Dangerously Inked (10 page)

“You know I do,” she purred.

This was better, easier, sinking into the roles of submissive and Dominant. Everything was simpler that way. This she knew how to handle.

“Good girl,” he said. That made her melt even more. Damn it. “I have to work tonight, but I’ll text you, call you if I can.”

Why did that please her and make her want to run at the same time? But when he pulled her in for another kiss, she stopped thinking altogether. Her body heated, her pulse thrummed. He bit her lower lip, making her moan. He bit harder, then released her with a swat on her butt.

“Back to work with you, pretty girl. I’ll talk with you later. And be ready for some good, hard play at the club, sweetheart.”

He gave her one last kiss on the forehead before he walked off down the street. She watched him for a few moments before hurrying back inside, out of the cold.

“So?” Sassy asked the moment she walked into the shop.

“So…” Rosie hung her coat back up. She turned around to find that Sassy had followed her back to her station.

“So, tell me everything.” When Rosie paused, her friend grabbed her by the hand and dragged her into Henry Lee’s—Christie’s—office, and shut the door. “Well?”

“I know I’ve been avoiding you, Sassy. I’m sorry. I’ve just been sort of letting things happen and trying not to think about it too much.”

Sassy looked at her closely. “Letting what happen?”

Rosie shrugged, wandering over to the old wood desk and picking up the vulture skull that was one of the weird things Henry Lee had collected over the years. “This thing with Finn. It’s been good. Almost too good, do you know what I mean?”

“I’d like to know. I’ve been single for fucking ever.”

“Sassy, it’s kind of freaking me out at this point. We’ve known each other less than two weeks, and yet…we talk all the time. And I mean 
really
 talk. And the sex and the kink play are spectacular. 
Connected
. It always leaves me wanting more. I can’t stop thinking about him. I don’t know what this all means.”

Sassy’s eyes glittered. “I think I do. I think you’re falling for this guy.”

Rosie shook her head, but her face was heating up, her pulse a steady hammer in her veins. “No…I don’t…Sassy, that doesn’t happen to me.”

“Don’t look like a scared rabbit, babe. It can happen to anyone. Don’t you want it to happen to you?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, you think about it. Meanwhile, tell me about the sex.”

“You’re such a perv, Sassy.”

“I am. Tell.”

Rosie laughed. “Actually, the sex is amazing. His touch is like nothing I’ve ever felt before. His hands are hard…God, the man can spank the pants off a girl. But he can also be gentle. Sometimes when he touches me…” She realized suddenly that her eyes had lost focus and she was seeing him in her head. “I think I need to get back to work. You, too.”

Sassy stuck her tongue out at her. “Spoilsport.”

Rosie waved a hand at her. “You’ll get over it. You just need to get a sex life of your own.”

“Actually, I do. Meanwhile I’ll have to live vicariously through all the action that’s been happening around here lately.”

“It does seem like everyone is hooking up at the moment.”

Sassy sighed. “Everyone but me. But I’m happy for you.”

“I am too. I think.”

The thing was, she 
was
 happy when she was in the moment with him. But the last day or two, as soon as he wasn’t in front of her, or texting her or on the phone with her, doubts were starting to plague her. Weren’t things going too fast? But maybe that just meant something was really there, unlike her previous relationships where she’d felt mostly indifferent. Things with Finn ran much deeper already.

Maybe she should try to take Sassy’s advice and just enjoy him.

If only she didn’t feel as if disaster would strike if she opened her heart to him. To anyone. But it was happening, if she were being honest with herself. Her heart 
was
 opening. 
She
 was opening. It would end up one way or another, and the outcome wasn’t entirely up to her. Meanwhile, she couldn’t stay away. Finn Carter was apparently her new addiction.

***

Rosie paced her small kitchen, her stilettos clicking on the wood floors. Finn was due to pick her up at eight—she had another five minutes and she felt as if she was going to explode.

“This is ridiculous,” she said aloud, tapping her fingertips on the old tile counter.

She grabbed her cell phone and dialed Etta’s number, but got her voice mail.

