Authors: Lydia Michaels
Seemingly not amused
with all things her, he said, “I am a farmer.”
She did laugh then. “A
farmer? Like the one on the dell?” He didn’t look like a farmer. She tried to
imagine him on a tractor in a straw hat. Nope. Wasn’t happening. She’d be more
likely to believe foreign drug lord masquerading under a dodgy alibi. “You should
really come up with something better than that if you expect people to believe
you.”
“You are accusing me of
lying, Delilah?”
Holy shit, her name
sounded awesome rolling off his tongue in that thick accent. “Come on, Chris,
you’re not a farmer.”
“My name is Christian.”
Touchy much? “Sorry.
Christian.
Well, Christian, why don’t you tell me what you really do?”
“I have already told
you. Do you work?”
Like a pro, she slid a
business card out of her bra and placed it in front of him. He frowned at the
action then picked up her card. “I own Skin Deep, just around the corner. I’m a
tattoo artist. You got any ink? Or maybe have something you want me to help you
out with?”
She’d love to work on
him. Just from the way his forearms peeked out under his cuffed sleeves she
could tell he was ripped.
He arched an eyebrow at
her—she always loved when people could do that—and glanced back at her card.
After a few seconds he slipped it into his pocket.
“You paint tattoos?”
“Uh, I use instruments a
little tougher than paintbrushes. I guess you don’t have any.”
His gaze coasted over
the stars wrapped around her wrist, the leopard print traveling up the curve of
her shoulder, and the little devil sitting on her other one. “No. I do not have
tattoos.”
“Did you ever think
about getting one?”
“You said your shop is
near by?”
“Yup, right down the
block. I have some openings for next week if you—”
“I will be gone by then.
Could you show me your work tonight?”
“Uh…” She went back to
the shop quite often if clients called her with a hankering, but Christian
Schrock was…different. She didn’t know if she should trust him. She did a quick
scope of the bar for Lance and McGuire. Still MIA.
Fuckers.
“I guess if
you’re really interested…”
“I am
quite
interested.”
Her body tingled at the
hidden meaning of his words. Her gaze crawled over his broad shoulders. Yeah,
she was
quite
interested too.
She could use the extra
money. Not to mention she was getting wet just thinking about touching his bare
skin. Her mind went into a tailspin, a kaleidoscope of kinky images running
through her naughty head. “Yeah. I could do that. Finish your drink and I’ll
take you.”
Without taking another
sip he withdrew a fifty, placed it on the bar, and stood.
“Uh, don’t you wanna
wait for your change?”
“No,” he said succinctly,
towering over her. Wow, he was well over six feet.
She mouthed a quick okay
and chugged her beer, needing the liquid courage.
He waited for her and
when she turned to lead the way he stood close and pressed his warm palm into
her lower back. Shivers ran up her spine. There was no mistaking his intent and
it was about more than acquiring some ink.
It wasn’t that Li was a
slut. She just had an inner slut that needed play from time to time. She rarely
fucked men impetuously, but something about this man…she couldn’t quite get a
bead on why she was so intent on having him, but something deep inside of her
insisted upon it.
They walked in silence,
the cool night air a delicious suppressant to the sticky, stagnant air of the
club.
Delilah breathed in deeply.
Under the clean night air she could actually smell Christian. Wow. If he was a
farmer, the whole rumor about them smelling like horseshit was bunk. He smelled
incredible, the crisp scent of clean linen and soap mixed with a touch of sweat
and coming up all man. She breathed in again, this time trying to trap his
scent in her head.
“Do you have a car?” she
asked, as they stepped away from the lingering crowd outside the club.
“No.”
“Okay. It’s not a long
walk.”
His steps measured one
for every three clicks of her Mary Jane’s. As he glanced down and saw her
skipping along, he adjusted his pace. They walked in silence, and she grew more
relaxed under the weight of his palm. What kind of lover would he be? The quiet
ones were always the wild ones. She hoped she wasn’t misreading his signals.
Well, he was sending out a hold crap load of mixed signals, but there was
definitely a let’s get drunk and screw signal fluttering around there
somewhere. That was the one she was most interested in.
“Do you know what kind
of tattoo you’d like?”
He didn’t answer right
away, but she was growing used to his thought out silences. “What do people
usually get?”
She laughed. Talk about
the unanswerable question. “All kinds of shit. Some people get names of their
lovers or children, cartoon characters, waterfalls, skulls, a coat of arms, a
portrait, or memorial cross.”
“You curse too much.”
She frowned, but didn’t
deny it.
“Do you have any names
of lovers on your body?” he asked.
“No way, that’s the
relationship curse. I remove twice as many of those as I ink.”
“Tattoos are removable?”
“Yes and no. It’s a
process and you’re never left without some sort of scar. It’s better to just
get something you’ll be able to live with.” They turned the corner. “Here we
are.”
She removed her key from
her purse and unlocked the metal caging over the door. It slid up with a slow
rolling rumble. Her hip pressed open the door as her fingers hit the light.
Christian turned,
seeming to admire her art on the walls. She waited as he stepped through the sitting
area. His fingers plucked at the corner of a tat magazine, but he didn’t pick
it up.
Nothing on his face told
her what he thought. In the bright lights of the store he looked even more
gorgeous than he had outside or in the bar.
Delilah fiddled with the
belt of her dress and pressed her thighs together. Christian drew in a deep
breath through his nose and abruptly turned to face her. She stilled and had
the strangest notion he knew what she was thinking. Her mouth opened and
closed. She had no idea what to say.
“Did you see anything
you like?” she asked, her voice a mere whisper.
He took a slow step
toward her. “I think we both know I do not intend to get a tattoo tonight,
Delilah.”
