst into dangerous territory slammed against her rib cage as she saw how

the tiny circle had morphed into a larger heart shape.

High school doodling, woman? Get a fucking grip.
Becca sat up straighter and gave herself a mental shake. If her interpretation of

Chad’s actions was skewed, she couldn’t think about that now. She had some major

drawing to do between they met the mysterious Andres.

“You sure you don’t want to take my car?” Chad hesitated outside the opened door

of Becca’s Chevy Blazer. It was the only one of her ex’s collection of vintage vehicles

that she’d fought for.

“Because nothing screams ‘I need more money for doing these tattoos’ faster than

showing up in a Range Rover. Get in, funny guy.” She gave Chad a quick once-over,

using an indulgent smile and the sarcastic tone to cover up the fact she’d checked out

his out-of-the-ordinary, all-black attire. Under Armour fitted tee and cargo pants. If he

was going for “badass with class” he had a very solid start.

He hauled himself in, setting a manila envelope between them on the worn red

leather console. “Like they won’t recognize that this baby isn’t a piece of junk, despite

the fact it needs a bit more refurbishment. You think that’s original 1978 putty on that

back quarter panel? I hate to tell you what that exact shade reminds me of. It’s not even

smoothed out well, kind of bubbled and wrinkly. You think I’m the only guy who

thinks it looks like a vagi—”

“What do you have here?” she interrupted, tapping the package. She knew exactly

what her latest foray into DYI bodywork resembled.

He buckled his seat belt and reached for the envelope. “Crash course. Bondage and

Discipline 101.”

Becca looked in her side mirror and pulled out into the street. His condo was only

ten minutes from the club.

“I’m not sure we have enough time.”
“Then let’s get a gallop on, shall we?” he suggested, pulling the papers free.
“Gallop on?” What was he talking about?
“That would be a pony play reference.”
“Pony—”
“Think butt plugs with horse’s mane attached. How bout we start with the Andres

Herzog dossier before we move on to terminology and any further accoutrements.”

“Dear lord.” She’d been too busy with work and the designs to give anything else

much thought but what the hell had happened to handcuffs and spanking?

M.A. Ellis

18

“Exactly,” Chad said. “It seems like most people end up calling His name, if you

know what I mean. Most are on the receiving end of leather floggers, electric fucking

machines and supersonic vibrators.”

“Seriously?” She loved the smell of leather. Fucking machines didn’t sound so great

but her interest was definitely piqued. “Where, exactly, can one get a supersonic

vibrator?”

“I find it interesting that’s the part of that statement you latched on to. So, a twenty-

pack of AAs for your birthday?” he teased.

“Sure,” she shot back. “Going with the over-under on whether I have a lover or not,

those could keep me saying ‘Golly, that was fun’ for the next four months.”

“But if you did, are you saying they’d last longer?”
Becca’s uh-oh sensors went up but she didn’t consider her answer. “Of course.”
“Why?”
A tiny flutter in her stomach started to build and she answered slowly. “Because I

wouldn’t need a toy to satisfy me.”

She glanced over and found him staring at her with such intensity her throat went

dry. She couldn’t say the same for other areas.

“So you wouldn’t use it when you were with him? Let him know exactly what you

liked?”

A jolt of desire shot to her pussy. She had a flash of them lying in her bed, him

propped up on one elbow between her spread legs, silently watching as she rubbed her

favorite bullet vibe between her folds and around her clit.

The stoplight ahead changed to yellow and she stepped on the brake. Maybe a little

too hard. She wasn’t about to look to see his expression. But she needed to get him back

on track and away from fantasyland.

“Who said I was talking about a ‘he’?” There. That should do it.
“Oh, now you’re just freakin’ teasing me.” His laugh sounded a little off. “That

statement isn’t going to have the effect you were going for but let’s move forward since

you’re trying to deflect. Your soon-to-be-customer, Andres Herzog.”

She did love how he was able to let things go. But she had a feeling if they weren’t

on their way to a sex club to do some ownership tattoos, a straightforward conversation

about masturbation might have added another layer to their relationship.

“Forty-eight years old. U.S. citizen for the past seventeen years. C.O.B., Germany.”
“C.O.B.?” she asked.
“Country of birth.”
Becca laughed at his seriousness. “Okay, Riley, Ace of Spies. Carry on.”
He made a noise, something between a snort and an exasperated sigh, then he

continued. “Herzog bought the former G Spot nightclub two years ago and renamed it

after one of the foremost books on BDSM, something about screwing the roses and

Deeper Than Ink

19

wanting thorns instead. He’s a highly sought after Dom and Master. Men and women

line up to have him mentor them in the ways of the lifestyle.”

She caught his air quotes out of the corner of her eye.
“Optimal triumph is when they work their way into his inner circle of submissives.

Your friend, Mr. Bulky—”

“He’s not my friend. He was just delivering the offer.”
“Yeah. Whatever. You checked out those abs. Thought about the gun show. Admit

it.”

She wasn’t sure why he was egging her on and she shook her head. “You’re an

idiot.”

“You know something, Bec? Words hurt.” He’d teased her with that particular

phrase so many times she’d lost count. But inside, it always made her smile.

She flipped him off and kept driving. “Continue.”
“Bossiness. According to my research, a sure sign of a natural-born ‘top’, many of

whom start out as ‘bottoms’ before finding their way to roles of dominance. So keep

that in mind if this inking gig you have going takes a header.”

She could have flipped him off, but it would have been bad form to do that twice in

a one-minute period.

“Then there are the ‘switches’. Not the branches that some people like to have their

bodies caned with, and let me tell you, that’s some fucked-up shit if ever there was, but

switches of the human variety. The ones who can either top or bottom depending on

their mood or the circumstance. You following all this?”

She nodded. It definitely went beyond her idea of what constituted kinkiness.
“Anyhow, douche-a-rific has been with Herzog since day one. Started out as a

hustler on Jefferson, near the bus station according to his rap sheet. Today he’s Herzog’s

number two guy. It was a big deal, him coming to see you. But he does love his Master.

Enough that it’s suspected he took the rap for Herzog on a battery charge earlier in the

year. He’s taking his chance at trial, which has been postponed twice and is scheduled

for next month. He’s done anger management. Him grabbing you might be admissible,

if it’s on Joe’s security tapes.”

Becca raised a hand and stopped him. “Are you channeling Judge Judy or Jim

Phelps?”

He didn’t miss a beat. “Your mission, doll, should you choose to accept it…”
She loved that he got her movie and television references, especially since most of

the time both of them were too young to remember the original shows. But her

girlfriends always said rerun junkies and comic book freaks always found each other.

She and Chad liked both.

“Jim Phelps would have never called anyone doll,” Becca pointed out.
“I know. But I like working it in when I can. The chances of you tolerating me

calling you that in real life are extremely thin.”

M.A. Ellis

20

“If you want a pet name for me, just say so.”
“I really don’t think you want to use the word ‘pet’ while we’re going over this

stuff. That shit’s even more bizarre. Bottom line is this, the club has turned a sizable

profit since conception. It has a membership list that is so secure that even Seal Team

Six couldn’t penetrate and retrieve it—”

“Seal Team Six? Now I know you’re full of it.”
“Rumor has it, more than a few local, national and international dignitaries have

walked through the front door. Or more than likely, through an underground passage

that spikes off to several parking garages throughout the city. And one that may

actually lead to a private estate along the river, for those wishing to arrive by yacht.”

“How did you get all this info?”
“Intel, doll. It’s called intel.”
She turned onto Fourth Street and he pointed to a spot down the block, on her side

of the street.

“How?” Becca asked again.
“It’s not important.”
His little oration started out as if he had gone on a fact-finding Google-a-thon, but it

ending with just enough secrecy that Becca was skeptical. “Did you have to pay?”

“Good god, woman, let it go.”
She pulled to the curb, killed the engine and turned in her seat to face at him. She

wasn’t going to give up. He knew that.

“For shit’s sake,” he muttered. “A bottle of ‘03 Château Margaux and the chef’s

table next New Year’s Eve. No biggie.”

“No biggie?” Did he not realize she paid attention during their lengthy

conversations about everything under the sun? “Is that 1903 or 2003?”

He laughed. “Two thousand three. The crop a hundred years earlier sucked ass.”
“From your stock or the restaurant’s?” She stared at him, waiting for an answer.
“Where do you think?” he replied.
She realized, at that moment, there couldn’t be anyone more selfless than him. Or

maybe she’d known that all along. Maybe it was one of any number of underlying

qualities that made her adore him. And she did adore him. More than she probably

should.

Without looking she undid her seat belt, leaned across the console and gave him a

quick kiss on the lips, one so brief, she didn’t have time to think. Or feel. Which was a

tad disappointing. Because in her fantasies, their kisses were mind-blowing.

“Thank you…so much,” she stumbled.
“For what?” he asked. His breath warmed her already heated lips.
“For always being there. For being an awesome friend.”

Deeper Than Ink

21

It was his turn to stare. His gaze drifted to her lips and her heart beat a little faster.

She should lean in and give it another try. But he jerked his head away and gave her a

look that bordered between surprise and upset. She’d said something wrong, she could

tell by the way he sat up straight and reached for his own seatbelt buckle.

The driver’s door was suddenly pulled open. She spun around to find Mr. Bulky

standing on the sidewalk. He reached quickly for her elbow and Becca acted

instinctively, knocking his hand away with an upward chop.

“Good girl,” Chad praised in a rich tone.
Becca’s head snapped around. Where the hell had that specific timbre come from?

And good girl? Seriously?

Chad hopped out of the vehicle before she could offer a response. Or remind him

the Blazer didn’t have automatic locks. She reached over and pushed down the button

on his door before turning in her seat. She had the sudden urge Chad might leave her

behind. Which was ridiculous.

“Andres is waiting,” the other man said, barely glancing at Becca as he watched

Chad walk around the front of the truck. They had another brief stare down before

Chad gently elbowed him aside and took her hand as if she were royalty. Chad helped

her out of the vehicle, let her walk a few steps and then opened the back driver-side

door and grabbed her machine and supply case. He stacked them together and wheeled

them out of the way.

The whole scene was becoming a little surreal, but what had she expected with

them rolling up to the local BDSM club? Becca locked her side, slamming the door when

Chad was clear. She reached for her equipment but he placed one hand on her hip and

moved her effortlessly aside.

“I’ve got this. You go ahead,” he said, sliding his palm over the back of her thin

More Ink T-shirt until it rested low, against the base of her spine. His hand was warm,

but she shivered nonetheless.

They reached the door of the club. Glossy black. No windows. Not at all inviting.

“This way.” Mr. Bulky opened the door into even more darkness.

For the second time in as many days, Becca was happy to have Chad by her side.

Chad’s thoughts kept looping back to how that kiss had sucked. It had surprised

him, but it had still sucked. It was so quick he hadn’t had time to react as he should

have. As he’d dreamed of. And then she was thanking him for being her friend. Fuck.

All that was left at that moment was for someone to cue the Golden Girls theme music.

This had to end. He’d hit the proverbial wall of self-denial. When they were done

and Becca drove him home, he’d show her how to do it proper. How two people who

had no earthly reason not to be together actually kissed. Body to body. Tongues

dueling. Hands trying to touch a hundred places at one time. But he couldn’t think of

that now. Not with the asshole leading them into the dark foyer of the club.

M.A. Ellis

22

It took a moment for his eyes to adjust but when they did, he was shocked at the

opulence that surrounded them. Tufted leather seating areas. A huge mahogany bar

that ran in a horseshoe shape against the far wall. He doubted the wineglasses perfectly

aligned on clear shelves were your standard restaurant grade. The stems were too fine.

If they were Riedel like he thought, there was easily twenty-five grand in crystal. And

that was just the red wineglasses.

“Andres is waiting in the new game room.”
Becca remained silent, which set him on guard. He assumed she would go in there

with her usual confidence. It would be the best way to deal with a man who was used

to people groveling at his feet. If he knew there was the possibility she would clam up,

he’d have talked to her about that. Emphasized that point.

They followed the man down a long corridor lined with mirrors on one side and

windows on the other. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind that both were two-way. Chad

watched Becca’s profile, could almost see the internal battle she was fighting. She didn’t

like to be told what to do, didn’t like not being in charge. But he knew how beneficial a

large payday would be for her independence. They slowed their pace and she squared

her shoulders. He admired her strength. Her adaptability.

Two warnings had been given along with the info on Andres Herzog. Be careful,

and show no weakness. It was like dealing with a bear, he’d been told. It was doubtful

any harm would come to them if they didn’t piss Andres off too badly. But his intel

came with an additional request Chad readily agreed to. He’d given up the time of their

meeting and promised to drop a text when the audition tattoo was over and both he

and Becca were on their way home.

The echo of their footfalls changed and Chad looked ahead to where the corridor

ended. A set of antique double doors. Burled walnut. With thick hinges and two roaring

lion doorknockers indicated their trek was over. Without knocking, the dude who Chad

actually hoped he’d have a chance to knock out opened both doors and stepped to one

side, allowing Becca and him to pass. It was a grand gesture that Chad knew was totally

false and misplaced.

“Welcome,” a heavily accented voice greeted from the center of a column-flanked

rotunda. It was three steps higher than the rest of the room, giving it the appearance of

a temple.

With the over-the-top-ornate vibe going on, Chad expected to see Herr Herzog

sitting on a throne, but the man perched on a backless barstool. He was the textbook

definition of mature and distinguished. White hair in the quintessential executive cut,

healthy tan. Wide smile, perfectly fitted suit. As much as Chad hated to admit it, the

guy gave off a refined air. He was expecting something a little more sleazy.

A padded table and low doctor-type stool shared the obvious place of honor.
“I’m glad you accepted my offer, Miss Wiley. Your reputation precedes you, you

know?”

Deeper Than Ink

23

“Yes. I do.” Becca’s words were clipped. Delivered in a no-nonsense tone that had

Chad giving her a mental high five. “This should do just fine. I’ll need an electrical

outlet.”

Chad wondered if nervousness was manifesting itself into terseness. Or if she just

wanted to get in the zone without the usual pleasantries. Or maybe she’d noticed the

iron rings attached to each pillar they passed and had figured out the various ways a

person could be restrained. Or stretched. Chad had gone home the other night after

work and internet-searched the club, followed the links that had led to a quick

explanation of a lifestyle that so many found fascinating. He had thought he already

knew the rudiments of the fetish, but he’d been sorely mistaken. The research, most of it

visual, had ranged from informative to the point where he thought he might actually

puke.

“My goodness.” Herzog tipped his chin upward and looked down his nose at

Becca. Even on his perch he was a head taller than she. Chad nearly smiled when she

put her hands on her hips.

“Have you always been this direct, Miss Wiley?” Herzog asked. “Or is it a role you

like to play?”

“I’m a tattoo artist. That’s all, Andres.”
Chad didn’t miss the way Herzog’s eye twitched when Becca used his given name.

The intel was spot on. The man obviously thrived on respect.

“But that isn’t the role you’ve played, now is it, my dear?”
Chad watched her closely and fought the possessive urge to step next to her. He

knew her past. Knew it wasn’t what she’d want.

Becca laughed, low and deep, and it startled them all.
“It’s the only role I’m going to play with you. Now get me some electricity or we’re

walking.”

Chad tensed. The dude who walked them in was moving around to the left.
“Troy,” Andres finally spoke. “Electricity please.”
The man, who now had a name of his own, went to the post closest to Becca and

pulled a piece of the column upward, revealing a hidden socket. He reached out his

hand, silently offering to plug in her machine but she ignored him and did it herself.

Chad stayed out of her way, waiting until she was ready for him. When she had her

mobile tattooing station arranged the way she wanted, she turned toward him.

“Which one?” she asked, opening a folder.
Last night they had talked about the three designs she came up with but he’d yet to

see them. He studied all three, once again blown away by her creativity and skill. A

Celtic knot. The single Chinese character for balance. And a gnarled root of a grape

vine.

They each had merit, and they each held meaning. He’d been shocked when she’d

told him the three designs. Shocked that she’d paid enough attention when he rambled

M.A. Ellis

24

to recognize the things in his life that held significance. He’d been engaged two years

and his fiancée hadn’t bothered to find out half of what Becca gleaned in just eight

months.

“This.” He pointed to the intricately twisted knot, a fitting choice for his Irish

heritage and his new acceptance of life and death. She nodded in return and picked up

the transfers, clearing off the table. He knew the drill. Same one he’d gone through

when she’d done his first and only ink, the memorial tattoo of his nephew that graced

his right pec. All she had to do was pick the exact spot on the inside of his upper left

arm she thought would be easiest to work on.

“Should I be concerned that you don’t have any visible tattoos, Miss Wiley?”

Herzog asked.

“I’ve got plenty of ink,” Becca’s reply was short. To the point.
“I can’t see a thing showing. In my experience, most people get the outer

extremities done firsthand then move on to the more private areas. I’ve never met a

tattoo artist who wasn’t nearly covered from head toe. That says something about your

level of comfort where nudity—”

His words were cut off when Chad reached behind his head and pulled his T-shirt

off his body.

“I’m an anomaly,” Becca interjected.
The silence stretched and Chad eased onto the table. He worked hard to keep in

shape. He wasn’t usually uncomfortable being shirtless but both of the other men were

staring at him as if his abs held the secret to world peace. Or more than likely, world

domination. The latter took on a whole new meaning when Chad thought about the

metal rings attached to the pillars.

Chad looked his way and Herzog cleared his throat. “I assumed ten thousand

dollars would give me carte blanche to choose where—”

“Think again,” Chad interrupted. “Unless you have another ten Gs at your

disposal. If you do, then we can discuss.” He raised his arm over his head and watched

Becca roll her stool to the top of the table. It would be easier for her to work that way

than him trying to keep his arm turned at an outward angle.

The man gave him another slow once-over and Chad forced his features to remain

neutral.

“You’re a delicious specimen, but not worth that price, I’m sorry to say. That’s a

rather odd place for the tattoo, don’t you think? When you’ve got two strong healthy

biceps. Bare and available.”

Herzog’s words dripped with innuendo. It made Chad want to laugh at the

insipidity, but he remained quiet.

“The skin on his inner arm is very similar to neck tissue. It’s the closest to exact that

we can get without actually doing a neck tattoo,” Becca explained. She’d gone over all

that with Chad the night before.

