Dangerously Inked (2 page)

“Not yet,” he said. She raised an eyebrow, but he just smiled. “What else, pretty girl?”

“I’m not into the rough body play—punching, kicking, deep muscle impact. I don’t see the point. There are other ways to cause pain. Better ways. No opening my skin over my tattoos—I won’t risk my ink. No age play. And no humiliation, verbal or otherwise. No being left in a corner for hours to contemplate the floor on my knees. I hate that sort of thing.”

“You have a tendency to word things strongly, do you know that?”

“Yes.”

“Yes what, Roison?”

She melted. Damn it. “Yes, Sir.”

He smiled, let her hand go. “Let’s talk about what you 
do
 like. Mick mentioned canes, one of my favorites. I’d use the narrower canes on you, you’re such a tiny thing.”

“I can take it,” she protested.

“Don’t tell me that out of pride,” he warned.

“It’s not pride. I’m a heavy pain bottom. I’ve been doing this my entire adult life. Mick would never have handed me to you if that weren’t true.”

“Good point. But I may choose to use the smaller ones on you just because I 
choose
 to.” He leaned in even closer, bending down to her height so he could look her right in the eye. She couldn’t help the trembling shudder that went through her, half good, half frightening. “Do you understand me, Roisin?” he asked.

“I…yes, Sir.”

He sat back, leaning into the pillows, the muscles in his shoulder flexing as he laid his arm across the back of the sofa. “What about knife play?”

She bit her lip. “Maybe. No blood.”

“Not a problem. Is there anything else you’d like to tell me? Emotional triggers?”

Her head was spinning. There should be more, she knew. She’d done this dozens of times. Why couldn’t she seem to think straight?

She shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

“Well, there are a few things I’m going to tell you. I’m a sadist. I like to hurt pretty girls like yourself. But I also enjoy sensual touch, and that often leads to sex. Is that an issue for you? Sexual contact? Going in one of the back rooms I’m told they have here for more intimate play?”

Her breath hitched, a delicious buzzing beginning between her thighs. Oh, hell—it had been there since the moment she saw him. But now it was an insistent hum, making her wet. For 
him.

She raised her chin once more, locking her gaze with his as she ground her jaw. She wasn’t even sure why she was angry. Maybe she was angry with herself. For wanting it—
him
—too much. “No, that’s not a problem. 
Sir
.”

He reached for her and stroked one finger over her jaw, then down the side of her neck, over her collarbone. Her nipples were so damn hard she thought they’d burst the tape.

He was watching her—tuned into her every breath, she knew, every beat of the pulse at her throat, in the way a really good Dom did. She suspected this man was very, very good.

“Time to celebrate the New Year, then, pretty girl. With pain. With pleasure.” He gripped her chin in his strong fingers, forcing her gaze to stay on his. Forcing her to understand that he was the one in charge. Inarguably. Utterly. He said quietly, “Do not forget to call me ‘Sir’. Do not forget that you may not do so in any way other than out of respect. And Roisin? Do not forget that tonight you belong to me.”

The fight was going out of her—so fast it was dazing her. She wanted more than anything at that moment to belong to him. It shocked her to the core. Everything about him did.

If she could just get past this—the deep shock at her response to him—and give in to what she knew could be an incredible night of play, it was going to be a very happy New Year, indeed.

He took her by the hand and helped her to her feet, the gentlemanly gesture one she loved. Even though she expected this kind of care from a good Dominant, it was at least part of what was making her head sink quickly into subspace. But she couldn’t really understand why it was happening so damn fast, or how. Something about this man…It scared her, but the fear was definitely making things hotter.

As if the gorgeous, hulking Titan made of solid muscle and oozing charm, damn it, weren’t enough.

He led her to one of the Persian rugs beneath a hanging spreader bar and set his bag down, then settled his large hands at her waist.

“Look at me, Roisin,” he said so quietly she could barely hear him above the trance-like music.

It’s really beginning now.

“Good girl,” he said as she met his gleaming blue gaze. He leaned down until she could smell the ocean scent of his skin once more—fresh and clean with the tiniest hint of salt. “I’m going to hurt you, pretty girl. For one last time, do I have your consent?”

Oh, yes…

“Speak, Roison,” he said, his tone rough.

“Yes, Sir. You have my consent.”

He used one hand to stroke the hair from her cheek, while with the other he dug into the soft flesh at her waist hard enough to make her wince. Silently he explored her body, always one hand tender, one hand hard and hurting. He stroked her collarbone while he pinched the top of her thigh. He smoothed his palm down her side while with the other he pressed hard into the flesh in the center of her chest—pressure point work that hurt like mad, made her sink into that submissive space, bypassing much of her inner struggle to give in. She took a breath, tried to convert the pain, swayed a little.

“I have you,” he said. “Look at me, sweetheart.”

She raised her gaze to his once more, and he captured her with a look as he took both breasts in his hands and squeezed.