She swallowed and looked
up at him. He was only a foot away. ”You don’t?”
He shook his head
slowly. “No. I came here for something else. Will you oblige me?”
Oblige.
It took her a moment to
understand the dated word. She studied his face under the clinical lights of
the studio. He had one of those faces and bodies it was hard to put an age to.
He could’ve been in his late twenties just as easily as he could’ve been in his
early forties. The way he carried himself made her assume he was closer to the
latter. He was definitely older than her twenty-nine years.
Her gaze traveled down
his front. His chest was wide, but his waist was trim. There was a substantial
bulge between his hips. She moaned in approval, making no attempt to hide her
wandering gaze.
“Is that a yes?” His
hand reached out and slowly stroked her hair. He fingered the jet black wave,
but didn’t actually touch her skin. Shallow breaths filled her lungs as the
energy of the room thickened and her body tightened.
Her breath grew jagged.
Unable to answer, she slightly nodded. That was all the permission he
apparently needed.
Christian’s mouth
slammed over hers, warm and demanding. She drew in a deep breath laced with his
delicious scent and sighed as his tongue pressed between her lips. Backing her
up against the wall, his arms coiled around her petite waist. Her hands slid to
his neck, gripping, fingers sliding through his hair.
So soft.
The crinkle of wall art
under her back reminded her where they were. She tore her mouth from his and
looked out the wide storefront window. It was nighttime, but the shop was lit
up like a fucking Christmas tree.
“In the back,” she
panted as he kissed his way down her shoulder.
His touch was so
dominant every cress had a dizzying effect. Large, strong hands gripped her
beneath the arms and she was lifted. Her legs wrapped around his waist where
his erection pressed hard into the fabric separating him from her sex. He
carried her toward the back and she reached into the big fishbowl on the
counter and snatched a purple Skin Deep condom from the ones she ordered for
promotional purposes.
As if he knew exactly
where to go he took her to one of the rooms in the back with a reclining chair
she used for piercings. As soon as she fell against the cool leather of the
seat his mouth was on hers again.
Her fingers nimbly
sought out the buttons on his shirt, but she couldn’t seem to find them. The
fabric was courser than she expected. Starched.
“Rip it,” he growled as
she continued to fumble with his shirt.
Not needing to be told
twice, her hands grabbed two fistfuls and tugged. The fabric came apart and her
palms coasted over hot, hard, male flesh. He moaned into her mouth. His hands
tugged at the dainty cap sleeves of her dress. She twisted her arms,
withdrawing them from the fabric.
He plucked at the cups
of her bra and cool air engulfed her puckering flesh. He pulled his mouth from
hers and stood back, leaning on one knee wedged between her thighs. He sucked
in a hard breath.
She looked down,
realizing he’d seen her nipple rings, and glanced back up at him. His
expression was one of complete perplexity.
“Why do this to
yourself, Delilah?”
She stiffened, a bit
uncomfortable being questioned about her taste while in such a vulnerable
position. Her arm lifted to cover her breasts, but he caught her wrist. She
frowned at him. He didn’t seem to be judging her, only curious.
“I like the way it
looks,” she explained.
He swallowed and his
Adam’s apple moved slowly under the tanned, shadowed flesh of his neck. “Does
it pain you?”
“No. Not in anyway I
don’t like.”
His gaze was transfixed
on the two tiny silver hoops. Gently, his hand released her wrist and his
fingers touched the decorated tip of her right breast. The hoop jiggled
slightly and she moaned when he tugged. His eyes flashed to hers and there was
a tug on the other nipple.
“They make you more…”
“Sensitive,” she
provided.
His head tilted, his
attention drawn somewhere else. He squinted as he brushed her hair off of her
shoulders and ran a fingertip up her neck. He frowned. “What is this?”
Her hand lifted to her
neck, cupping the tattoo he referred to.
Damn young adult books!
Although it was only two tiny dots with a trickle of crimson, it was one of her
most ridiculous tattoos. That was what happened when one watched too much True
Blood, filled one’s head with paranormal young adult fiction, and kicked back a
bottle of rum with impressionable friends.
“It’s a vampire bite,”
she mumbled, embarrassed.
He stilled, his posture
suddenly stiff. “I beg your pardon.”
Pardon, per-aps I might
interest ye in a spot o’ tea…
Why was she suddenly thinking in an accent? He
was just so proper. Dapper. She cleared her throat. “I was drunk when I got it.
At least my hair covers it most of the time.”
He didn’t say anything.
Jeeze,
talk about being under a microscope. First my nipples and now this.
The
mood was dwindling fast.
His finger trailed down
her chest, over her shoulder and stopped at the bend of her left arm where a
delicate turquoise rose coiled around her arm. “You are very pretty, Delilah.”
Well, that was sweet.
“Thank you.”
“May I see all of you?”
Her lips parted. She
usually wasn’t uncomfortable with her body. She was small, but curvy like a pin
up girl, but Christian, from what she could tell, was perfect. Delilah was not
perfect. “I—”
“It would please me very
much.”
Well, shit. She nodded
and he stood so she could ease out of the chair. Although her breasts were
exposed, her A-line dress still hung from her hips to just below her knees. She
unhooked the bra pressed to her waist and dropped it to the floor. Reaching for
the zipper of her dress, she paused. “Promise to be nice.”
He was sitting in the
chair she had vacated. He nodded.
The soft buzz of the
zipper’s teeth coming apart had her nipples tightening and her insides
clenching. The fabric loosened and she let it fall to the floor. Her eyes
squeezed tightly shut as she stood before him in nothing but her thong, Mary
Janes, and her painted skin.