Deeper Than Ink

25

“And why doesn’t he want a real neck tat?” Troy asked.
Chad felt her tense. She hated when people used that word. It showed what posers

they were.

“Customer’s choice,” Becca replied. She shot Herzog a sidelong glance. “Most of the

time.”

Chad didn’t think she was looking for a response and Herzog didn’t give one.
“Maybe he thinks you’re not good enough to do his neck?” Troy needled.
“Maybe he thinks you’re a fucking asshole,” Becca muttered under her breath, but

Chad heard her as she repositioned his arm. She had the area prepped in seconds.

He ignored Troy, put a serene smile on his face and looked at the mural painted on

the domed area above their heads. An Italianate rendition of Diana. It seemed out of

place for a dungeon, and he was pretty sure that was the correct terminology for where

they were. He looked away, watching Becca protect her delicate hands with a pair of

black latex gloves before opening her ink. Her fingers touched his skin, stroked the area

she intended to place the design. The gesture seemed to calm her because her fingers

were no longer shaking. She placed the transfer down and patted it firmly into place.

Chad, on the other hand, was wondering if she could see the blood pumping

through the vein in his neck. He was growing tired of having Herzog look at him as if

he might be a tasty treat, and Troy the Asshole glaring at him from a shadowy area to

the right. Maybe the dude had done something to displease his Master and wasn’t

allowed up there with the rest of them. Chad would ask him that if the need to incite

the guy’s anger was required.

“I’m using a white ink that, when done properly, won’t leave even the faintest of

marks,” Becca said. “Inferior ink as well as an inexperienced artist is the combination

for noticeable failure. Troy said you have quite the light display. That will only help

accentuate the finished product.”

“I’ve been assured it’s the best system on the East Coast. Rivals the clubs on South

Beach and in the Village.” Chad heard the pride reflected in Herzog’s voice.

“Then light it up,” Becca said.
The room was thrust into darkness and Chad felt the gentle brush of Becca’s hand

against his, but only for a moment. An eerie glow reminiscent of the black-light poster

area of the head shops from his college days filled the room and Chad blinked against

the harshness.

“That’s not going to work,” Becca said quickly. “I’ll use mine. Go ahead and kill

those and put the regular lights back on.” Chad watched her pull an extendable light

head out of the second drawer of her case. She clipped it onto the edge of the drawer,

screwed in a bulb and spun the knob behind the metal shade that helped focus the light

in one place. She moved her leg and the tattoo gun began to hum.

“Have you been together long?” Herzog asked.

M.A. Ellis

26

“Long enough,” they answered in unison, but neither smiled. Or yelled “jinx” like

they usually did.

“Reeeeeally?” Herzog drew the word out, his skepticism evident.
A fight-or-flight sensation washed over Chad. Becca hadn’t even started and all he

wanted was for them to get the hell out of there. Send that text. Let it be known they

were all right. But she was focusing. Ready to start.

“I really can’t wait to see the level of connection I’m assuming you two have.

Tattooing, I’m told, is very similar to a D/s session. Does she sense your pain before

you actually react to it? I’ll bet she does and then automatically backs off. But she

doesn’t quite give complete relief, does she?”

Chad remained stone-faced. What the man had described was exactly how his

previous tattoo had gone down. The outline had been painful, he knew that going in.

But he wasn’t a pussy. He would have never asked for a break. But he hadn’t needed to.

Becca had been as in tune as Herzog suggested.

“It’s amazing she can do that, considering you’ve mastered, no pun intended, your

external reactions. It so much easier when the face contorts or the body flinches. Of

course, I’m well versed at discerning signs. I believe you’d give any good Dom a run for

their money.”

Chad wasn’t sure if that was a compliment or not. Either way, it creeped him the

fuck out.

“But you,” Herzog continued, turning toward Becca. “Ah, my dear, the things I

could teach you. Perhaps you’d prefer part of your fee in cash and the rest in the form

of tutorials.”

“No thanks,” Becca responded in a cordial tone. A thin line of perspiration had

broken out along her forehead. Chad saw her nostrils flare and captured her gaze. The

odd lighting had brought out the gold in her eyes and Chad wondered if that’s how

they’d look after he was done making love to her.

Herzog pressed. “If you’re certain—”
She ignored the man and nodded at Chad. Creature of habit that she was, he knew

Becca was going to throw out the icebreaker she always employed right before her

needle descended. The first time she’d said it, he’d been caught off guard.

“You ready to pound skin?” she asked, offering him the tiniest of grins.
He gave her a wide smile in return. This time he didn’t lie. “With you, baby?

Always.”

Deeper Than Ink

27

Chapter Three

Becca set her gun down. A little over an hour. Pretty damn good for working with

specialized ink. She stared at the knot, satisfaction rolling through her body. It was

flawless. She dared anyone to find a place where the continual pattern was broken. She

stole at peek at Chad’s face. He was still staring at the ceiling, probably trying to

pretend Herzog wasn’t in the room. God knew there was a point where she’d wished

the same. She had been at the most critical part of the design, joining the thick outer

bands, when Herzog had stood up and scooted his stool closer to Chad.

She had looked up just as he was reaching out, as if he were going to touch the raw,

red flesh. Chad had flinched when she demanded Herzog sit back and give her the

space she needed but the man hadn’t moved. They had a good half minute of her

machine humming, the needle hovering over Chad’s flesh as she and Herzog played a

game of visual chicken. It had taken him a damn long time to comply but he was a little

less arrogant when he sat down.

She answered Herzog’s questions succinctly, inking Chad’s skin and wiping away

the blood and milky-white ink in a systematic manner. When she was nearly halfway

through the door opened and a group of four women and one man joined them. The

women varied in age and appearance but the man bore a striking resemblance to Troy.

Herzog pointed and they formed a line and dropped to their knees on the hard wooden

floor off to one side.

Now isn’t that just fucked up?
Their readiness to obey left Becca uneasy. When she got some free time, she was

going to have to do some Googling on the whole submissive subculture. Chad had

called it a lifestyle.

Doubly fucked up.
Becca took one last look at Chad’s new ink. She could barely see the trauma to the

skin. If he took as good care of it as he had his last tattoo it was going to heal to

perfection.

She turned toward Troy, relieved to find him looking at her. She didn’t want to

have to call his name before she asked him to adjust the lighting.

“Let’s see it under the UVs,” she said. Once he had the regular lighting shut off and

the specialized lighting on she’d shut her own lamp. She wasn’t about to spend one

minute in the dark with a dungeon master who was probably as interested in Chad as

he was in her.

Troy hurried away and Becca started capping her plastic ink pots.

M.A. Ellis

28

“It’s barely red,” Chad said. He maneuvered his arm for a better view and pride

surged through Becca when she saw the corner of his mouth curve upward. “You going

to hit that with some bacitracin?”

“Not this time,” she replied, leaning a little closer. “A and D ointment for this one

since I know you can be trusted to keep it clean. You didn’t have a reaction to the

bacitracin last time, no weeping wound, but I definitely don’t like pushing the envelope

with the invisible ink.”

The room fell into darkness then the black lights came one. Chad’s tattoo glowed,

the work intricate and crisp, even with the swelling.

Herzog rose and moved to Becca’s side. He pressed closer and she fought the urge

to scoot her chair out of his way. He studied her work, turned his head from side to

side, undoubtedly checking out the shading, the under shadows that were so difficult to

pull off without being able to see the usual crisp black outline of a traditional tattoo.

Becca knew she’d done a magnificent job.

“Beautiful. As I suspected it would be.” He reached in the pocket of his suit coat

and pulled out a wad of cash, held together with a black file clip. He plopped it down

on her work tray. “I can’t wait to see the masterpieces you have in store for my darlings.

Why don’t you do them here?”

It wasn’t a suggestion. It was clearly an order and the hair at the nape of Becca’s

neck rose. She grabbed a sample pack of ointment, tore open the top and squeezed a

healthy amount onto her fingers, rubbing it onto Chad’s skin in short upward strokes as

she considered how best to reply.

The last place on earth she intended to spend nearly half a day was in this place

with Herzog perched over her. She had the feeling that even if every light were turned

on, the sinister aura would still be present. Becca opened a nonstick plastic bandage.

She needed to cover Chad’s design. Pronto. The place looked clean, but Becca knew the

power of airborne bacteria.

“Don’t take this the wrong way but I prefer a completely sterile atmosphere. One

with a little more natural light for starters. One that doesn’t come complete with people

forced to kneel and watch me. One that doesn’t smell funky.”

“We have a five-person janitorial department who focus solely on sanitization of

the furniture and toys. I’m highly offended—”

That he’d focused on that specific aspect of her comments showed just how fucked

up he really was.

“There’s a room at the shop with black light capabilities. I’ll do them there.”
“The agreement was they’d be done here,” Herzog said, walking briskly around the

table.

The bandage disappeared from her hand as Chad whipped it from her fingers and

slapped it over his tattoo, harder than he should have. His long legs swung over the

side of the table toward her and within a few heartbeats his body blocked Herzog

before the man could take another step in her direction. She expected Troy to surge

Deeper Than Ink

29

forward, protect his Master, but he stood stock still off to the side with a look of pure

menace on his face.

Chad’s protectiveness brought a pleasant fullness to her heart but Becca needed

Herzog to know it was her he had to deal with first and foremost. She scooped up the

money and squeezed around Chad until she and Herzog were face-to-face.

“That’s not going to happen, Andres. The agreement was final inspection would take

place here. Then final payment. If you’re trying to change the terms now, I’m out. Find

another inker.” She tossed the cash against his chest but he didn’t reach for it. The metal

clip echoed like a gunshot as it hit the marble tile. Startled gasps filled the room and

Becca turn to the line of submissives.

“I’d highly suggest none of you let anyone break your skin in this environment.

Unless you’re willing to accept the consequences that accompany infection. Both the

simple kind that are irritating and the other kind that goes to the bone. That one kills

you.”

They all kept their eyes averted, chins against their chests. Only one woman, a

platinum blonde with piercing violet eyes, glanced at her but only for a second.

“Very well,” Herzog finally said “If you have your day planner we can look at

times.”

Becca didn’t miss the way his gaze hardened. “Tomorrow,” she said. “Anytime

from noon to midnight. Allow two hours for each chain. Four for the collar. I’ll do six

hours first, an hour break, then the other six hours. Whatever combination you want.”

Chad shifted, then moved until he once again had a full view of Herzog.
“That will be fine,” Herzog replied. “They’ll see you at noon and again at seven.”
Apparently, the five of them had no say or nowhere else they had to be. The

thought that they just hung out at his side, seeing to his every need, made Becca’s

stomach churn.

“Libbie. Come pick up Miss Wiley’s money and hand it to her.”
Becca looked at him, saw the challenge in his eyes, saw the way his lips started to

curl in self-satisfaction. Well, fuck him.

“Don’t bother, Libbie,” she said, ignoring whoever was about to come her way.

Before she could bend down, Chad intercepted her. He picked up the cash and handed

it to her and their gazes locked. She saw the warning there. Knew that he was well

aware she was getting ready to say a whole lot more than Herzog expected to hear.

Chad stepped to the side and Herzog filled her line of vision, staring at her with a

bewildered look on his face, his eyebrows raised so high, she almost laughed. Becca

chose, instead, to give him a smug look in return.

“Troy,” he said in a clipped voice, “please show our guests out when they’re done.”

He pulled his phone from his pocket and turned, walking down the stairs, tapping the

screen as he headed toward a door in the far corner of the room.

M.A. Ellis

30

Becca couldn’t be done with him soon enough. Now if they could ditch Troy and

get back to the Blazer, life would be grand.

“Let’s get that bandage secured and get the hell out of here,” Becca said quietly to

Chad.

“What can I do to help?” His whole demeanor softened and she wanted to smile.

But she knew if she was going to play the part of a hard-ass, she’d have to tell him later

how much she appreciated the way he’d stepped up. How he’d helped to put all-

controlling Herzog in his place.

Or maybe you could just show him your gratitude? Nothing says “thank you, baby” like a

front seat blowjob. One where you keep him hanging until he flings you into the backseat and

goes down on you like you’re the feast of a lifetime.

Holy shit. Just being in this place had her subconscious veering down avenues that

reeked of control.

Becca reached around Chad, her breast grazing his arm as she grabbed the adhesive

tape. He tensed and then took a step backward. “Just let me tape this and get my stuff

collected. I’ve got a system.”

She didn’t waste time breaking down her equipment or the portable work station.

By the time she was done, Chad had his shirt on and was pacing, clearly wanting to get

out of there as fast as she did.

“We’re ready,” she told Troy. They could certainly find their way out but she knew

there was no use suggesting that. The man had his duty, that was more than clear. But

as he led them out the door and down the corridor he plodded along at a snail’s pace.

Much slower than when he escorted them in. She felt Chad at her heels, could sense his

desire to push the guy aside and lead them out of the dimness and into the bright light

of day.

“The Master thought you might be interested in this. It’s his private cellar.” He

stopped in front of one of the two-way mirrors and gently double-tapped the glass.

Becca stepped backward right into Chad’s solid body as the window went from black to

clear. Chad’s hands quickly cupped her elbows, steadying her but not letting go as the

brightly lit two-level wine cellar filled their vision. It was huge, storage for what seemed

like thousands of bottles behind glass doors. Movement on the catwalk drew Becca’s

attention and a man in tweed trousers and a black turtleneck walked toward the

circular stairs at the farthest end of the walk. He carried a book under one arm and a

glass of red wine in his other hand. With practiced ease he made his way gracefully

down the staircase. The room was set up like a lecture hall with thick upholstered easy

chairs as opposed to hard, collegiate-type desks and seats.

Chad’s body jerked behind her and Becca tensed as well, despite the fact she wasn’t

sure what had elicited his reaction. It wasn’t until a brighter light came on and a

spotlight followed the man’s progression across the room as if he were getting ready for

a one-man show. He took a dozen more steps before a huge wine barrel was revealed

and Becca stood up straighter, her throat going dry. Arched backward over the barrel,

Deeper Than Ink

31

in what was surely a difficult pose, was a naked, blindfolded woman. Her pert breasts

jutted upward, her toes barely touching the Oriental carpet and light glistened off the

sheen of sweat that clung to her body. Black leather cuffs covered her ankles and wrists.

A single tether ran from her wrists to a ring on the floor, forcing her arms over her

head. Her legs were secured as well, but with two lengths of rope that were attached to

force her legs open.

The helplessness of the woman’s position made Becca’s heart drum against her rib

cage. But the vulnerability, the openness, brought on a more primal response, one that

started with a light throb just above her clit. She eased her thighs together and searched

for something else to concentrate on.

An intricate pattern of knots encircled the woman’s torso and Becca tried to follow

the path they took but it was impossible. There was artistry to the design and she

wondered if she had the skill to duplicate the beauty of it in ink. Before she could

question why that thought had flitted through her mind the woman began to struggle

against her bonds. Becca assumed she must have heard the man’s approach. Troy

moved his hand to the top of the window frame and audio echoed above their heads.

Becca expected music to be playing. Not the bow-chick-a-bow-bow that was

synonymous of bad porn but something other than the woman’s raspy breathing. The

quality of the audio was astounding. She figured it had to be considering the fact people

could stand in the hallway and hear and see exactly what the people who sat inside

could.

“Have you missed me, Victoria?” The man had a British accent. It sounded light

and easy-going. The woman began to whimper, moving her arms and legs with greater

urgency. “Are you ready to continue your lesson?”

The woman—Victoria—stilled and Becca’s heart began to pound. She could see the

woman’s shiver.

“Y-yes,” she replied, her voice edged with fear.
“Yes…”
“Sir,” she quickly added. “Yes Sir.”
“Very good. We’re going to try, once again, to work on control.” He set the book on

the center of her stomach and patted it twice.

“Are you comfortable, dear?”
The woman hesitated, as if she were pondering how to answer.
“Yes. Sir.”
He took a step backward and the floor began to move, the barrel and the rug

beneath it rotating until the woman’s completely hairless pussy was fully exposed to

Becca and Chad. Rope Becca hadn’t been able to see ran upward from below the

woman’s ass to where it was attached at her waist. The cord was drawn tight and Becca

thought it was a single length until she saw how it separated around the woman’s clit,

biting into the swollen redness of the woman’s labia.

M.A. Ellis

32

“Really?” the man questioned. He bent down in front of the woman, staring at the

juncture of her thighs as if something were wrong. “I think you’re lying, Victoria. You

know what dishonesty gets you.”

They should leave. Becca knew they should, but the man’s lilting voice made her

wonder what was in store. What the punishment would be.

“Your poor little clit doesn’t look comfy. Not in the least.” He reached a hand

toward her crotch, his fingers forming an “okay” sign. “In fact, it looks as if it’s ready to

burst.”

He flicked the captured nub with a force that made the woman squeal and Becca

sucked in a breath. An unexpected heaviness settling over her own pussy.

“Is it ready to explode?” The man moved as if to touch her again and the girl

answered. Quick and succinct.

“Yes Sir! It is.”
He took a sip of the wine and then carefully perched the glass on top of the book. It

wobbled precariously at first but the woman stared at the ceiling, taking a few shallow

breaths to help the glass settle. “But we can’t allow that. Not if we’re working on you

holding back, can we, Victoria?”

“No Sir,” The girl’s voice teetered between an answer and a plea.
The man reached down and picked up a wand-like vibrator from the floor. A loud

buzzing noise filled the room and the captive’s thighs began to shake.

Becca’s gaze shot to the glass. It rocked a little faster.
He held the vibrator by the cord, moving his wrist just enough that the toy began

swinging like a pendulum. With each pass he brought it closer to her exposed pussy

and a surge of arousal shot through Becca. She wasn’t different from most women.

She’d fantasized about being tied up. But this? It took torment to an entirely different

level. One her body was automatically responding to.

The large, bulb-like head grazed the woman’s flesh and her short, high-pitched cry

filled the room. The glass lurched to one side and the man grabbed it before it toppled

to the floor, but not before the contents had splashed over the book, the captive’s belly

and the floor. He brought the wineglass to his lips and emptied its contents before

setting it safely aside.