“Hi hon, it’s Rosie. Just checking to see how you’re doing after our session today. The color is going to take a while to heal, but I know you’ll take good care of it. Um…maybe call me tomorrow? Not too early. Okay, hope you’re having a good evening.”

She hung up and went into the living room to check her reflection in the big carved Moroccan mirror standing against one wall. Her little red dress fit her in all the right places, skimming her scant curves. Her best pair of red suede stilettos added a few inches to her height, making her legs look longer. She thought Finn would be pleased.

Her heart tripped when the buzzer rang. She grabbed her coat and her purse and made her way down the stairs. She opened the gate and Finn pulled her into his arms, holding her so tight she could barely breathe. She understood right away that his grip was meant to convey command, making her soften all over.

He breathed against her neck, bit her hard enough to make her gasp. “I have a cab. Say nothing until we get to the club.”

He let her go, helped her into the taxi and got in next to her. Knowing that she was to keep silent was doing something to her head already—something she loved. She was only vaguely aware of the city as they moved slowly over the narrow New Orleans streets, the lights from street lamps and store fronts and bars a colorful blur in her periphery.

Soon they were there and Finn helped her out, held onto her hand tight enough to hurt as he led her into the club. He signed them both in, letting go only long enough to help her out of her coat.

“Gorgeous, Roisin.” He held her chin in his hand, his gaze on hers, forcing her to focus on his face, his voice. “You look beautiful tonight. Almost a shame to shed your pretty dress, but you know I’ll like what’s under it even better. And once I have you naked, I’m going to do unspeakable things to you. Will you like that, sweetheart? You can speak now.”

She was trembling with desire already—for his touch, for the pain he would bring. The desire to please him.

“Yes, Sir.”

“Good girl.” He smiled, brushed a kiss across her lips. “I’m going to chain you to the cross now. I’m going to play you hard.”

Her heart skipped a beat. She loved the idea that she would be at his mercy. Under his hands.

He led her through the main area of the dungeon, the music a hard beat beneath her feet, the cries of those already playing a sensual accompaniment. They reached one of the big St. Andrew’s crosses and he set his black toy bag on the floor.

“Kneel,” he told her.

She went down without a fight—there was none in her. Just this need to comply, to make him happy with her. Her head was spinning a little. She closed her eyes and waited. Kept them closed even when she heard the clink of chains as he set up the cross. Then his hands were on her waist, dragging her to her feet, and she opened her eyes.

Things happened fast, then. He stripped her dress off, her lace bra, her panties, leaving her naked other than her heels. She loved his roughness with her as he did it, as he pushed her up against the metal cross, cold at her back, and cuffed her to it. He shackled her ankles spread wide to the bottom of the cross before wrapping chain around her shoulders, her waist. When he strung the cold chain between her thighs her sex went wet, and she realized he was making a body harness out of the steel links.

Lovely. Yes.

He leaned in to kiss her, his mouth strong and bruising. He kissed her and kissed her, biting her lips, hurting her with the pressure. She loved every moment of it. She was wet, her sex pulsing, aching, 
needing
.

Finally he pulled back and whispered, “Are you good, Roisin? Circulation fine?”

“Yes.” It came out as a whisper. She pulled in a breath, tried again. “Yes, I’m good, Sir.”

“See that you are.”

His voice was more stern than she’d ever heard it. But she craved it in a way that almost made her want to cry. But she was sinking deep into subspace, and she couldn’t think about it. All she knew was the wanting. The amazing sensation of being bound in the cold, primeval chains. Him.

He moved around behind the cross and grabbed her hair, pulled hard. He whispered in her ear, “This is going to hurt, sweetheart.” Then he reached around her and grabbed her nipples and pinched hard enough to make her yelp.

He kept pinching, his fingers so damn strong, hard and hurting. She panted out the pain, dizzy with it, making her squirm as much as she could in her bonds, the chain pulling against her pussy lips, her clit. Some part of her was unable to believe he could pinch so hard with just his fingers. She groaned. He pinched harder.

“God fucking damn it!” she yelled, and heard his chuckle before he released her sore flesh.

“That’s it,” he said in her ear once more. “Breathe. Ride it out.”

She did as he said, pulling in a long breath, then another.