“We’ll begin, Victoria, with you asking permission to come.” He tossed the vibrator

upward and caught it around the shaft, holding it like a torch. High enough that the

woman could see it. With his other hand he moved the rope outward from between her

labia, one braided length at a time, until it framed her engorged flesh, forcing the

pillowy flesh upward until it was plumped and trapped. Wetness marked her desire,

evident to all who watched.

With a firm motion he pressed the bulbous head low against her core, to the patch

of skin between her vagina and her anus. Becca imagined the vibrations would offer

intensity to the woman’s labia while only teasing her clit. The woman’s head fell slowly

Deeper Than Ink

33

back against the barrel as she moaned, then quickly snapped her mouth shut, silencing

the sound.

“You can make all the noise you want, Victoria. It won’t bother me in the least. As

long as you hold your orgasm at bay.”

He held the vibrator stationary and stared at the woman’s lower body. He never

once looked up, just watched for something, but Becca had no idea what it was. To her

eyes, the woman was barely moving. What motion there was seemed to be the

vibrations that were radiating from the toy and rippling through the woman’s splayed

thighs.

Becca shifted as dampness slicked her own folds. Her hearing became distorted

with the sound of her heart pounding out a thunderous rhythm and heat permeated the

back of her body from her shoulders down to the tops of her thighs. Had Chad moved

closer or was she imagining that? Was he focused on her and not the erotic display

behind the glass?

The man slid his fingers down the shaft of the vibrator and cupped his hand around

the head of the toy. Its humming became muted. The heavier breathing that surrounded

Becca wasn’t entirely her own.

The man moved the toy higher and pressed it firmly against the woman’s clit. She

screamed and Becca jumped, hitting a wall of solid warmth as the woman offered her

torturer a panting, “Oh, thank you Sir. Thank you.”

Chad’s fingers encased her upper arms, harder than when he’d held her elbows. He

set Becca away from him with a speed that was frightening. Had he felt the way her

body was trembling? Had it given her away?

Embarrassment shot through her and the ringing in her ears intensified. Becca

needed to leave. She turned toward Troy, only to find his body was in the middle of the

corridor blocking her way.

She didn’t wait for Chad. She took two determined steps toward the man and said,

“Get the hell out of my way, fuckhead.”

His laughter, along with a less-than-sincere “Yes Mistress” followed her down the

corridor.

Becca managed to keep the shaking at bay until they reached the car. She pulled her

keys out of her pocket and they clattered as she tried to put the car key into the door

lock.

“Give me those,” Chad ordered softly, reaching out and taking the keys. She stood

and watched as he unlocked the door and stowed her equipment, paying attention to

how steady his hands were. Apparently, she was the only freak standing on the curb.

“How ‘bout I drive?” he suggested.
She thought about arguing and decided against it. “Sure. This isn’t what it seems,

though. I’m not having some sort of meltdown.”

M.A. Ellis

34

“Didn’t think you were.” He placed his palm low on her back but his touch seemed

different. More urgent than comforting. It made her wish he’d move it lower. He

steered her toward the passenger side, opened her door and before she could get a leg

up, boosted her into the seat.

“You didn’t need to do that,” she blurted. It was better than her asking if he could

read her mind.

“What? Help my favorite UV artist into the car?” He was trying for an innocent

tone, she knew that. But his voice was a little too husky.

“Touch my ass,” she countered. “I’ve been getting into this thing for years.”
“Oh, I most definitely did need to touch you. Just to make sure we’re back in the

land of reality.” He slammed her door shut and walked briskly around the front of the

vehicle once more and opened the driver’s side door.

“Jesus, that was something. I don’t know about you but I need a freakin’ drink. I’d

offer you a glass of wine when we get home but I wouldn’t want you to think I’d chain

you to the kitchen island if you spill it!”

She just snorted and looked out the side window, trying to ignore how quickly she

could see herself in that scenario.

You’re obviously a bigger freak than ever imagined.
“Wine couldn’t hurt,” she admitted. “My whole body aches from having Andres

the Degenerate watching me work. My fingers were starting to cramp and that never

happens on something small and quick.” She was changing the subject. Becca hoped

he’d play along.

“My tattoo’s amazing, by the way.”
Damn. He’s good.
“Thanks. You’ve got good skin. That always makes it easier.”
Silence stretched and Becca’s mind raced to find a topic to fill the conversational

void.

“Are we going to talk about that last little scene in there?”
“No, we are not,” she quickly replied. What the hell could she say? What did she

want to say?

“Okay, ostrich girl, then let’s work on our SAT question of the day. Herr Herzog is

to creepy as Troy, the boy toy, is to…”

Becca always appreciated his humor. That was pretty much the way to go now, she

thought. “I’d rather think about one train leaving Boston and another leaving Chicago.”

“Locomotives? Really, Bec? That’s a little too phallic for my sanity right now but if

you picked up on half the stuff I saw—”

“I picked up on plenty,” she interrupted. “Including the welt marks on two of those

girls he wants inked. That’s fucked up.”

Deeper Than Ink

35

Chad reached over and tapped her leg, which was jiggling up and down in a purely

nervous response that he’d pointed out on numerous occasions. She forced it to stop,

shocked when he didn’t pull his hand away like usual. He relaxed his hand, his fingers

resting against the sensitive skin on the inside of her knee

“You going to be able to ink them?” he asked.
He brushed his hand over her denim-clad leg. A featherlike stroke that should have

seemed soothing. But it sent a tingling arrow of pleasure straight to Becca’s thighs. She

cleared her throat and answered him. “Of course I’ll be able to ink them. But if they feel

like talking, you know I’ll listen.”

“It’s one of your best qualities,” he said. His palm closed over the area just above

her knee and he squeezed.

“And if they ask my opinion—”
“God help us all,” he replied, switching back to teasing little strokes.
Becca had the urge to pull her leg free. His touch was making her perspire. She

could feel her brow growing damp. She took a second to remember what he’d just said.

“And if I find out they’re being hurt, that there’s even weirder stuff going on, then

we’re going to have to call someone.”

“Shit! I forgot to text Dave.” He let go of her knee as if he’d been scalded.
“Who’s Dave?” she asked, her palm covering the area of skin he’d just released. It

was super warm.

He hesitated. “Dave is Jim. Jim Phelps. Intel guy.”
“Intel guy. Right. And you were supposed to text him. Let him know we made it

out alive?”

“Yeah, something like that. I have the text all ready to go. Just need to send it.”
He leaned onto one hip, digging in the pocket of his pants for his phone. He swiped

the screen, touched a few options and sent the text. He turned his head and arched one

thick brow. “So, all this secret agent stuff I have going, is it a turn-on, Bec? Is it making

you all tingly in an Ursula Andress kind of way? Seriously. You can tell me the truth.”

She laughed, mentally acknowledging he could change a subject with the best of

them.

“Yes. It’s making me totally hot,” she said, staring straight ahead as they made their

way down the street. “Or it could be the fact the air-conditioning doesn’t work.”

“Again with the words,” he muttered.
A second later both their power windows were being lowered. They drove in

silence a few more blocks. It was clear the proverbial elephant was still in the room.

And instead of balancing itself on a circus ball, it was bound over a wine barrel.

“So what’s your opinion on the X-rated oenophile?” Becca asked.
“What’s yours?” he countered.

M.A. Ellis

36

She hated when he did that, but this was the pattern their more serious

conversations took. One of them asking a question they were both mulling over, then

the other evading the question so the one who started the conversation could basically

offer their own opinion first.

“It was a little strange.” Becca thought was an understatement, but she wasn’t

going to tell him a part of it had made her hot.

“How so?”
“That woman was in pain, but not the kind I’d expect from being tied and tortured.

That was surprising.” Becca had a firm image of what bondage and discipline entailed

and it didn’t include the throes of orgasm, let alone completion. Not at all.

“I think it’s more torment than it is torture, Bec. It’s the pleasure-and-pain thing

they’ve got going. Did you notice how red her torso was?”

Becca shook her head. She’d been riveted to the woman’s nude body, the artistic

way the rope had been tied and twisted. “No, I didn’t,” she admitted.

“There was a flogger on the floor by that vibrator. I think he probably had been

using that on her for quite some time before he took a break to grab that glass of wine

and a good book. I’m thinking if we’d have stayed any longer some well-placed strokes

were going to follow that orgasm.”

It was Becca’s turn to stare at him. He kept his gaze forward but answered her

unasked question of why.

“I think it intensifies both sensations. Unless it was all an act. Unless she was

faking. They do whole movies now that look real but are totally staged. Someone could

easily use that wine cellar as a movie set, if they’re not doing that already.”

“She wasn’t faking,” Becca said quickly, heat rushing to her face when he glanced

away from the road and challenged her.

“What makes you so sure?”
She recalled how the woman had quivered. How she struggled to hold on at the

fierceness that was being forced upon her. How her face had contorted in the final

moments where she still had control.

Becca’s abdomen clenched and the tightness seeped lower, until an unwarranted

wetness slicked her folds once more. Why had she brought this up?

You know damn well why.
“Why?” he asked, his voice dropping a level, as if they had a car full of passengers

and he didn’t want them to hear.

“Because no woman can fake that type of full-body tremble.” No way. Maybe a

little thigh shiver now and again, but not the tremors that rocked her when that vibrator

was forced against her pussy.

“And you know this how?”

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37

She was turning into some sort of fetish hound, that’s all there was to it. His voice

was sounding sexier than it ever had and to make matters worse, her vulva was starting

to throb in time to her heartbeat.

“I just do.”
“So you’ve come like that before. That’s how you’re an authority.”
Oh my god. This wasn’t where she’d wanted the conversation to go. Heat rose in

her cheeks and she wished he’d drive faster to get a little more air. “I didn’t say that,”

she finally replied. “This has nothing to do with—”

“Was it the barrel she was tied to? It reminded me of an ottoman. A little bit.”
Becca closed her eyes, trying to focus on slowing down her heartbeat. She had

thought the exact same thing when she saw it. Thought of his ottoman, actually. The one

in his living room with the unrestricted view of the water. No neighbors. No one to look

in on them. She knew fantasies about restraint weren’t uncommon. There were in every

other issue of Cosmo and Men’s Health, both of which were well-read at the shop. But

they’d never crept into her fantasies about Chad. She dreamed about him making love

to her but it was always in a more conventional manner.

She opened her eyes, an answer to her discomfort presenting itself with the next

street sign. And they really didn’t have a steadfast rule on how many times in one day

they could deflect a conversation.

“The turnoff for my street’s in another block,” Becca said. “Feel like dropping me

off? I’m beat. Probably just need a long shower, a relaxing afternoon and a good night’s

rest. I can run over in the morning and pick up the Blazer.” Why did her voice sound so

high pitched to her ears? She needed to escape before she did something crazy. That

pitiful kiss she’d offered up early came to the front of her mind and her leg started

jiggling.

“Nope,” he replied, looking in the rearview mirror before changing lanes.
“Nope what? You don’t want to drive me home? Or I can’t come over in the

morning?”

“Both,” was all he said.
She watched her avenue of escape disappear on her right. “You could drop me here

at the corner and—”

His hand landed on her knee, forcing her leg still once again. But when his palm

slid upward she whipped her head around and stared at him.

“Did it make you hot?” he asked in a low, serious tone. “Seeing her tied down like

that?”

Becca’s jaw slacked. One simple, out-of-the-ordinary caress and her body yearned

for more. She wanted his fingers to move higher. To touch her pussy. To palm her as

hard as the man had crammed the vibrator against the woman’s flesh.

His hand moved upward and his fingers brushed her inner thigh. She closed her

mouth and bit her lip to force down an embarrassing noise. One that would

M.A. Ellis

38

undoubtedly sound like need. One that would remind them both of what had

happened earlier.

“That’s not fair, Becca. I always answer your questions.” He drew imaginary lines

on her jeans as he stroked upward to the top of her thigh. It was maddening, the way he

didn’t move closer to her pussy, but she didn’t know how she’d respond if he did.

Liar!
She so wished the voice in her head would shut the hell up. She had enough to

contend with at the moment. She should just ask him what he was doing. That would

make him stop. Especially if she used the correct tone of voice. The issue was, she didn’t

want him to stop.

“Did it make you hot?” His voice was turning all velvety, or maybe she was

delusional. She’d never been happier to see his high-rise up ahead. He’d park, they’d

switch places, she’d go home. Then masturbate herself into oblivion. Because risqué talk

just wasn’t going to cut it.

“It jacked me up,” he admitted. “Of course your fanny right there in front of me

didn’t help. Don’t you think there was something primal about him not letting her come

until she asked permission?”

“I’d never ask permission,” she blurted. In her mind, that was undeniable.
“Really?” He jerked his hand upward, covered her mound fully and squeezed.

Even in jeans her labia pressed together, forcing her clit upward. Mindlessly, she shifted

her hips in an action older than time, pushing against him.

Becca wanted his touch. She’d just made that clear to him, and probably the

security cameras at the gate. But she didn’t care. Until he removed his hand.

“You just can’t keep those challenges at bay, can you?” he chuckled.
She blinked away the sexual haze that had started to cocoon her.
What the hell did that mean? And that offhanded chuckle? Was he trying to be a

dick?

He turned sharply into a guest parking spot, the tires squealing against the epoxied

concrete and she grabbed the armrest to keep upright. He hit the brakes hard enough

that she almost shouted for him to take it easy but in one smooth motion he killed the

engine, turned in his seat and tunneled one hand through her hair.

Chad pulled her head toward him with an urgency that couldn’t be laughed off or

somehow misdirected and Becca thought her heart might never beat normal again.

She waited for him to say something profound, something that would alleviate the

doubts. His lips brushed hers, soft enough that the voice of reason was about to spout a

list of regrets that would probably materialize in the very near future if they took this

further.

But then he tilted his head, angled their mouths and kissed her fully, enveloping

her lips in a slow repetitive caress that had her suddenly wondering if he’d go down on

her in the same manner. The heat that had been simmering in her pussy flared, forcing

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her to open her mouth a little wider, as pure an invitation as she could offer. The assault

began with little sweeps of his tongue against the sensitive skin just inside her lower lip.

He teased and licked, moving his tongue out of reach each time her tongue sought his,

not giving her what she wanted. Frustrated, she cradled his face and tried to take the

initiative.

Chad allowed it…for all of about four seconds. His long fingers gripped her

shoulders and he gave her bottom lip a quick nip before he pulled his head away. He

stared at her, his breath adding additional warmth to her tingling lips before he offered

her a self-assured smile that held more promise than cockiness.

“Now that’s the way to kiss,” he said before he jumped out his side of the vehicle

and hurried around to her door. He had her out the passenger side and was leading her

by the hand toward the semi-private elevator before her head could clear. He pressed

the button and when the metal doors opened he pulled her toward the curved glass

wall that offered a panoramic view of the mangroves and the open water beyond.

She gripped the metal handrail that ran horizontal across the car and he moved

from her side to stand directly behind her, pressing his tall body flush against her back,

his strength enveloping her as they rode upward. An unmistakable bulge pressed

against the her spine and she felt the steady beat of his heart against the very top of her

shoulder. He was the perfect height. He must have thought so as well. He slid his knees

down the back of her legs and fit his erection snug against her ass.

Pulse racing, Becca tilted her head to one side in a silent invitation. His lips trailed

along the column of her throat, his nose brushing the outer shell of her ear, sending a

shiver along her spine. She tightened her grip, hoping the simple gesture would keep

her grounded. His lips moved downward, kissing the sensitive curve where her neck

met her shoulder and when he nipped at her flesh desire shot through her. It jolted

straight to her clit and she squeezed her thighs together as a pre-orgasmic wave rolled

through her lower body.

The small ding announced their arrival on the seventeenth floor. All she had to do

was tell him to stop. That would end the madness. But Becca knew, deep in her heart,

there was no turning back.

“I don’t know why we’re doing this,” she whispered, a last-ditch effort that

sounded lame to her ears. It couldn’t end well. It just couldn’t.

“We’re doing this because I’m done ignoring the facts. Because I want you to know

there are better things for you to do at two o’clock in the afternoon than strip down

naked, take a shower by yourself and hope for a good night’s rest.”

“So suddenly it’s all about me?” she countered softly.
“No, Becca. It’s all about us.”

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40

Chapter Four

The trek to Chad’s apartment was a blur. Now that he’d really kissed her, actually

tasted her lush lips, he wanted to sprint the twenty steps it would take to get from the

foyer to the living room. Undo her jeans. Pull them and her panties down in one quick

motion. Bend her over the back of the sofa and feast on her nakedness while he worked

at freeing his cock.

He settled instead on pulling Becca into his arms and exploring her mouth all over

again. She pressed as close as possible and snaked her arms around his shoulders. Her

fingers grazed the back of his neck and his balls started to tingle. He tried to focus on

her mouth, not the feel of her soft breasts rubbing against the thin knit of his shirt but it

was a losing battle. Soon he’d find out if his fantasies had been correct. If—when—he

cupped her breasts, would they’d fit his palm perfectly? If her nipples would turn

pebble hard with a simple caress, or would they need more coaxing? And her pussy?

He was hoping for a neatly trimmed arrow that would guide his tongue straight to her

clit. But there were other areas he wanted to touch first. And he needed to go slow or

end up like every other asshole that came too soon because the reality of banging

someone he’d dreamed about was overwhelming.

Chad eased his hands downward until his thumbs reached the upper edge of her

back pockets. He could almost trace the pattern of the stitching from memory, he’d

stared at the damn designs enough times. He liked the feel of flesh under denim and

slid his hands lower until he could grab her cheeks. He squeezed, loving the way she

rocked her pelvis against his semi-erect cock. He shifted his grip and raised her off her

toes. She dutifully wrapped her legs around his waist and he broke their kiss to smile.

He knew she could feel his erection fully and in a purely egotistical show of strength he

lifted her up and down, just a bit, so his shaft ground against the center seam of her

jeans.

Becca moaned and Chad kissed her again, swallowing the erotic sound. He reveled

in the fact that he turned her on. She wiggled her hips, rocking against his cock. Her

hot, urgent movements told a story all their own. One that was going to end with them

fucking each other into oblivion.

Becca moved again but this time she broke their kiss. Chad stood there, breathing

deeply, with her in his arms wondering if something was wrong.

“I’m too heavy. Put me down.” She moved her arms to his shoulders and tried to

push away.

Why did women never understand how weightless they became when a man had

them in his arms? When a guy wanted nothing more than to strip them naked and

make them come. Repeatedly.

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He tightened his grip, showing her he wasn’t about to let her go until he was good

and ready. “This time. You’re the idiot,” he said, bouncing her upward so her breasts

were nearly at mouth level. He turned his head, rubbed his chin back and forth against

an already hard nipple.

He heard her breath hitched and then, “Words hurt, Chad.”
Their conversing eased the franticness he knew they both felt. Just a bit. And that

was good for him. And his straining cock.

He turned his attention to her other breast and grinned. “Not as badly as I do.” He

grazed his teeth over her nipple and her body jerked. “I’ve waited so damn long for

you.”

Chad turned and carried her toward his bedroom, looking between her flushed face

and the path he needed to traverse.

“I ache too. Touching you is ten times more exciting than dreaming about you.”

Her admission made his chest swell.

She trailed her fingertips along his temples then teasingly brushed the tips of his

ears. His cock surged. He wanted her feathery touch there.

He reached the side of his king-size bed and lowered Becca to the floor, keeping

their bodies touching.

“We didn’t have to wait this long,” he said, pulling the bottom of her tank top from

her jeans and straight up her body and over her head. She wore a silky purple bra with

tiny white dots on it. He reached out and ran his fingers back and forth against the

edge, loving the way her breasts rose and fell with each breath she took.

“Yes we did,” she said softly, grabbing his wrists. “If we hadn’t, it would have

fucked things up.”

He shifted his hands, stroking just his index fingers downward along the inside of

her bra until his knuckles were pressed against her cleavage. He curled his fingers

around the little band of fabric that connected each cup of material.

“Let go of my wrists, Becca.” He couldn’t wait to discover what she liked. Little

flicks or teasing pinches. His balls tightened at the thought and he reminded himself

once more to take things slow or risk a less-than-shining outcome. This wasn’t going to

be a one-time thing. Not by a long shot.

Becca was waging a war with herself, he could see it right there on her upturned

face. He moved his outer two fingers and brushed her hard nipples. She sucked in a

breath, brows furrowing as if she were in pain. And maybe she was. Maybe she was

aching just as much as he was.

“I knew your eyes got really green when you’re excited, but they’re even darker

now, Bec.” He released the fabric he’d been holding and ran his palms up her arms.

Using his thumbs, he hooked the straps of her bra and slowly eased them downward.

The grip she had on his wrists lessened but she didn’t let go.

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“The same shade as the ones on the Foo dog at Chen’s Garden.” He held her gaze.

Didn’t look down at the tempting curve of her breasts.

“I thought those were red,” she whispered softly. “Like demon eyes.”
Chad leaned in and placed his lips on her right shoulder. Her skin was smooth and

a light vanilla scent lingered there. He explored slowly, kissing her from one shoulder

to the next. She jerked when he reached her collarbone and he stopped, licking the taste

of her from his lips.

“They’re natural emeralds, Becca.”
“Weird,” she replied. Then finally let go of his wrists.
Chad smiled and placed a light kiss in the hollow of her throat. “I knew, with you,

it wasn’t going to be simple moans and groans and ‘fuck me now’.”

Her hands were suddenly cradling his head and she forced him to look her square

in the eye. Her action took him by surprise. So did the glimmer of worry that crossed

her face so quickly other men may not have noticed it at all.

“Is that what you want?” she asked, the determined tone in her voice a

contradiction to the look she had failed to mask.

Chad held back his response. Just long enough for her to recognize he did so to

emphasize the importance of his answer. “I want you, Becca. In all your Chatty Cathy

glory. I always have.”

“Always?” She tilted her head, the way she did when she was getting ready to call

bullshit, but he wasn’t about to let her go there.

“Always,” he replied, and sealed the truth with another long kiss.

Becca could get used to this. Chad’s mouth ravaging hers, the bulge of his cock

pressed against her mound.

He was going to rock in the sack, she knew it.
Right. Now we’re going to pretend this is about pure fuckability. Nothing else. Like the fact

he just told you he’s always wanted you.

Want. Becca knew more than a little about that. Just his lips kissing her neck had

done crazy things to her insides. Little stomach flutters that had instigated the

heaviness that had settled in her pussy. And if he teased her nipples once more without

pinching them, Becca was going to do it herself. Then what would he think?

She pulled back, breaking their kiss to reach for the front closure of her bra.
“Not yet,” he said, moving her arms to her sides. “Keep them there.”
His firm tone made her body tense but she didn’t have time to wonder about her

response. His fingers struggled with the button of her jeans and she sucked in her

stomach, hoping it would help. Just as quickly, she wondered how the hell he was

going to get her pants off without a tug of war. There wouldn’t be any unzipping and

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then those falling to the floor for her to gracefully step out of. They were comfy but fit

her like a glove.

Button free and zipper down, Becca stared at his chest. Oh my god, the man was

gorgeous. She wanted to be equally sexy. If she’d had an inkling that they were going to

make love, she’d have planned accordingly. Starting with matching underwear and

jeans she didn’t have to lie down to get out of.

Panicked, she reached for the hem of Chad’s shirt and pulled it upward, wiggling

her hips in a vain attempt at loosening her jeans as she lifted his shirt over his head. The

two-second window of opportunity proved useless and his hands immediately landed

back on her waist. His thumbs hooked the waistband and he tried to tug her jeans

downward. She shimmied as best she could but it wasn’t working.

It was obvious that their first time wouldn’t include sultriness on her part. Giving

up any hope of sexy, Becca finally pushed Chad’s hands away and worked the tight

fabric downward herself. She turned to the side for more room and kicked off her

shoes, bending at the waist to push her jeans completely off.

Becca went to stand but his large palm covered the center of her back, pushed her

body lower.

“Oh, baby,” he purred. His other palm traversed the span of her ass with a touch so

light and teasing it raised gooseflesh. He traced the small triangle of fabric that made up

the back of her coral-colored thong. “This is perfect. You’re perfect. Don’t move.”

His hands disappeared and Becca stayed as she was, anticipation forcing a trickle of

wetness from her body. Her pussy clenched when his fingers returned. He caressed

both her ass cheeks with slow circular motions that brought his fingers closer to her

labia with every pass. She forgot about discomfort and lack of breath and leaned

forward, offering Chad more. He stopped, nowhere near where she wanted him to

touch her, and squeezed her ass. Flexing and releasing his fingers as if he were testing

her flesh.

He gripped her shoulder and in one smooth motion pulled her upward and spun

her toward the center of the bed. As her elbows hit the comforter Becca looked over her

shoulder and into his smoldering blue eyes, realizing something he’d never shared.

Chad Harrington was an ass man. She smiled and feeling suddenly brazen, rocked her

hips from side to side. It would probably look hotter if she was wearing heels but a girl

had to work with what she had at hand.

“That’s how it’s going to be, huh?” His words sounded harsh, but a teasing

glimmer had joined the heat of his gaze.

His big hands closed around her waist then flipped her quickly on her back. His

fingers closed around her right ankle and he stretched her wide, positioning her legs to

ensure there was ample room to crawl between her thighs. He gazed down at her with a

look so intense she shifted her hips, torn between trying to close her legs or opening

them wider, a silent invitation to how ready she was. He stared at her panties and she

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44

wondered if the effect he was having on her was visible. If her dampness had marked

the thin silky fabric.

But then his gaze began to roam, his eyes taking in her ink. The flora. The grouping

of stars. The mythical creatures that were all part of her torso sleeve. He’d seen most of

it before. At his pool. But he studied her as if he hadn’t. As if he were making a decision

and a knot of dread began to form in her belly.

He lowered his upper body until his pecs rested on her hipbones, touching skin to

skin for the first time. He was warm, much warmer than she, and Becca wondered if he

always ran that hot.

With excruciating slowness he moved upward until his shoulders touched the

underside of her breasts. She looked down and he looked up. They were nearly nose to

nose. He shifted his weight, pressing her into the mattress in a way that had contrasting

sensations rushing through her mind and body. She felt utterly secure but powerless at

the same time.

“I can tease too.” He offered her a crooked grin. “Wanna see how?”
He captured her mouth in a leisurely kiss. When he finally pulled away, her bottom

lip was throbbing in tandem with the heavy pulsation in her pussy. She wanted a part

of his body pressed there. Flush against her so she could feel the weight of his erection.

He kissed her jaw, going much too slow, and Becca made a move to hook her leg

around his hips. Without stopping he grabbed her upper thigh and forced her leg back

to where he wanted it. It was a simple gesture, but one that showed he intended to be in

control. That thought alone had Becca turning her head and offering him her neck.

Chad rained kisses along her throat, across the swell of one breast and then the

other. He hovered there, his fingers tickling the sensitive skin of her inner arms before

making a beeline to the closure of her bra. He fought with the clasp for a second or two

before it gave way and he pulled the fabric to each side. He studied her breasts and her

nipples tightened even more. His breathing was even, so unlike hers, warming then

cooling her flesh as he exhaled and inhaled. It was maddening and she reached for him,

wanting to grab his ass, let him know she was ready for more, but his broad shoulders

wouldn’t allow for that. She could barely reach his ribs and plopped backward onto the

bed.

When his mouth finally closed around one turgid peak Becca closed her eyes,

fighting against the moan that threatened to escape. The tip of his tongue circled her

flesh, licking and nibbling first one distended tip and then the other and back again

until her panting echoed through his cavernous bedroom. He shifted one arm, his

fingers joining the teasing motion of his mouth and he tweaked her bud gently, his

saliva the perfect lube as he stoked her arousal. His lips tormented her other breast, and

a delicious tension swept through her body. Desire pooled, hot and raw, around her clit

and Becca arched her hips. She wanted him to pinch her nipples. Roll them between his

fingers and lips until she couldn’t stand it any longer.

“Tell me,” he said from around her breast, as if he could read her mind.

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Her clit went from throbbing to a constant, agonizing ache as her orgasm built.

Becca couldn’t help it, she bucked against his shoulders, needing more, but he ignored

her. She tossed her head to one side and arched her back, dislodging his mouth. His

fingers automatically squeezed. But not hard enough.

He released her nipple so quickly she cried out in frustration.
“Say it,” he ordered,
“Please,” she moaned, unable to say more.
His lips found her once more, nipping hard as his fingers pinched her puckered

flesh at the same time. Becca cried out as a small orgasmic wave hit her. As quickly as it

was upon her, it was gone and she dropped her body back to the mattress. She opened

her eyes and watched the top of his dark head descend as he kissed his way over the

inked, double-tailed mermaid that swam across her upper abdomen. She tried to catch

her breath but he was already tickling her navel with the tip of his tongue. She knew the

pattern he traced. The red and blue beveled star that surrounded her bellybutton. It was

the tattoo that had started it all.

He worked his way lower and expectation rocketed through each and every nerve

of her body. The ones that had somehow remained dormant and the ones that were

sparking like live wires. His thumbs circled her hipbones before he grabbed the sides of

her thong and tugged. She moved her legs to help him then immediately returned them

to their previous position. His hand returned to her hips before drifting downward to

trace her nearly hairless bikini line. He alternated his strokes, up and down the

modified arrow of pubic hair, the caress moving her engorged labia against her clit and

she opened her thighs a little more.

“So hot,” he said, exerting more downward pressure so her outer lips plumped

further. She could come like this, her labia slicked with her own desire, rubbing her clit

just so.

Chad dragged his fingers lower, the heels of his hands maneuvering her thighs

even wider as he skirted around her clit and brushed the very top of her swollen folds.

He pulled her labia aside until she was fully exposed, her clit no longer surrounded by

skin that might buff it to the point of release.

Becca lifted her head. She wanted to see as well as feel.
His gaze drifting over every secretive crevice she possessed. She was unsure of his

intent and his perusal made her nervous. A rush of liquid oozed from her from her slit

and she admitted to herself it wasn’t nerves. It was curiosity.

“So pink.” He moved one of his hands and gently stroked her inner folds with the

tip of one finger, staying away from her pulsing clit. “And wet.”

He wiggled his finger from side to side and Becca’s thighs tensed. If he just moved

his hand higher and did that. He looked at her, his grin a deadly combination of sexy

and innocent. It ratcheted her right back to a level of full-blown lust.

“I’ve tried, baby. I really have. But I just can’t wait any longer.”

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His tongue circled her clit at the same time his finger mimicked the motion and slid

into her pussy. Becca slapped her palms against the mattress, forcing her to forgo

watching Chad to focus on the heat that was flooding through her limbs.

The way he went down on her was random, no rhythm or tempo or direction. But

that one long finger was another matter. He stroked her inner wall with an unrelenting,

steady motion that was quickly driving her to another peak. Perspiration broke out

above her brow, under her breasts. Like a wanton, she bent her knees, planted the soles

of her feet on the bed and let her legs fall open. Not caring how wanton it seemed.

“Mmmm. Good girl,” he murmured against her flesh.
The vibration pushed her to the peak but he slowed the movement of his fingers,

keeping her at the precipice but not allowing her to fall over the edge.

“Nooo.” She wrapped her hand behind his head, forcing his face against her pussy.

“I want more.”

He finally closed his mouth over her clit and hummed his approval. It was too

much.

“Faster,” she ordered.
He offered her a tiny amount of suction, never completely removing his mouth

from her clit as the pressure pulled and released her nub, over and over without

actually touching the engorged kernel of flesh.

The heat, the wet. The tug, the release. Becca curled her toes, the edge of release

drawing closer. His finger thrust faster and just as she was about to come, he latched on

to her clit and sucked her firmly between his teeth.

She closed her eyes, uttering a long, low moan as her body shook. Fireworks

exploded behind her eyes and she watched until they had dwindled to little pinpricks

of light. They were fucking amazing.

Her body was still quivering when she felt the mattress dip. She opened her eyes in

time to see him rolling off the bed. He stripped out of his pants, pulled a condom from

his nightstand, had his cock covered in record time. She hadn’t even had a chance to

enjoy the sight of his buff body in all its glorious nudity.

One tiny condom can’t be considered obstructing the view.
“Tiny?” Becca whispered aloud. Her inner voice was insane.
Chad gave her a questioning look. “What?”
Now might be the time to offer a cohesive comment. One he couldn’t misconstrue.
“Ribbed for my pleasure,” she asked, opening her arms.
“Lubed for your pleasure.”
“I hope I’m not too wet.” She stared at his penis, curved upward in the perfect way.

Long and thick. He wrapped his palm around the shaft and stroked upward, over his

the head of his cock and back down again.

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“You can never be too wet.” He crawled onto the bed and she scooted backward to

give him more room, propping herself on her elbows. He brushed her clit and she

jumped, surprised it was still sensitive.

“I thought that was ‘you can never be too rich’?” She smiled as he moved closer.
He slid the lubed tip of his cock up and down her inner lips, exerting pressure and

pulling back but never inserting fully.

“Believe me, Becca. This is way better than gold.” They locked gazes and he eased

into her partway with one slow steady stroke. She stared at the determined set of his

jaw, his straight nose, his clear blue eyes that held a hint of concern. “I don’t want to

hurt you.”

“You won’t,” she assured.
He gave her a less-than-convinced look and didn’t move.
Why did men never believe a woman when she said that? The hell with talking him

down from the ledge of misplaced apprehension.

Becca grabbed onto his ass as she’d wanted to from nearly the first day she’d met

him and inch by magnificent inch guided him deeper.

Chad let her pull him into the snug, warm wetness. He stifled a groan. The reality

of burying himself inside Becca’s pussy was a million times better than any fantasy he’d

concocted. He was pretty fucking pleased with his performance thus far. She was more

orgasmic than he’d imagined. He never wanted to forget the expression on her face

when he had looked up from between her thighs and watched her shatter.

“You fit perfectly,” she said, her green eyes beginning to lighten. He had always

liked that shade, but now that he knew what it took to make them the deepest of greens,

he was probably going to change his mind. Or at least do more research on the subject.

His lizard brain wanted to bang her. Right now. Without any more foreplay. But

Chad wanted to last as long as possible. Her fingers felt good trailing around his hips

and over his abs. She stayed there awhile, playing with his bellybutton, tracing his six-

pack. Avoiding his cock. Which worked for him since he needed to harness a little

control. He wanted to thrust. Wanted to show her how in tune he already was to her

body.

That bout of finger-fucking had shown him all he needed to know. Well, maybe not

all, but enough to guarantee there was at least one way he could make her scream. A

little more practice and there was every chance his girl would be riding the waves of

full-body ecstasy.

Your girl, huh?
He leaned back, nearly pulling his cock free from her. With pure, selfish pleasure he

watched her sex draw him inward, her inner muscles encircling him like a new layer of

skin. He rocked his hips, a short pivoting motion that allowed him to thrust slowly. He

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listened to the little sounds she was making, learned that a firm forward stroke usually

elicited a quick intake of breath.

He’d intended on being the teaser, but her pussy was more of a temptation than he

imagined, making it clear he wasn’t going to last as long as he’d like. Warmth was

already spreading up his shaft, making the head of his cock more sensitized. The soft

skin covering his testicles tightened, forcing his balls high. He didn’t want to switch

tack so soon but he moved forward, bracketing her shoulders with his hands as he

anchored himself.

Chad picked up the tempo but kept his thrusts shallow. Her “oh fuck” was proof he

was right where he needed to be, hitting the sensitive zone behind her clit. The one

some people claimed wouldn’t do a damn thing. He’d beg to differ. He had tasted the

difference in her juices when he’d stimulated her with his finger. He stroked into her a

few more times, his cock head throbbing before driving deep, just once.

Becca reached for his shoulders and he stared into her eyes. It almost broke his

rhythm, that look that bordered adoration. He hadn’t expected it. Wouldn’t read too

much into it, no matter how much he’d like to.

“Shit. Oh. Fuck.” She grabbed his arms and dug her nails into his biceps,

inadvertently pushing herself away. It made it more difficult to thrust, but Chad didn’t

care. He wasn’t switching gears yet. He picked up momentum, the shallow strokes

working for him now but he liked his deep thrusts at the end. Hoped they worked for

her as well because his release was building.

He glanced down at Becca’s breasts, making them rock more as he thrust quicker.