He was in front of her when she opened her eyes. He held a long rubber flogger in his hands. She flinched. Rubber fucking 
hurt
. Yet her pulse hummed in eager anticipation of the pain.

He stepped back and began a quickly building rhythm over her thighs, her breasts, the tender undersides of her arms. The rubber was a biting sting on her flesh. She was moaning, gasping, yelping. He kept at it, the pain building until it was something more than sensation, her body producing endorphins at an alarming rate, making her fly. Then the lovely brain chemicals started to bottom out and it was just her alone with the pain. She screamed it out, and still he kept at it.

Her vision dimmed, went black.

When she opened her eyes he was pressed up against her, his big body warming her. He had a gentle hand on her cheek, a bottle of water at her mouth.

“I’ve got you. Drink, pretty girl. You’re doing great. Amazing.”

She took a few swallows.

He swept her hair back, looked into her eyes. ‘Shall I take you down?”

“No. Please, Finn. Sir.”

He watched her, his pale brows furrowed. He pressed his fingers into her wrist, feeling for her pulse, she knew, trying to be certain she was okay.

“I can take more,” she told him. “I want it.”

After a few moments he nodded. Then he bent to release her ankles from the shackles. He stood and kissed her mouth, pulled away before she’d had enough.

She needed more. Needed him.

Please…

He went back to work on her with a suede flogger this time. It was sting and thud at the same time, he hit her so hard. Her body was absorbing the pain, turning it into pleasure again, the chemicals flooding her mind. She watched him, the bow and flex of muscle in his massive arms. The concentration on his face—the face that had become beautiful to her.

Finn.

God, she needed him.

The flogger hit her over and over. Pain and pain, Pleasure upon pleasure. And it became more than the physical sensation, but an extension of his strength, his body, his domination itself. Her head was filling up. But no, it wasn’t her head, it was her chest. Her heart.

She shook her head, tried to shake away the tears, but a sob escaped her lips.

“Finn…”

Then he was taking her down from the cross, carrying her to a big chair, where he held her in his lap, wrapped a blanket around her and held her tight. She tried to push away from him, ashamed of the tears.

“No, Finn. Stop. Please,” she begged.

“Rosie, I have you. Shh. Still yourself.”

“I can’t…I can’t do this. Please. I am not a crying kind of girl.”

“It’s okay,” he soothed.

“It is not okay. 
I
 am not okay. Fuck.”

She wasn’t. She didn’t want to need him so damn much. Not even in this realm, where he was her Dominant. No. Not hers. Only hers for now.

The tears went rolled down her cheeks.

God fucking damn it.

She was shaking in his lap, no matter how tightly he held her, whispered to her. It was tearing him up.

He’d had subs who cried during play, but not like this. Or maybe it was that he felt so much a part of her…a part of what they were doing together.

He stroked her silky hair, her smooth cheek, wiped the tears away with his thumb. He didn’t want to let her go long enough to take the chains off her.

“Rosie, tell me what it is.”

“I can’t,” she insisted, her hands going to her cheeks, but he took them and held her wrists tight in one hand. He felt she needed that control from him in order to pull herself back together.

He pressed her head to his shoulder, held her tighter.

“Come on, baby. Take a breath. Talk to me.”

“Finn…it’s just…this is too much. Too much. I don’t want to feel this much. Not the pain. That I can handle. But 
this
. Between us. This is fucking crazy.”

“Yeah, it is,” he said quietly.

That seemed to calm her. He felt her take a breath.

She said, her voice so low he could barely hear her above the music playing in the club, “It’s not just me.”

He paused, said, “No, sweetheart. It’s not just you.”

She pushed back to look at him, confusion in her beautiful blue eyes. Her makeup had run. He took the edge of the blanket and wiped at it. Her lower lip trembled, and his chest ached.

What the fuck? He didn’t want to make her cry. He wanted…hell, he wasn’t sure what to call it. How to see what it was, exactly. He didn’t know what to do. So he kissed her. Softly, at first. Then, when she wrapped her arms around his neck, he pressed his mouth more firmly to hers. Her lips were so damn soft—plush, pure, warm velvet.