He swooped down, nipped at one, maybe harder than he would have liked but she

wrapped her legs high around his waist and started to whimper. He couldn’t remember

reassurance sounding any sweeter than the grunts and gasps slipping from her mouth.

He dropped to his elbows and pressed his temple against the side of Becca’s head,

their bodies nearly fused into one as he rocked into her. Her pussy seemed alive,

contracting around his cock slowly at first and then with a quickness that he wasn’t

quite ready for. Her cursing escalated and he pumped harder.

They didn’t need to go together, but it would be fucking perfect if they did. He

leaned his head back, surprised to find her eyes shut tight, her face contorted. “Hang

on, baby.”

His words prompted a loud moan and a second later the grip around his legs

faltered.

“Just a little bit, more.” He pistoned faster, felt her stiffen, then he thrust deep.

Once. Twice. A third time. His groan sounded way too loud for his ears. Her legs went

limp and slid down his outer thighs and he drove his cock into her once more, his

release making his limbs shake.

He took a few moments, listened to the pounding in his temples and hoped he

wasn’t too heavy for her. Her arms snaked around his body and he smiled when she

hugged him. Nothing to worry about. She stroked his back and he knew she meant it to

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be soothing, but it was only making him nervous. Now would be the moment of truth.

He wasn’t sure if he wanted to raise his head and try to discern what she was thinking

and he knew damn well her mind would be racing in about a minute or two.

He wasn’t so egotistical that he thought he could render Becca Wiley speechless for

long. He chuckled then rolled to his side and took her into his arms. Waiting.

“Well, that was fucking awe-some.” She singsonged the last word and he started to

laugh.

Becca eased out of his embrace and propped herself up on one elbow. Her dark

shoulder-length hair was tousled, her skin flushed, her bra undone but still on. She

looked like a freakin’ goddess. An image of the mural on the ceiling of the club flashed

through Chad’s mind, of how Becca had the same satiated look on her face.

His cock twitched. She saw the movement, rolled her eyes and flopped onto her

back once more. She bent her legs and crossed one naked knee over the other, swinging

her leg back and forth. An aerial version of her nervous tapping, he assumed.

“What are you thinking?” Chad asked, knowing it was probably a loaded question.
“That it really is the middle of the day and I’m ready to fall asleep.”
“We can do that,” he said, placing his forearm across her stomach and pulling her

closer. “Once you quit jiggling.” She dropped her legs and snuggled into him. It felt

pretty damn good. Eventually he’d have to get rid of the condom.

She didn’t say a word and his chest began to tighten with dread. Was she going to

take a nap and then leave? Maybe the assertive approached hadn’t been the way to go.

“And afterward.” He was throwing it out there. Balls to the wall. “Then what do

you want to do?”

She let out a long sigh. “Dinner. Here. Naked.”
“Really?” He looked down at her, watching her eyelids start to open and close

slowly. “I’ve got two things in the fridge.”

“Mushrooms and eggs,” she said hopefully.
“Jack and shit. So pizza it’ll be. With a nice red.”
“Mmmmm. That sounds wonderful.”
“But no nakedness for the delivery dude. I tip him well enough without that,” Chad

teased.

Becca wiggled against his side, repositioning her head against his chest. Getting

comfortable, he imagined. She placed a quick kiss just above his right nipple and his

heart stammered.

“Sheesh,” she whispered. “You’re no fun.”
It was the perfect opportunity for a “words hurt” moment. But he let it go because

he wasn’t sure if his voice would even be steady. And she was already asleep.

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Chad listened to her slow, steady breathing, the euphoria of having her in his bed

starting to wane. Life had taught him not to doubt the things that came a person’s way.

Not to worry too much. But he was feeling both where Becca was concerned.

Her doing the tattoos was more than a little worrisome. Their entire experience at

Club Rosenthorn had left him disturbed. Not because of the voyeuristic scene they’d

witnessed, everyone had their kink of preference, he supposed.

It was because Andres Herzog seemed to be able to read them both. And it was

clear he thought Becca had potential. That with a few lessons at his hand she’d fit into

their scene.

There was no way in hell Chad was about to let that happen. Not today. Not

tomorrow. And certainly not whatever day that asshole decided Becca needed to return

to the club for her final payment.

He looked down at her face, her strong features relaxed in sleep.
Yeah. No way in hell.

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Chapter Five

“Holy freakin’ hell, look at you!”
Becca stopped dead in her tracks in front of the lunchroom and glanced over her

shoulder. She wanted to make sure her boss was talking to her and not one of the other

artists who might be following in her wake.

“Miss Clairol and the Sephora Fairy go at it this morning or what? I guess we know

who came out on top. I like it, Wiley. Less is more, I hear it all the time.”

“I’ll bet you do, Joseph. And aren’t you lucky they have a pill for that?” she teased,

realizing his shock was centered on her new hair color and not some outwardly

discernible sign that she and Chad had spent the past eighteen hours banging like

bunnies. She’d been running so far behind this morning she’d only done one layer of

mascara. Didn’t even prime. Her lashes felt naked.

Mmmm. Naked, huh?
Becca had known she was going to have a hard time concentrating this morning

when the light of day had shone through Chad’s wooden blinds and she was still

wrapped in his embrace. Panic had started climbing from the pit of her stomach straight

up her throat until Chad had placed a light kiss against her temple and ordered her to

be still for just a while longer. And she had. She’d pushed all other thoughts aside and

focused on the delight of having Chad’s tall, solid form next to her as opposed to

flinging a knee over a big fluffy body pillow. The squeezing part was much more

rewarding.

But the moment she’d stepped out his door, her thoughts had gone haywire. Her

stylist could have dyed her hair Oompa Loompa green and she probably wouldn’t have

noticed. She’d spent her time in the salon chair reliving the bliss that had constituted

the previous afternoon and evening with Chad. He had nudged her awake with a

raging hard-on around six o’clock, which delayed their pizza-fest by another hour but

Becca didn’t care. And when he had wrung a few more orgasms out of her and they

crawled into his shower, reverting right back to their easy conversation and banter,

she’d grown to love over the past eight months. That had been her biggest fear. That sex

with Chad would change all that. That she’d have to start weighing her words.

She shouldn’t have worried. Should have known he was going to be the same

straight-talking man he’d always been. He stopped her when she started rehashing

their stupidity at not acting on their attraction for each other soon. He’d told her all that

was in the past and couldn’t be changed. But he’d told her he planned on making up for

lost time. He assured her they’d never lose the intimacy that was born from friendship.

But he also promised there’d be banging. And lots of it.

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Becca’s thighs felt as if she’d done a two-hour spin class. The pain in her lower back

wasn’t much better but she smiled, happier than she’d been in a very long time. Which

made teasing her boss especially easy.

“It’s a bit disturbing that you know about high-end cosmetic stores, Joseph.” Becca

hooked her thumbs in her back pocket and offered him an angelic smile. “Is that your

latent Sperry and Lacoste sides showing?”

He offered her a noncommittal snort. The kind that generally equated to a big “fuck

you”.

“Give me some credit, will you? That store is right next to those sirens at Starbucks.

You know that one chick on the six-to-ten shift has a thing for older guys. I try to stop by

on a regular basis. Show her the standard other men should live up to.”

“Right.” Becca chuckled.
“Promise me one thing, Wiley. Please tell me you’re not going to start channeling

any of the craziness that goes along with being a redhead. I’ve got enough of that with

CeeCee and Brendan.”

“Those two are gingers, boss man. This,” she said, rocking her head from side to

side so her hair bounced around her face, “is light auburn.”

“And that’s supposed to convince me you’re not going to turn bat-shit crazy?” His

piercing gray eyes raked her from head to toe and back again.

“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

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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.”

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54

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.

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“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 not 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

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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

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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

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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 you 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

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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.

“Hey!”
“Don’t even say it,” she warned. But she could tell from the glint in his eyes he had

something he wanted to share and wouldn’t be denied.

She took a big bite, closed her eyes in culinary ecstasy. “What?” she asked around a

mouthful of shell and gooey filling. The customers looked at her as if she were just a

little bit odd and went to sit down to wait their turns.

“I figured it out, Wiley,” he said in a soft, conspiratorial tone. “New dude. Change

of hair color. Perfectly reasonable for you to worry. But I’ll let you in on a secret. That

whole curtains matching the drapes thing. When you get right down to it, we don’t give

a shit.”

She stared at him.
He didn’t crack a smile. In his strange, weird way her boss was giving her dating

advice. There couldn’t be a better time to get out of Dodge.

Becca hurried outside and found one of the green, iron bistro tables, one where she

could see the door of the shop and plopped into a chair. A half hour later she was done

checking email and texts and went back inside to see if the woman had called to cancel.

She hadn’t.

The thought of calling the club flitted through her head, but her stomach knotted so

quickly she knew that wasn’t the thing to do. Would the woman be punished for not

showing? Maybe she had disobeyed on purpose because she wanted punished. Or had

something horrible happened to her between yesterday afternoon and now? If it had,

wouldn’t the others have known?

Becca realized the questions could be never-ending if she let them. She went inside,

grabbed her purse from her locker and asked Joe to call her if the woman showed. She

took the next hour and walked around the Galleria. Window-shopping until she

reached the French lingerie store. What were the chances they were having a super-

clearance sale? Because that’s what it would take to snag a pair of matching bra and

panties from there. She had a set of their signature line. Pink and black. Purchased by

her ex when money hadn’t been an object.

Of course, she’d learned a little too late where the seemingly unending cash flow

had come from. It wasn’t investments or Vinnie running the tables at Vegas. Not

according to the state prosecutor.

Becca hadn’t thought about her embezzlement undies in quite a while.
Chad had said he wanted her waiting for him. Becca not being sprawled on his

couch in something sexy would break one of the major tenets of a new relationship. She

brought her fingers to her lips, covering the smile she couldn’t hide. They were

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definitely in a relationship, not some “we fell into each other’s arms, had mind-boggling

sex, then went our separate ways” thing. Not unless she wanted it to. He wouldn’t have

given her his key if that’s all it was to him.

Hope wound its way around her heart for the first time in years. What they had

would be solid. How couldn’t it be when they’d laid a foundation of mutual admiration

and trust already. And the communication? That couldn’t get any better.

There would be blips, no doubt. But she felt as if they had a better start than most

couples she knew. Seriously, he didn’t even mind when she made him detour through

the shoe department on their way to sporting goods. She glanced down at her feet, at

the great pair of Ferragamos she’d had for years. Classic black suede pumps that

complemented her dressier work jeans. Because, technically, Florida in January was still

considered winter.

For the first time since her divorce she had the key to a man’s house in her purse.

She looked up at the mannequin in the window once more. Her trusty Am Ex was

calling to her. Telling her nothing went better with black suede and the brightly inked

hues that covered her torso than cobalt-blue satin.

There was no way in hell Chad was casting a vote to reelect the mayor. Not after the

way the man had dragged out his meal when Chad had so desperately wanted to get

home. Four fucking hours. He’d almost pulled his hair out when the fat bastard asked

him to “elucidate on fortified wines not produced in Portugal that were errantly being

passed off as port”.

Apparently someone had been reading Wine Enthusiast.
After Chad had finished that lengthy lesson, the man proceeded to order a bottle of

the true Portuguese spirit and encourage his guests to drink it as slowly as humanly

possible.

Chad yelled goodnight to the chef, saluted the bartenders on his way past the

lounge and headed for the parking garage. The minute he was in his car he texted Becca

that he was on his way. He backed up and hadn’t moved the gearshift into drive before

her simple response arrived.

: )

It had been years since there had been anyone for him to come home to. Even after

she’d taken the key he had worried that he might have freaked her out. But he was

getting too damn old to play games. He never liked them in the first place. Waking up

with her that morning, her back against his chest, the cleft of her ass cradling his hard-

on… Why the hell hadn’t they done that sooner?

Becca had obviously liked it as well. She had yawned and stretched and told him

she was satisfied to the max. He’d grinned like an idiot, he was sure. Her pleading

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green eyes almost persuaded him to spread her thighs and take her again. But

remembering their urgency the night before, how they’d gone at it as if their lives

depended on getting everything in one night, he had refused. It was the first time that a

woman actually pouted when he’d refused to make love to her.

Love, huh?
He turned onto his street, telling himself it was just a phrase. Easy enough to think

of when the words remained in his head. When someone wasn’t pressuring him to say

them. Asking him over and over again how much he adored them.

But Becca wasn’t that girl. She was confident, not a raving bitch who wanted more

than he’d be willing to give. After all this time, he’d have seen that side of her if it was

there, hidden under the hot body and kick-ass attitude.

Chad pulled into his parking spot and killed the engine. He’d had his emotions

pulverized before and it wasn’t something he wanted to repeat. He knew that was part

of the reason he hadn’t dated anyone more than a few times over the past two years. He

knew the other part of that explanation was waiting for him upstairs. His heart beat a

little faster and he threw his door open and hustled along toward the elevator.

He had no idea how he’d find her and he wasn’t lying when he told her he didn’t

care. That she wanted to be there was enough for now.

But Chad remembered the soft adoring look Becca had given him when she was

getting ready to walk out his door that morning, how she’d let the elevator doors close

and disappear as she walked back and wrapped her arms around his waist for one of

her signature hugs. He knew for a fact she already held a part of his heart. At this stage,

only one question remained. Could he trust her with all of it?

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62

Chapter Six

If Chad had the house rigged with nanny cams, he’d be laughing his ass off when

he viewed the recordings. Becca practiced one sexy pose after another. She’d draped

herself over various pieces of his furniture until the ridiculousness of it all took hold.

She’d ended up perched on the arm of his loveseat, dissolving in a fit of laughter.

It would look as if she was having a seizure on the playback, but Becca hoped by

then she would have figured out how to achieve sultriness and have it look unplanned.

She had just pulled on a pair of Madden over-the-knee black leather boots with

four-inch heels when Chad texted. Her palms were actually sweating when she picked

up her phone and replied. What was she? Fifteen years old and trying to figure out how

to get the star point guard to kiss her under the bleachers?

Her heels clicked across the hardwood floor as she practiced strutting into his

dining area. She stopped and cocked a hip, looking at her reflection in the huge mirror

he had propped against the wall. If he decided to do her on his dining room table,

they’d have a great side view.

The indigo-colored demi bra and low-rise panties rocked. Worth every single

penny. Becca patted her stomach, still pretty damn good for spending most of her days

sitting down and not getting to the gym as often as she used to. She turned and looked

over her shoulder, checking out the way the boots hugged her legs. He’d like them. The

big question was, micro-mini or not. She’d brought over a black trench coat, too. Maybe

she ought to throw it on and pretend she’d accepted an impossible mission.

“That’s freakin’ brilliant,” she said aloud, rushing carefully across the floor to grab

the coat out of the hall closet. She put it on and cinched it around her waist as she

placed one foot in front of the other, catwalk style. “I’m your mission, Chad. Should

you choose to accept it,” she said, practicing. Would he laugh? And would that be with

her, not at her?

She hurried to the kitchen and shut off the overhead lights, opting for the soft

under-the-cabinet ambiance before hopping onto the kitchen island. She rested her

palms on the cool granite and leaned backward, thrusting her breasts in his imaginary

direction. “Good evening, Mr. Harrington.”

That sounded lame. She crossed then uncrossed her legs, wondering which looked

better. The one-bell signal sounded, alerting her that the elevator was on its way up. She

flipped her hair backward. “Welcome home, secret agent man.”

Oh my god. Just go with “I’ve been waiting all night for you to get home and bang me”.
That didn’t even go with the theme.

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Becca heard the key turn in the lock and gave up. She undid the coat, yanked it out

from under her ass and tossed it aside, not caring where it landed.

“Hey, baby. Where are you?” he asked in a tone usually reserved for hide and seek.
“Kitchen.”
He rounded the corner, stopped dead in his tracks. Becca didn’t have to force the

sexy grin that parted her lips. His shock made her brave.

“How was your day, handsome?”
Oh, yeah. Perfect.
He shrugged out of his suit coat and flung it toward the counter. He missed it by a

foot and Becca offered him what she hoped was a come-and-get-me grin.

“Damn. I like that,” he said, walking up to her slowly before pacing all the way

around the island. “And I definitely like these.” He ran his hands up the inside of her

boots. He didn’t stop when his warm palms hit her bare skin and he eased her legs

apart but didn’t step closer.

That isn’t going to work, Becca thought. How was she going to seduce him if he was

more than an arm’s length away?

“Great color,” he added. “And I’m really diggin’ this little strip of un-inked skin.

Right here.” He stroked the exposed strip of pale skin between the top of her panties

and the bottom of her torso sleeve and Becca squirmed against the countertop.

“What’s this?” he teased, tracing it again but she had already focused on not

allowing it to tickle. He shifted his wrists and moved his hands upward, the back of his

fingernails flitting over her stomach then her abs. He stopped just shy of her breasts and

took a step backward. “I’ll bet there’s somewhere else you’re sensitive.”

There was. Becca pulled herself into a more upright position and gripped the edges

of the counter. With exaggerated slowness she arched her back, hoping he’d take the

hint. Chad reached for his tie and slowly yanked the knot loose. His hot gaze raked her

from the top of her head to the tip of her boots, her body tingling in the wake of his

perusal. Her skin felt aflame and her nipples tightened.

“See that’s just not fair.” He cupped her breasts and ran his fingers over the satin,

zeroing in on her hardened buds despite the light padding that hid their exact location.

“You look like a sixties pinup. Spank bank material for sure.” He stepped to the island

and offered her his mouth, not kissing her, but just hovering an inch away. “How am I

ever going to be able to lean on this counter and read the sports section again without

thinking of this?”

If he wanted her to come to him, Becca would gladly oblige. She brought their lips

together then smiled.

“What’s so funny?” he asked without taking his mouth away.
“How much better you kiss now,” she teased, then buried her fingers in the silky

hair framing his angular face.

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64

“I’m obviously an unbeatable teacher. Although I do think you need a little more

practice.”

“If you say so.” She covered his lips, challenging his statement with a deep, open-

mouth kiss that left them both breathless. She looked into his blue eyes and began

undoing his tie.

“Or maybe not,” he said, working the buttons of his shirt free with amazing speed.
She reached out and ran her hands over his washboard abs. She thought about

seeing if he was ticklish, but that could wait. “What else can you teach me?”

“Hmmm. You’ve showed your proficiency with the rudiments of Latin this

morning. And you’ve obviously learned my favorite method of polishing this

countertop.”

Becca smiled and reached for his belt buckle but he pushed her hands away. She

watched as he took off his belt and wound it around his fist until it was a neat circle.

She undid the closure on his slacks and slowly pulled the zipper down. The whiteness

of his briefs surprised her.

“Tighty whities? What happened to those hot boxers?”
“Not when I’m working. Like to keep the package nice and tight. Plus, I’d hate to

disappoint my mom if I were in an accident.” He stepped back and put the belt on the

counter then bent down and removed his shoes.

Becca had a few moments of admiring the way his pants hugged his ass before he

stood up and they slid down his legs. He stepped out of them and spread his arms

wide, offering her sexy and silly all in one gesture.

“That’s right, baby. You know you want this.” He put his hands on his waist and

thrust his hips, his aforementioned package threatening to break free from the cotton

that contained it.

“You know I do.” Becca laughed, not realizing until this moment how well humor

and foreplay went together. Or maybe it was just Chad who made the combination

perfect. “It could only be better if you slid across the hardwood and did the Risky

Business dance.”

“You’re such a chick,” he replied, grabbing the ends of his tie and pulling them

back and forth as he Chippendaled his way toward her. “I’d have gone with The Full

Monty.”

“Hmm,” she replied, tapping her finger against her lips, trying to keep a straight

face. He was ridiculously sexy. And sometimes just ridiculous. The mixture was

melting her heart. “Enough talk, funny guy. Come over here. A girl can’t wait forever,

you know.”

“That depends what she’s waiting for,” he said in a husky voice. “And how good

her lover can make her wait.” He had her in his arms before she knew it. His lips

recaptured her mouth and the urgency of his kiss rocketed her desire. “You’d like that.

Wouldn’t you?”

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Becca’s pussy pulsed at his words. Anticipation was a healthy aphrodisiac and

when he bent down and set her in the middle of his huge leather ottoman her entire

body began to thrum. Images of a woman riding the edge between denial and release

flitted through Becca’s mind. But it wasn’t the woman at the club, the one suspended

over the barrel. The woman was Becca. And it was Chad who was lovingly denying her

release.

Becca pulled her legs underneath her and rose to her knees. If she was ever going to

delve into a little kinkier lovemaking, it should be with someone she trusted. But to

come out and say exactly what she was thinking? “I want you. Make love to me. Right

here.” She couldn’t make her need any clearer.

He hooked his thumbs in the waistband of his briefs and pulled them away from

his erection then down his legs. His cock was perfectly curved, it touched his stomach

and her mouth went dry as she remembered his taste. Wetness slicked her folds. “Right

now,” she added.

“We need to work on your control issues, my dear.”
Becca’s head shot upward and her pussy clenched, his choice of words taking her

straight back to the wine cellar at the club. Had he known she had been thinking about

that woman? Or that a part of her wanted to try being tied up? To have her spread out

before him on the ottoman, him rubbing and licking and sucking until her entire body

was quivering. And then have him deny her release.

“Did you say that on purpose?” she asked, her voice wobbling with desire.
Chad looked down at her. His mouth set in a firm line. “And why would I do that?”
She didn’t want to play their usual back and forth game. She inhaled deeply.

“Because you think we can do what those people at the club did?”

He took his time walking toward the end table, making a production of turning on

the lamp. Soft light filled the center of the room but kept the corners dark. Her heart

drummed and she wasn’t sure which was worse. The brightness that would expose

every hill and valley of her body or the shadowy dimness at the outer edges of the

room.

“Maybe not to that extreme since there isn’t a wine barrel in sight but I’m a very

quick learner. I know I can bring you to the brink of coming. How long I hold you there

is something we’ll have to work out.” Chad turned back to her and pulled his tie free,

holding it out to her with one finger. He made it swing from side to side, just like the

man at the club had done with the vibrator and Becca’s clit started to throb.

“The choices are yours, Becca. They always will be. But periodically, I’d like to give

an order or two. Just to keep the playing field level.”

Becca held his gaze, tried to keep her chest from rising and falling too quickly. Her

fingers twitched. He was willing to tie her down, tease her. Did she trust him enough to

do that? They’d shared a moment at that club. She’d be safe with Chad.

She offered him her wrists. “Nothing crazy.”

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“Nothing crazy,” he repeated. He took a step to the far end of the ottoman. “Come

here.”

Becca blinked at his order. It was a pure, unadulterated command. She thought

he’d just bind her hands and lay her down on the huge leather surface. Tease her

awhile. Then make her come.

“Now,” he said in a firmer tone.
Becca licked her lips. They suddenly seemed as if they were on fire.
Control means ordering. Get over it.
She let her hands fall to her sides and crawled off the ottoman. He sat down,

spreading his knees and Becca stared at his cock, which was less erect than it had been.

It leaned to his right and she took an anticipatory step forward. She hoped he’d order

her to suck it back to fullness.

“Go into my closet and pick three more ties.”
“Why would we need—” The words escaped her mouth before Becca could stop

them and she brought her fingers to her lips, knowing she’d just fucked up.

“Disobedience. Not surprising.” His gaze narrowed and she waited for the teasing

sparkle to reach his eyes. It didn’t. But he leaned back on one hand and wrapped the

other around his cock, leisurely stroking. “If we’re going to play. We need to do it right.

No questions.”

Becca stared at him. “Have you been reading up on this stuff?”
His gaze didn’t waver. “It’s going to be worse the longer you stand here.”
Becca didn’t know what “it” was but she was torn between obeying and wanting to

find out. She hurried toward his room, the click-click-click of her heels on the hardwood

sounding like the upward climb of an old-fashioned roller coaster. The same escalating

anticipation was winding through her.

She opened the door to his walk-in closet and found his revolving tie rack. Holy

shit. Would it matter which ones she picked? Some of them were probably expensive

but she didn’t think he wanted her to take time to check the labels.

He’d have ordered you to do that if he did.
Fuck. She grabbed three that were in the same burnt orange color range as the one

he’d been wearing and rushed back to Chad, running on the balls of her feet until she

reached the hardwood floor. Then she straightened her spine and attempted a confident

strut. She wanted to be controlled, but not completely subjugated. There was a

difference.

He had moved backward on the ottoman until the bend of his knees were flush

against the side.

“Put those next to the other ones and turn around.”
Becca dropped the ties onto the piece of furniture and spun around in front of his

knees.

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“Not like that,” he said, wrapping his hands around her upper thighs and guiding

her backward, widening her stance as he did. “Legs open.”

Two more steps and she was straddling his legs. Her thighs pressed against his

knees, the distinct creak of leather-against-leather as the back of her boots rubbed the

ottoman. The silky lingerie had gone from feeling sexy to annoying. A rush of desire

pooled low in her belly and a second later wetness seeped from her pussy, making her

dampened panties adhere to her throbbing flesh.

Becca knew he was staring at her ass. Or maybe he was looking at her straining

thighs. He shifted his knees and pushed them wider until she was forced onto her toes.

“Disobedience demands punishment.”
She swallowed hard. Not knowing his definition of “punishment” heightened her

arousal.

“Clasp your arms in front of you and look straight ahead.”
She had barely obeyed when his hands gripped her waist. He rotated his thumbs

inward and slowly massaged the pair of sea-foam-green Old-World dolphins that were

inked over the muscles just above her glutes. His thumbs rose upward, touched the

center of her spine and she knew he was tracing the water that spouted from their

mouths.

“Relax, Becca.” His words only served to make her more restless. She flexed the

muscles in her ass. Then wished she hadn’t. The motion sent a contraction of lust

through her pussy.

His palms glided downward over the satin of her panties. He lingered at the bottom

of her ass, stroking the underside of each cheek until she couldn’t help shifting her

stance.

“Anxious?” he asked.
She knew better than to answer. If she said yes, he’d stop.
Maybe you should say no and see what happens.
Becca shrugged instead. Then held her breath.
His hand snaked between her legs, his fingers pressing into the valley of her outer

folds. He rubbed her then made his way to her clit, drawing a wide circle around the

sensitive kernel before he closed his fingers over it and pressed hard. Becca tossed her

head backward and bit her lip. She throbbed against his fingers. It felt good. Better than

when she teased herself to orgasm. She didn’t understand how that could be. How he

could know her body as well as she did.

Chad palmed her fully, the heel of his strong hand pressed against the spot of skin

between her anus and her pussy. He flexed his wrist and pleasure shot to both places.

Little waves of delight rose and fell with each miniscule rocking motion. Waves that

wouldn’t crest unless he stripped her bare and stroked her skin on skin. He applied

more pressure to her swollen labia and Becca couldn’t contain the frustrated grunt that

slipped from her parted lips.

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He gathered the back of her panties in his other hand, forcing the material tight

against her aching clit. “Still indifferent?” he asked.

She couldn’t tell if his tone held more smugness or more satisfaction. He moved his

hand again and her vision clouded. Perspiration broke out and trickled along her spine,

under her breasts. The tautness of the material against her flesh made his stroking more

maddening and Becca thrust against his hand.

It was so different from how he’d touched her before. With one breath she wanted

him to stop and put an end to his teasing. In the next, she wanted him to make her crave

more.

“Do you want to come?”
“Yes!” Becca thrust against his hand again. He yanked his hand away, then slapped

her silk-covered pussy, sharp and quick. Just once. If he did that again, just a little

higher, Becca thought she’d explode.

“Wrong answer.” He grabbed her waist again and slid his knees together, holding

her until she followed his lead and was standing shakily in front of him. Her panties

remained stuffed between her ass cheeks and she had the sudden urge to step to the

side and fling herself over his knees.

“Turn around and take off your clothes,” he said in a thick voice.
No. That isn’t what’s supposed to happen. Ask him to spank you.
He didn’t want a striptease. That was clear from his tone and Becca reached behind

her and unclasped her bra. She turned, sliding it from her shoulders, and found him

holding one of the neckties. Dropping her bra to the floor, she hurried to wiggle her

panties downward. She pulled them over her boots, careful not to catch the leg

openings on one of her heels and take an unsexy header to the floor.

She thought losing the constricting garments would have offered some relief but

she was wrong. Her pussy still throbbed and the cool air made her nipples tighten a

little more.

“Wrists.”
Becca looked down at Chad. His erection was still there, a tiny glistening drop of

pre-cum showing her his seemingly distanced attitude was a front. But damn, the man

was good. She extended her arms, shivering when he brushed the silk over her

knuckles. He used the narrower ends to encase her wrists, leaving a good portion of the

tie to hang downward. He repeated the same slow process with her other wrist and

Becca dropped her hands to her sides.

He stood up and she didn’t move. He hadn’t told her to and this way she’d have a

good chance of touching his hot skin, of feeling his chest brushing her erect nipples. She

tilted her head backward, closing her eyes as she parted her lips, silently pleading for

another of his kisses.

“Hands and knees on the ottoman.”

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Becca’s eyes shot open, ready to refuse the totally vulnerable position but his deep-

blue gaze had turned expectant. He wanted this as much as she did and she looked

downward, not wanting him to see she recognized the fact. It was as if she was the one

who was really in control.

She crawled onto the middle of the ottoman and placed her arms shoulder width

apart, but moved her legs close together. He’d have to order her to spread them.

He walked around until he was standing in front of her, offering a gorgeous view of

his cock. Without thinking she reached for him. Ran her fingers up and down his shaft

before closing her fingers around it. The little drop hanging at the end got bigger and

she leaned forward and licked it away. That little taste demanded more and she opened

her lips just far enough that she could slide his cock head into her mouth, keeping the

suction nice and tight. She drew him deep then drew back and bobbed her head in the

little short strokes she knew he liked until she needed to do more than breathe through

her nose. The minute his cock left her mouth he leaned forward and she smiled,

assuming he wanted more.

The sharp sting of his palm landing against her ass cheek made her squeal.
“Change of plans. Lie down flat.”
Now you’re going to have to wait even longer, dumbass.
Becca eased downward, flinching when the cool leather came in contact with her

stomach and her breasts. She needed a moment to get used to it.

His palm landed again, this time on the other cheek and she stopped herself before

she cried out. It was harder than the first smack but it rocked her hips against the

ottoman, the quick moment of friction making her toes flex. He whacked her again,

catching the underside of one ass cheek and an arrow of sheer desire followed the brief

moment of pain. It shot to her pussy and Becca squirmed. He wasn’t hitting her as hard

as that one crack. The one that allowed her clit a second of stimulation.

His strikes were quick and shallow, never landing in the same spot twice. Pain and

pleasure and torture all rolled into one. Heat radiated from her skin and Becca began to

writhe. Juice trickled from her pussy, downward over her neglected clit.

“Stop. Please,” she gasped.
He did. Immediately.
Her ass had to be cherry red. It felt as if it were. Coolness touched her flesh and she

realized it was his opposite hand. The one that hadn’t been administering the

punishment. He caressed her in light little circles that should have been a balm. But all

they did was make her throb even more. She shifted her hips again and he trailed his

fingers around the outer curve of her ass cheeks and down her legs. He stopped just

above her knees and spread her legs wider.

Normally, she’d be apprehensive but Becca was to the point that she didn’t care.

She wanted release, however he wanted to give it.

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His big hands closed over her ass and he squeezed, pulling her cheeks apart. She bit

her lip, waiting for whatever was next. It would be delicious, she knew that now. He’d

stoked her higher than she’d ever been.

“Fuck.” His curse echoed through the room.
Becca held her breath. Wondered what she did wrong.
“Get up. Elbows and knees.”
He moved and she turned her head just in time to see his naked form disappear

through his bedroom door. She faced forward and had her arms and knees in position

before she heard him stalk back into the room.

“Open your legs wider.” Urgency overrode his commanding tone and she rushed

to comply. His words were enough to stoke her right back to the point her pussy was

dripping.

She heard the rip of a condom packet being opened and the sound of a flip cap.

Cool, wet liquid rolled down her cleft.

His fingers followed in its wake, rubbing the liquid between her inner labia over

her sensitive clit and upward again. He didn’t stop at her pussy. He moved to her anus

and she clenched her muscles against the unknown. Chad took his time, stroking the

puckered flesh until apprehension transformed into curiosity. She couldn’t keep her

hips from moving.

He moved onto the ottoman and ran his cock up and down the path he had just

lubed, teasing her as it slid down and tapped her clit before moving upward and

teasing the sensitive skin between her pussy and her anus. He rubbed tiny little circles

there, not moving upward. Not moving downward.

“Oh my god,” Becca moaned. The torment was too much. “Pick an opening,” she

gasped, half-joking. “Any opening.”

His snort of laughter was accompanied by his cock sliding downward and

stretching her pussy with one long, slow stroke. “Mmm. That really is heaven.”

She thought so too but when he just knelt there Becca decided to take control. She

eased away from his thighs then rocked backward, tilting her pelvis as she impaled

herself once more. His groan told her she’d done something right for him. His cock

head was hitting her G-spot with a precision that definitely worked for her and she set

an easy tempo, one that made her orgasm build steadily.

It was more than heavenly. It was perfect. Chad was perfect. And Becca knew they

were perfect together and always would be.

That thought had Becca missing a couple of rungs on the ladder to release. Her

rhythm faltered but Chad was there for her, grasping her hips and holding her steady

as he began thrusting harder and faster. The quicker tempo rocketed her to the peak.

But he hadn’t told her to come. She tried to hold back, but she couldn’t.

“I can’t wait,” she gasped, a rush of heat preceding the oncoming orgasm.
“Then come,” he said in a hoarse, shaky voice.

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And she did. Her body convulsed, her muscles tightening to the point of pain until

the wave of heat turned molten. It shot through her arms and legs with a speed and

intensity the likes of which she’d never experienced. Tremor upon tremor rippled

through her until Becca’s upper body collapsed onto the ottoman. Chad followed her

down, his chest pressed against her back, his chin resting against her shoulder. Their

harsh breathing mingling then bouncing off the leather to warm their faces.

“So,” he said when he’d caught his breath. “Did you like that? Despite the fact we

never actually got to tie you up.” He nipped her shoulder then said in a very serious

tone. “I suck.”

Becca laughed, then stopped quickly when she realized the motion started to

dislodge his softening cock from her pussy. She didn’t want that. She loved the feel of

them together. Loved the way he made her body burn. She loved—

Her heart slammed against her ribs, her mind refusing to finish that thought. She

adored him, that was all. Which was different than love. Because she was pretty certain

neither one of them were ready for that.

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Chapter Seven

Becca’s generic ringtone sounded and she jumped, digging her elbow into Chad’s

ribs as she bolted upright. No one called her at night and she immediately thought of

her parents. Her sister. Her nephews.

She rolled to her side, heart hammering. Her legs tangling in the blanket Chad had

thrown over them, nearly sending her off the ottoman and onto the floor as she tried to

remember where she’d left her purse. The ringing became louder and she turned to see

Chad hurrying across the room, his chest illuminated by the soft glow of her phone. He

swiped the screen and handed it to her.

“This is Becca.”
“This is Shawna. From today. At your shop.” Her voice was shaky and Becca could

hear other people talking in the background. “Oh my god, we need your help,” she

cried.

The thudding in Becca’s chest increased and she hit the speaker button.
“Calm down, Shawna. Whatever it is, it’ll be fine.” Becca went into full-frontal aunt

mode and started scooting off the ottoman. “What happened?”

“It’s Franco. He told the Master he didn’t know where Libbie had gone. And he told

us he didn’t like the way the gauze looked and made us take it off. And he used the

whip on Franco instead of the flogger because the people from Romania were here and

they like that better—”

The woman was rambling and Becca tried to follow as she quickly put her bra and

panties on. Chad was already in his clothes and rushing toward the kitchen.

“But the Master asked him again about Libbie and Franco said he didn’t know and

the Master got angry and accidentally hit Franco’s tattoo and now it’s bleeding. And

he’s crying. Franco never cries.”

“Call an ambulance,” Becca said, taking the phone with her and setting it on the

small table in the foyer. She opened the closet and grabbed the miniskirt she’d

considered wearing for Chad and pulled it up her legs and over her hips.

“No! We can’t do that.” Shawna’s voice took on a more desperate tone.
“Then take him to the ER,” Chad interjected, suddenly by her side. He had grabbed

her boots in one hand and her trench coat in the other. Becca took the coat and quickly

put it on while Chad hit the button for the elevator.

“Can’t you come and fix it?” Shawna implored. “We have medicine and stuff, but

didn’t know what we should use. Gretchen thinks no alcohol.”

Becca could have offered advice but that would have meant a rundown of what

they had on hand and Shawna didn’t sound in any condition to focus. She picked up

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her phone and took the boots from Chad. He pulled the edges of her coat together and

cinched the belt around her waist. She would have mouthed her thanks but the sound

of Shawna’s soft sobs stopped her.

“How are we supposed to get in the club?” Chad asked loudly.
Becca looked at him, at the determined set of his jaw, and knew he was a hundred

percent on board with her decision.

Silence. Then in the background, Gretchen’s voice yelling, “Keep it together,

Shawna, and just fucking tell them.”

“O-okay.” Shawna stammered and another few seconds passed. The elevator

arrived and Becca hoped the call wouldn’t drop on the descent. “If you’re going south

on Fourth there’s an alley just past the entrance to the club. Turn down there and when

you pass a couple Dumpsters there’s a door on your left. It’s where the deliveries come

in. How quick can you get here?”

“Ten minutes,” Becca and Chad replied in unison.
The elevator swept them straight to the ground level and the taillights of Chad’s

Rover flashed as he unlocked the car. Becca jumped inside. “Do you want to stay on the

phone with me, Shawna?”

“No, I need to give it back to Gretch. I’ll meet you at the door. Please hurry.”
The phone went dead and Becca stared at the screen. “Fuck,” she muttered, just as

Chad cleared the security gate. The tires squealed as he made the turn and started

speaking into his hands-free unit.

“Call Dave at work.” A voice, cheery but with a Kathleen Turner-like tone, repeated

his request and asked if it was correct. “Yes,” he replied.

Dave? The same Dave who was Jim Phelps? The dude who had offered the intel on

Andres? Becca fastened her seat belt. There were a ton of questions she wanted to ask

Chad about all that but she remained quiet.

The phone rang and rang then went to voicemail. “This is Agent Dave. Please leave

a message.”

Can’t get more concise that that, Becca thought.
“Where the hell are you at one thirty in the morning?” Chad demanded. “I’m on

my way to Club Rosenthorn with Becca. Not feeling great about this one, buddy. One of

the kids she inked is hurt. Whipped by that fuckhead Herzog to the point people who

see that shit on a daily basis are calling for help. That enough for you to get involved

yet?”

He pressed a button on the steering wheel and blew through a yellow light. “Where

the fuck is he?”

His pissed-off tone was puzzling. “So Dave is your friend. You weren’t kidding

about that secret agent stuff, were you? That was kind of harsh. The message you left

him.”

“We go back. He’ll understand,” was all Chad offered.

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“No last name? Just Agent Dave? That’s super secret.” Becca was trying to lighten

the vibe in the car, despite the fact a lead weight had formed in the pit of her stomach.

“Dave works with a lot of young people. He says Agent Dave is easier for them to

remember than his full name.”

She wasn’t going to harp on him for changing the subject, not when he was doing

eighty on a public street to get her to where she needed to be. She concentrated on

getting her boots on, twisting and turning until she had them up and zipped.

“That was quite the contortion act,” he said. “Glad to see your flexibility has no

bounds.”

Becca smiled then reached over and placed her hand on his forearm. Just for a

minute to feel the strength he provided.

“You think Franco is going to be okay?” Chad asked.
“I honestly don’t know,” Becca replied. “I’ve never had anyone call me about

something like that. I’ve tattooed a boatload of people, some of whom I’m pretty certain

get in fights on a regular basis. But never right after fresh ink. There’s a respect for the

artwork as well as a healthy fear of infection.”

She watched the lights from the storefronts zip by so fast they were blurred strips of

white and blue and yellow.

“Andres is a fucking bastard.” She exhaled, not realizing she’d been holding her

breath. “What do you think your buddy Dave can do about any of this?”

“Not sure, but there’s got to be some illegal shit going on in there. Has to. That pixie

woman you tattooed looked like she might be underage. Maybe even Franco.”

“I checked their IDs for the consent forms. All eighteen and older.”
“Sure. It’s not like Herzog could get fake ones. Anyhow, I’m sure Dave’s already

checked out liquor license infractions. Health code violations. The little stuff that can

start a snowball effect.”

Chad slowed down as they approached the club. Becca was shocked to see the

velvet rope outside and the long line of men and women who were waiting to get in.

They wore everything from shiny red latex to trendy club wear to suits and tuxedos.

“Good god,” Becca whispered. “It’s a hodgepodge of humanity. Like someone took

the nightclubs on Demaris and blended them with the Shore Club. Did you see the size

of that bouncer?”

“Sex and titillation. They both sell to the masses.”
“Do you think they’re waiting to watch or to play?” Becca asked.
Chad turned sharply into the alley and snorted. “No idea. But look at you, learning

the lingo.”

His little barb helped to relieve some of Becca’s apprehension. She’d have him at

her side if they happened to run into Andres. Chad had handled the man well before.

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“Screw you, Harrington,” she shot back, watching closely for the door Shawna had

told them about.

“I hope you’re going to, baby. Tonight and every night. Right after we get all this

shit taken care of.”

Becca liked the way he was thinking. And she appreciated him more than he could

ever imagine. “Thank you for—”

“Stop. Like I’d let you go without me.”
He passed the Dumpsters and Becca saw the door. It took him four points but he

got the vehicle turned around and facing out the way they came.

“You’re so smart. Parking like this,” Becca said, reaching for her door handle. “I’m

impressed.”

“Save that until we’re both back in the front seat and making a superhero-type

getaway.”

Becca shut her door and the side entrance of the building immediately opened.

Shawna was there wearing a black vinyl miniskirt and matching bra. The two skimpy

pieces of clothing were connected with a series of linked silver chains.

Chad placed a restraining hand on Becca’s arm and she stopped and looked up at

him.

“Just now, I got the very real feeling that all this might be Herzog luring us here.”

His words sent a shiver through her. It hadn’t crossed her mind. She looked at Shawna,

could feel the woman’s fear.

She turned back to Chad and whispered, “I don’t think so.”
“In here. Hurry.” She motioned them forward. “I’m really afraid. The Master called

for Delia right after I hung up with you. I don’t know what the rest of us did to anger

him.”

Shawna led them down a hallway to the right. The smell of grease and vinegar

permeated the area. They passed a small industrial kitchen. One of the workers was

cleaning the grill, preparing to shut down for the night.

Farther down the corridor a series of doors lined each side of the hallway. They all

had peepholes and Becca assumed they must be sleeping quarters. Andres wouldn’t

have rooms by the hour in this part of the club.

A door halfway down was being held open by a hotel-style security deadbolt that

had been turned to the lock position. Shawna didn’t stop. She led them to the end of the

hall where another door was propped open in the same manner. She pushed the door

open and walked in, waiting for them to follow before she eased it closed but left it ajar.

The sound of heavy footfalls overhead made everyone freeze. It was loud and the

floor actually shook. Becca looked from Chad to Shawna and then toward Gretchen

who was sitting on a folding chair next to Franco’s prone body. He was lying facedown

on a twin-size bed.

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“Shawna, take Delia and see what the hell’s going on. If that’s the Special Team

fucks from UF again and Troy didn’t tell me, I’m going to nut-bust that worthless piece

of—”

“It’ll be fine, Gretch.” Delia hurried over and placed a quick kiss on Gretchen’s

forehead.

Becca hadn’t seen the woman standing off to the side. Short denim cutoffs.

Sleeveless red gingham shirt tied above her midriff. Six-inch Lucite heels with silk

sunflowers embedded in the platforms. She looked like a sexed-up version of Mary Ann

from Gilligan’s Island.

Delia grabbed Shawna’s hand and pulled her toward the door. “Don’t worry,

Gretch. We can suck a few extra cocks if we have to. You stay here with Franco.”

Becca had little time to be surprised by the woman’s words. Franco chose that

moment to try to push himself upward. He cried out in pain then turned his head,

opened his eyes and looked straight at Becca.

“I’m sorry, Mistress. I didn’t mean for this to happen.” The misplaced form of

address and his need to apologize were enough for Becca. They snapped her out of the

surreal fog that swirled thickly around her brain.

“Drop the ‘mistress’ crap, Franco. Let’s take a look at what he did to you.”
“The Master loves me. I just don’t understand.”
“The Master’s a sociopathic cocksucker,” Chad added, falling in right next to

Becca’s side. “What do you have in the way of first aid?” he asked Gretchen.

She went to move and Franco grabbed her hand.
“Just tell me where it’s at,” Chad said. “I can get it.”
“On the bathroom counter. There’s a basket. It’ll have whatever we need.”
Becca knelt next to the bed and took a good look at Franco’s back. Red welts

crisscrossed his smooth flesh. All but a few were identical in length but several of the

raised areas sported tiny pinpricks of blood. The deepest laceration cut diagonal

through the center of the tattoo, marring the precision of the capital F.

It was deep, well below the layer of the ink she had laid. Relief swept through her

for choosing to place the image between his shoulder blades and not higher on his neck

where there could have been a risk of worse damage. But the injury would definitely

leave a scar as well as ruining the tattoo.

“Franco.” Becca placed her hand on his shoulder and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

“You’re going to need stitches.”

“No.” He buried his face in the mattress and his body was racked with noiseless

sobs.

“He’s afraid of needles,” Gretchen explained. “I know it probably seems weird to

you, with everything that goes on here, but we all have our limits. When the Master

suggested the tattoos, Franco was scared. But our devotion to him overrides our fear.

Because, at the end of the day, he’s supposed to take care of us.”

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The woman couldn’t keep the accusation from her voice and Becca realized she’d

never have a better opportunity to press for details. “I thought the whole Master and

slave relationship wasn’t supposed to have someone needing medical attention at the

end. What happened?”

“Not what should have happened. Not what’s happened in the past,” Gretchen

said. “Our punishments have always been fitting in the past. Discipline is doled out for

infractions we’ve incurred, not for abstract things we can’t control. Libbie was here this

morning when we left to come see you but when we got back, she was gone. And this is

her day to have private time with the Master. We each get a turn. But she didn’t show

and he became furious.”

Becca had to ask, “What goes on during private time?”
“It’s the best,” Franco said in a soft, dreamy tone that immediately stopped his

crying. Gretchen stroked his spine with just her fingertips and he turned his face into

the mattress.

“One-on-one time,” Gretchen explained. “Not necessarily sexual, I’m sure that’s

what you’re thinking. It’s a chance to talk about specific needs for fulfillment. What we

can do to reach subspace.”

She must have noticed Becca’s puzzledlook and explained.
“Subspace is when you let go completely. Reach a higher place in the scene because

your trust is unwavering. You know you’ll be safe no matter what.”

“So Andres was pissed that Libbie didn’t show and he took it out on Franco? That’s

pretty fucked up,” Chad said. He set the basket of supplies on the nightstand.

“Master told Franco he wanted him as part of a scene for some very important

customers who come in twice a year. They always request Franco. It’s very gratifying

when someone does that. Shawna and I are only brought along because of our station

with the Master. But then he chose the whip over the flogger and everything turned

really bad. He knows Franco’s limits but he ignored them. Ignored his safe word. It was

as if he was the one who went to another place, not us.”

“There are butterfly bandages,” Chad interrupted. Becca turned and met his

worried gaze. “There’s not a whole lot more for something that deep.”

“That should work, don’t you think?” Gretchen questioned hopefully.
Becca looked once more at the cut. The blood had stopped running but it was still a

mess. She wanted to help, but she couldn’t.

“No, it’s not going to work,” she replied. Just like the other people in this club,

Becca knew her limits. “This really isn’t my strong suit. I’m an inker. That’s all.”

Chad wanted to tell her she was a hell of a lot more than just anything. How many

other people, artists or not, would drop everything and try to help? And his opinion

didn’t have a damn thing to with the fact they’d been contentedly naked on his favorite

piece of furniture when it happened.

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Becca was something special. His heart had known that for quite some time. It had

just taken his brain a little longer to catch on.

His need to help her consumed him. It was time to talk reality. Man to man with

Franco. Without soft, stroking hands and the soothing lull of feminine voices. Chad

jerked his head to the side, giving Becca and Gretchen a silent beat it before he bent

down and sat back on his haunches.

“Franco. You made it through an hour of Becca pounding your skin repeatedly to

get that tattoo. Those needles, especially the ones she used for the outline, those suckers

were monsters compared to what you’d have to deal with in the hospital. I can try to

clean this out and tape it up, but without the stitches, you’re going to have a bitch of a

gap in that design. It’s going to look like shit, man. And there’s that other little thing.

Where it gets infected and you fuckin’ die.”

Franco turned his head and rested it on one hand. He pinned Chad with his sad

eyes. This close, Chad could see signs that Franco was older than Chad had thought.

The wrinkles at the corner of his eyes, the weathered hand.

“Where did he hit it?” Franco asked.
Chad wouldn’t lie. “Right through the charm.”
“Through my initial?” Franco whispered.
Chad nodded.
Seconds ticked by and tension began to cord Chad’s neck. He hoped like hell the

man wasn’t going to start crying again. He didn’t want to have to get any tougher.

“He doesn’t love me anymore or he wouldn’t have done this,” Franco said. His eyes

became glassy. His pale-blue gaze latched on to Chad’s. “Have you ever lost someone?”

“I have,” Chad replied. “I lost my dad.”
Franco nodded but he didn’t say a word.
“But he would have never wanted me to put myself at risk,” Chad added. “To not

get help if I needed it.”

The corner of Franco’s mouth turned up in a bitter smile. “My old man split when I

was seven. He left me in the stands at an Orioles game.”

Holy fucking shit.
He placed his hand on Franco’s forearm. “C’mon, man. It’ll be fine. I promise.”
“I doubt it,” Franco said. But he rolled slowly to his side and pushed himself to an

upright position. “I don’t think anything’s going to be fine again.”

Chad stood up. He was reaching for Franco’s arm when a large thud echoed

through the room. He spun around as the door cracked back on its hinges and a rough,

female voice yelled, “Police. Freeze.”

The missing Libbie rushed inside the room, Glock in hand, hair pulled back in a

severe ponytail, a determined look on her face. For a second, Chad thought the whole

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thing was a joke. Her practicing for some Charlie Angels role play. Except that gun

looked pretty fucking real and she was wearing a flak jacket.

And two steps behind her was Dave. Similar stance, similar chest gear, but a lot

bigger gun.

Chad and Becca had stayed out of the way during the swarm of activity. Dave had

told him to get Becca covertly out the door but she had been determined not to let any

harm befall Franco or the women. Champion of the injured and possibly misunderstood

submissives. That was something that had never come up during their lengthy

conversations. But it didn’t surprise him. What had, however, was the fact that Libbie

turned out to be an undercover agent named Violet.

Chad glanced toward the far corner of the dungeon where Becca, Violet and the

other three women were in an animated conversation that Chad felt certain he didn’t

need to be part of. Apparently, Dave felt the same way because he was headed straight

toward Chad.

“I think this belongs to your girl.” Dave said handed him an envelope. Becca’s

name was on the outside, neatly printed in Herzog’s familiar script. It was sealed but

Chad weighed the contents with his hand, recognizing the familiar shape and feel of a

wad of cash.

“She’s not my girl, Dave.”
“Damn, Chad. I knew you got all the looks but didn’t realize you were off beatin’

the bishop when the brains were being handed out. Of course she’s your girl. When was

the last time you raced into the middle of a potential clusterfuck for anyone? Male or

female?”

“It’s been awhile. And that was a horrible analogy.”
“Whatever. You know I nearly failed Comp class. I’m happy to see you with her,

though. Mom and Diane and me thought all that wine stuff was turning you gay.”

Chad arched a brow, fighting back a smile.
“Well, maybe it was just me, thinking you were running away from shit after Dad

died. Taking the easy way out. Trying to find the real meaning of life.” Chad watched

the somberness cross his brother’s eyes. “But then Nathan died.”

His brother stopped. Cleared his voice. Chad couldn’t imagine what Dave went

through on a daily basis. Losing their dad had been tough. But it paled in comparison to

the rare blood disease that took Dave’s son in a matter of months. It had taken over a

year of therapy for his brother and sister-in-law to move on. To accept.

His older brother was a good man. Chad handed the envelope back to him, not

wanting his sibling getting in trouble. “Becca wouldn’t want you or anyone else to get

in hot water over this.”

Dave hesitated then took the envelope back. “I know. I worked that in during our

little chat. She asked if I could find a way to get it to those four she inked. She’s worried

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about what they’re going to do now that Herzog is being detained. Oh, and I may have

mentioned you and I are related, too. Hope you weren’t saving that for a surprise.”

“I was. You ruin everything,” Chad deadpanned. He hadn’t told Becca because the

family always tried to keep Dave’s career as low profile as possible.

“I know.” Dave chuckled. “You’ve been telling me that since you were ten.”
“And thanks for bringing us back up here.” Chad gestured toward the stage. “That

old fuck stood right there and drooled over both me and Becca.”

“He wasn’t gender-specific, that’s for sure. And please note we brought everyone

here. That’s what we do when there’s a big reveal.” Dave winked. Chad wasn’t sure if it

was meant for him or someone behind him.

“Right. Just like in those old mysteries,” Chad added. “Colonel So-and-so, in the

dungeon—”

“With the butt plug.” Becca’s hands slid around his waist from behind and he

covered her fingers with his palms, squeezing them.

Chad raised her fingers to his and kissed them before he responded. “Where have

you been and what have you learned, woman?”

“Tell you later,” she said, rubbing her face against the back of his shoulder. “But

don’t be surprised if there’s a strap-on involved.”

Dave laughed. Chad scrunched his brows. He’d tell her later how that would never

happen.

“I like her,” Dave said. “How’d you two meet?”
Chad felt her breasts rise and knew she was taking a deep breath. Preparing to tell

the tale. He decided to cut her off. Just this once. “So I’m going into work nearly a year

ago. Three o’clock, same as always. And I walk past the tattoo parlor. Down from the

restaurant, just like I do every day—”

“Oh boy,” Becca said in mock worry. “Maybe we should find you some popcorn,

Dave.”

“And there she is. Standing at the counter, talking to the owner. I saw that long hair

hanging nearly to the middle of her back. It was jet black then not red. She changes it as

often as she changes her panties—”

“Hey!” Becca tried to pull her hands free, but he wouldn’t let them budge.
“She had on a pair of jeans so snug I knew she couldn’t be wearing panties.”
“So that changes the whole switching-hair-color timeline,” Dave added with a

thoughtful nod.

Becca shifted her body, rubbing her breasts over his back and his balls took a

sudden interest.

She moved around his side and stacked her hands on her hips. Chad loved that

pose.

“And she had these killer heels on—”

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“Hotter than what she’s got on now?” Dave asked. “Because I know for a fact, there

are two more-reputable clubs on this street that she could stroll into in that getup and

grown men would be groveling at her feet, just for a chance to touch those boots. I think

a few of my guys might be members.”

“Is that an ongoing thing in your line of work, Agent Dave?” Becca asked. “The foot

fetish thing. I thought it ended with J. Edgar.”

Chad liked the way they were immediately hitting it off. He had known his family

would love Becca. Now that Dave had met her, he’d have to introduce her to his mom

soon. She’d be thrilled that he’d finally found someone he could love.

Dave turned toward him and Chad didn’t trust his brother’s innocent smile. He

pulled Becca into his arms and spun her around so her back was to his chest.

“So, nice butt, great shoes and quick witted. She’s perfect,” Dave said, giving

Chad’s shoulder a little bump before he offered Becca a look of mock seriousness. “So

tell me, Miss Wiley. What the hell are you doin’ with this jerk?”

“You know how it is with these tattoo chicks, bro. One way or another, they’re

determined to get under your skin.”

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Chapter Eight

Becca opened one eye and looked at the glowing red numbers of her bedside clock.

Nine twenty-four. Unlike Chad’s bedroom of sleek furniture and light sheers that did

little to block out the brightness of the day, her bedroom was dark as a cave. Heavy

deep-purple silk panels covered the double sliding door and the two large windows

that made up the corner. It hadn’t been the early morning light that interrupted her

sleep.

Chad shifted behind her, pulling her closer into his embrace. She’d learned his

habits well. He didn’t think it was time to get up yet either.

They’d had more than a dozen sleepovers before they were forced to face a few

realities. While the lovemaking was awesome and the companionship filled voids they

had pretended didn’t matter, periodically they needed a few days to themselves. They

didn’t have a set weekday schedule, but Becca knew from Friday evening at midnight

to Monday morning at ten o’clock, Chad was all hers.

Her girlfriends told her she was a colossal idiot. That she was giving him the

opportunity to use those free nights to see other women. She should reel him in while

she had the chance. When Becca had brought up that little thing called trust they rolled

their eyes and told her she should use her ex as an example to live by. She didn’t waste

her breath telling them she’d never use Vinnie as a model of anything. Ever.

The guys at the shop told her she was the coolest chick ever, the only one on the

planet who understood men needed time to watch SportsCenter on their own and beat

off in the shower because nothing really felt better than their fists. Becca had laughed

her ass off at that statement. Then wondered if it were true…and would she get a

chance to watch.

Then the female tattoo artists at the shop told her point-blank that if she fucked

things up they were going to take a run at Chad themselves. No hard feelings. At least

she knew where she stood.

Becca snuggled her ass against his morning erection and smiled. Their friendship

segueing into a more intimate relationship had moved with a speed that was scary. She

remembered one night when she was waiting for Chad at his house. Entrenched in the

pages of a romantic suspense novel, she hadn’t heard the elevator. When he swaggered

into the room, she’d been horrified. She hadn’t looked past the patch covering his eye to

see he had made an attempt at pirate garb. One of her fantasies, not his. All she had

thought was an exploding cork had possibly rendered him blind in one eye. She’d

totally ruined his surprise, but sweet man that he was, he plundered her booty all the

same.

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She and Chad being open about their sexual desires and hard-core fantasies had

refined their communication skills, which in turn strengthened their everyday life. It

certainly made for a less angst-filled relationship. The trust and respect they shared rose

to a higher level, one that surpassed anything Becca had dreamed of. The only thing

that dwarfed it was her love for him. She exhaled, wondering how in the world she’d

gotten so lucky.

“That deep sigh means you’re thinking too much,” Chad whispered. “You’re

supposed to be pretending it’s still night. You’re asleep. And someone’s just crawled

into your bed.”

“And he’s got a Three Bears kind of boner? The one that fits me just right?” Becca

whispered back.

“Shhhh. No bestiality talk, Goldilocks.”
She laughed and stacked her palms together before slipping them under her pillow,

just like every female B-movie star did before the intruder or monster or serial killer

made his way into her bedroom.

Becca and Chad had never discussed a serial killer fantasy, and as far as she knew

he didn’t have a pair of fake fangs stashed in his nightstand. She figured the morning

intruder would probably be human. With deep-blue eyes she’d never get tired of

looking into. And a rich laugh that always made her smile in return.

Chad waited so long Becca started to get drowsy again. When he yanked her arms

over her head and captured her wrists she actually jumped. Fingers drifted over her hip

and up her rib cage. His large, warm hand covered her bare breast. He kneaded,

plumped her flesh, never touching her nipple and she shifted her hips, silently telling

him she was ready for more. But she knew he could read her without prompts.

His hand drifted to her other breast, repeated the same teasing motions until her

nipples were hard and aching. He grazed her tight nub with the back of his hand and

Becca’s intake of breath echoed through the silent room.

Back and forth he went, using little flicks against her nipples that sent quick jolts to

her pussy and firm steady pinches which sent rolls of desire through her entire body.

His erection grew harder and she tried to pull her hands free, wanting nothing more

than to reach behind her and stroke his thick cock while his fingers got her off.

They’d done that before, both of them stimulated each other with only their hands

until they’d orgasmed together. It had been over the top and so hot, it was a wonder

they hadn’t done it again.

But this time, he wasn’t releasing her. His hand drifted down her stomach and she

held her breath, waiting for him to make a beeline for the thin arrow of hair that led to

her already-slick folds. His fingers teased her navel, as if he knew exactly where her star

tattoo was. He’d explored her naked body as if he were charting a course for new lands.

He had traced every tattoo at one time or another and probably had kissed them all.

Warmth permeated her torso. Becca had to get away from the heat radiating from

his body or she thought she’d ignite. She slid her hips away from him so she could roll

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onto her back. Still, he didn’t release her arms and she arched her back, thrusting her

breasts upward, aching for him to touch them. He ignored the offering.

Becca planted her feet on the mattress and raised her hips, trying to scoot lower on

the bed to bring her nipples closer to his mouth but he held her firm. Without warning,

his hand dove between her thighs and squeezed her engorged pussy. She ground

against his palm, the pressure he’d finally exerted nearly making her come.

“I love when you do that,” she said.
“Is that really something you’d tell someone who just broke into your house?”
“Only if he had a hot body and a tongue that never gets tired,” she teased, turning

her head to look into his face.

“You’re a harlot.” His words lost a lot of their bite when he offered her a wide

smile. He lessened the pressure and Becca grunted her disapproval.

“Yeah. But I’m your harlot.”
“Mmmm. Don’t I know it?” He stroked the cleft of her labia, barely touching her,

over and over again until she couldn’t stand the torment and opened her legs wider,

trying to give him more room to explore but he kept his fingers right where they were.

The wait was excruciating and Becca thrust her hips upward. He eased one finger just

inside her folds. He gathered her wetness, scooping his finger upward until he reached

her clit and pushed lightly against the straining nub.

They had learned he could make her come just from staying still. From letting the

throbbing of her clit take her over the top. They weren’t intense climaxes. And Chad

seemed to love them more than Becca. The first ripple started just below her pubic bone

and radiated outward until it consumed her entire pussy. Becca pulled her hips back a

fraction of an inch, in total control of when she’d come. She pushed against Chad’s

finger again.

His breath tickled her ear in steady huffs. It was making him hard and she kept the

motion steady. She was getting close. A few more touches.

Chad thrust his cock against her hip. It was iron hard and the urge to have him in

her as quickly as possible made her stop.

“Let me go,” she moaned, giving him a moment to release her hands before she

started to pull harder. “I’m not coming without you.”

“Yes you are,” he declared, his voice rough with desire. He let go of her hands and

was at the bottom of the bed in less than a heartbeat. Her thighs protested as he pushed

them wide. His thumbs bit into her labia and pressed the skin upward, exposing her clit

to his eyes. He blew a stream of cool air over her clit, cooling the flesh but making it

ache all the more.

Her mind clouded with desire, waiting for him to taste her. Wetness dripped from

her pussy and Becca moaned when his tongue flattened against her sensitive skin. He

licked her juices away with one broad upward stroke. He reached her clit and held it

there, letting her pulse against the soft, wet heat of his mouth. He held her on the brink

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85

and she glanced down and saw him staring. He eased his head back slowly until he was

still touching her but just with the tip of his tongue and her legs began to tremble. He’d

learned exactly what she liked. He flicked his tongue against her quickly until she was

panting.

“I thought you were going to make me come,” she groaned.
“Trying to goad me into finishing you off before I’m ready?”
He pulled away and rose up on his knees, leaving Becca unfulfilled. She saw the

fierce set of his jaw then glanced down at his cock. It twitched against his abs and she

tried to hide her smile. She really wasn’t in a pleading mood. And Chad looked more

than ready.

“You know there are other uses for that gorgeous mouth than you smirking at me.”

He plopped down onto his back. “Get on top.”

Becca rolled to her side and ran the tip of her finger around his cock head. “Don’t

you want me to—”

“Just get your ass up here,” he ordered. She threw a leg over him and grabbed his

cock, milking his flesh. She loved this position, not because it forced him deeper, but

because she knew Chad loved the view.

She wiggled his broad cock head between her inner lips, slowly easing onto his

shaft. He filled her and her inner muscles clenched around his cock. He reached around

her and massaged her ass. His fingers gripped her cheeks and pulled them apart as he

pressed her downward until their bodies were meshed. One hand moved inward and a

finger rimmed her anus, tickling the puckered flesh until she wanted to beg him to

press deeper.

Becca moaned and rocked her hips, grinding her clit against him as he lifted his

hips beneath her. She tilted her pelvis, knowing the little shift of position would bring

her quickly toward orgasm, wondering if he was getting near.

His fingers bit into the flesh at her hip and Becca lost her pace, crying out her

frustration. In one smooth move Chad rolled them over, repositioning their still-joined

bodies. He dropped his elbows to the mattress and took full control, thrusting quick

and shallow.

The rhythm, the precise depth, both sent Becca careening over the edge. She cried

out her release, her inner muscles pulsating against the pleasure. His breathing

quickened and two strokes later his short, loud grunts echoed through the room. He

thrust into her again and held himself still. Then thrust once more and collapsed on top

of her.

She stroked his damp back, the outer curve of his hip and it was his turn to let out a

deep sigh.

“You drive me crazy, Becca. What kind of man can’t finish the fantasies he dreams

up?”

M.A. Ellis

86

“You always finish the ones that are yours. It’s mine you suck at,” she teased,

holding him tighter when he tried to move.

“So now you’re a complainer?” He flexed his glutes and his cock jumped inside her.

“How do I punish that?”

“I’m sure you’ll think of something. But just so you know, I found this really

kickass wooden spoon at Target that’s the size of my fist. They say it’s for being able to

stir huge stock pots but who knows.”

Chad snorted, then pushed himself up on his hands. “In a second, I’m going to have

to pull out.”

Their gazes locked and an eerie hush fell over her bedroom as they both realized

what they’d forgotten. He was a huge proponent of safe sex. For him to go in bare was

irresponsible. And for her not to realize it before it had happened was just as bad. But

she wasn’t about to panic.

“It’s okay. You know I’m on birth control. It’ll be fine.”
He eased his hips back and withdrew quickly before rolling back against the

pillows and drawing her into his embrace. “You sure?”

“I am. But next time it’s back to the added protection. I’m a fan of kids. I just like it

when they go home at night,” she joked. “I’d like some of my own. Just not right now.”

“I can understand that,” he said. “When Dave’s son died, I figured that was it for

me. To go through that kind of pain? I don’t know how he and Diane managed it.” His

fingers wrapped around a length of her red hair. He twisted it then let it fall into a loose

ringlet. She could tell he had something he wanted to say.

“And…?”
“And now I’m reevaluating.”
“Even after having met my nephews?” she teased, turning so she could reach his

stubbled jaw. She planted a kiss on the rough skin.

He smiled at her. “Even after meeting the pint-sized conquerors, yes.”
He pressed his lips against her in a slow kiss, one that warmed her all the way to

her heart. He shifted his arms and leaned back, propping his hands behind his head.

She sighed, and reached up, running her fingers along the nearly unperceivable outline

of his Celtic knot.

“I want to hit this with some color soon. So you’ll be able to see it in the daytime as

well.”

“Sounds good, since we won’t be hitting the raves anytime soon so I can see how it

looks in motion.”

“We don’t need to rave,” she said, rolling to the side of the bed.
“What are you doing?” he asked. His hand landed on the mattress with a thump,

just missing her as she quickly stood up.

Deeper Than Ink

87

Becca hurried to her closet, wondering why she hadn’t thought of this sooner. She

walked back to the bed with an old-fashioned clip-on lamp. She reached down and

plugged it into an outlet by the bed and hooked it onto the headboard.

“You ready for this?” she asked, finger on the switch.
“I’m not sure,” he replied.
She turned it on and the glow was amazing.
“You have a black light in your closet for what purpose?” Chad questioned, sitting

up straighter.

“You’re not the only one who likes to be a voyeur. Sometimes there’s peace in

watching yourself.”

She rotated the head of the light and pointed it at his arm. “See how awesome it

looks.”

He looked at his tattoo and smiled. When he looked back at her, he sucked in his

breath.

“Holy fuck, Becca,” he exclaimed.
It had been awhile since she had looked at herself naked in a mirror, had studied

the areas of her torso that glowed in the black light. From left shoulder to opposite hip,

her mentor had done a marvelous job. She should go back and visit him more often. But

now he had another apprentice, another dark-haired girl that he could share his stories

and his experience with.

“It’s like the circle of life, isn’t it?” Chad asked. He reached out a finger and traced

the outline of the winged dragon that arced over the top of her left breast before

swooping down into the lush green backdrop of a tiger that was crouching in a bed of

roses stalking whatever came next. “In a Sailor Jerry sort of way.”

Becca laughed. Proof of his humor and that he paid attention when she talked about

the history behind her profession. Only the animals had the UV undertone and she

wondered why she hadn’t shown him this earlier. His fingers were barely touching the

designs, teasing her while clearly paying homage to the workmanship.

“I hate to think about that tiger jumping up and snatching one of those swallows

out of the air. Or am I supposed to believe he’s going to jump through that lace they’re

holding up and take out the mermaid?” he asked, following the progression of the

tattoos until he was running his fingers over the scales of the mermaid’s double tails.

“He took a little creative license with this one, didn’t he?”
“How so?” she asked.
“I’ve seen the stuff at your shop, in Joe’s case. His collection of vintage flashes have

mermaids, but none with tails like that. Or jet-black hair. Or blue-green eyes. I like that

she’s obviously you, but I’m sorry the illumination ends there.”

She sucked in her stomach as he ran his fingers toward the opposite hip where two

koi swam, the yin-yang styling evident. They were his favorite, she knew. He stroked

M.A. Ellis

88

them enough when she was naked. And when she was clothed, his hand always

seemed to rest in that exact spot.

“Well, it would be gross to think my mermaid should jump off her rock and go dine

on those fish. That would be pretty cannibalistic, don’t you think?”

“It would,” he agreed, taking one more look before he pulled her down toward

him, guiding her leg over his thighs, careful to avoid his already semi-hard cock, until

she was straddling him once more. He gripped her hips and offered her a wide grin.

“So what did you have in mind for her, sitting there all alone?”

“I don’t know,” Becca said, leaning back so she could see her hip, watch the way he

stroked her mermaid’s bosom. “Maybe that she’d lure in some hot, intelligent, wine-

drinking landlubber who didn’t mind that she was different.”

He walked his fingers up her torso, stopping to stroke her nipples before he reached

for her head and pulled her downward. “And when she sees him? Is she going to sing

to reel him in?”

“Nah. She sucks at karaoke,” she replied, bringing their lips a hairsbreadth apart.

His body shook beneath her and she watched the corner of his eyes crinkle with

amusement.

“He’s the one who makes her sing,” Becca admitted. “Every day and night they’re

together. And she loves it. Just like she loves him.”

About the Author

M.A. Ellis is a firm believer that everyone should pursue their dreams…no matter

how long it takes to achieve them. She wrote her first short story, What I Want To Be

When I Grow Up, many decades ago. It was read by a total of seven people. (For those

who are interested, the answer to that intriguing statement was a toss-up between a

veterinarian and a nun.)

Thanks to the encouragement of a creative writing guru at Northern Kentucky

University, M.A. stepped out of her neat little writing boundaries and tried her hand at

erotic poetry, which ultimately led her to where she is today—devising tales of hot

encounters and steamy romances that always have happy endings. It’s a vocation she

truly loves, equally as rewarding as furry, four-legged creatures and a heck of a lot

more entertaining than Friday nights at the nunnery.

Originally from the land of pierogies and black & gold sports memorabilia, M.A.

now resides in southwest Florida, where she’s never at a loss for inspiration. The

sunsets are always amazing, the fishing is stellar and weekly beach volleyball can

definitely be considered a “research” mission.

When not writing or reading, M.A. concentrates on honing her master baking skills,

focusing on the realms of cheesecake and chocolate, which happen to be her favorite

alliterations in all the world.

M.A. welcomes comments from readers. You can find her website and email

address on her

author bio page

at

www.ellorascave.com

.

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Comments, be sure to state the book title and author).

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Ellora’s Cave Publishing

www.ellorascave.com

Deeper Than Ink

ISBN 9781419941139

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Deeper Than Ink Copyright © 2012 M.A. Ellis

Edited by Shannon Combs

Cover design by Fiona Jade

Photos: Michaeljung and Yuri Acurs/Shutterstock.com

Electronic book publication July 2012

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