She gasped, but managed not to blink.

He smiled. “Good girl, oh yeah.”

He moved his hands lower to cup her buttocks, his fingers digging in. She pulled in a sharp breath.

“It’s only going to get worse,” he told her.

“Yes…”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, please, Sir,” she said, even as her brain screamed ‘no!’.

“Ah, I’m going to like you.”

She smiled. He smiled back. He was wickedly pleased, she could see on his face. She
wanted
 to please…and still wanted to fight it. But the need to please was winning.

“Stay right here,” he told her.

He backed away, giving her one last look before going to the big rack of chains against one wall of the club. He piled the heavy lengths of chain over his massive shoulder, so many she didn’t know how even a man of his size could hold it all, then he turned back to her. Her heart was pounding.

“You do like chain?” he asked, humor on his face. But panic was welling inside her.

“Don’t,” she said, the word coming out before she knew she was going to say it. She couldn’t help it, suddenly.

He raised a pale brow. “What was that?”

Her jaw was so damn tight it hurt. “Don’t do it. Don’t make me into a piece of wall art, like all those slaves. I won’t do it. I’m no slave girl.”

He was quiet while he laid the chain out on the floor. Had she fucked this up? Was he going to end the scene before they’d even really started? Find some other, more compliant woman for the night? Why did she care so damn much?

Finn straightened up and watched her for several moments, trying to sort out where she was at. Her sapphire eyes were big and round, blazing and laced with fear at the same time. Beautiful. Intriguing—the beauty and the fear, the anger he saw simmering beneath the surface.

“Mick told me as much. So did you. Do you think I’d violate the terms of negotiations?”

“I…no.”

He looked at her carefully, searching her face. “Are we still good? Or are you safe-wording, ending the scene?”

“No. I’m not safe wording. I want to continue.”

There was a stubborn set to her pixie-like jaw even as she said it. He liked that about her—watching the struggle. She would be a challenge, as Mick had said. But he found he was enjoying it—that she wasn’t the type to simply fall at his feet and do his bidding. There was something, he sort of hated to admit, that made it more interesting to be faced with the challenge Roisin presented. That and her undeniable beauty.

Her breasts that were so damn round and perfect…Oh, that was a mystery to unravel—literally—if only he could get past the unspoken boundary of the tape on the nipples. What must they look like? Feel like? Taste like? But that knowledge would come later. What a delicious pleasure to have to wait, to hold that sense of anticipation in his hands as he touched her.

Meanwhile, he had the rest of her in front of him—every tiny, nearly naked inch—and he intended to use her very well.

He pulled his good padded leather suspension cuffs from his bag, nodded his chin, and she knew to hold her wrists out for him while he buckled them on, adjusted them to her birdlike bones, checked for circulation. And as soon as he had her cuffed, he could see a sheen over her eyes that signaled the first real level of subspace. Interesting how the cuffs took her down to that floating, dreamlike place.

Her pupils widened when he came back from his toy bag with another spreader bar and a pair of leather shackles. Very quickly he buckled the shackles around her ankles, adjusted them, pausing only to caress her slender ankles, her tiny feet with the toes painted a dark red, then clipped one ankle to each end of the spreader bar, forcing her legs wide apart.

He stood and leaned in close to her. She was panting a bit.

“You’re fighting it, aren’t you?” he asked, already knowing the answer. “I don’t mind. I rather like you being a little afraid of me, of the shackles, of your own helplessness. Of the things you crave. The things you are about to give yourself over to.”

“I’m not afraid. Of anything,” she said, her jaw tight, her eyes flashing sparks.

“Aren’t you? We’re all afraid of something, pretty girl. Even me.”

Too close to the truth. Why had he said that aloud?

But it 
was
 true. It was an intriguing mind fuck for them both, with him being so unused to playing with this kind of girl. Her struggle was incredibly hot. He had to ignore the pulsing in his cock as he watched her—those lovely breasts rising and falling, her pupils enormous.

“Let’s play with that fear, shall we?”

He moved in even closer and grasped her hair at the back of her head, right at the scalp, pulling fast, forcing her head back and elongating her lovely throat. At the same time he found a pressure point on the back of her knee and dug his fingers in.

“God damn it, that hurts!”

She started to strain against her bonds, but he released the pressure point and placed a soft kiss on her neck before releasing her to finish what he was doing.

“Cuffs feel alright?” he asked as he bent to pick up a length of chain.

“Yes. The damn cuffs are fine.”

“Yes, what, Roison?”

“Yes, Sir.” Stronger this time. Oh, she really was fighting it, and the kiss after the brutal hair-pulling had accomplished exactly what he wanted it to.

That and he hadn’t been able to resist her gorgeous, pale skin. She’d tasted like warm vanilla. He licked his lips. She was still there.

Fucking focus, mate.

“Mick warned me, but the attitude is going to have to go, sweetheart. I’m sure you know there will be consequences.”

“I’m sure I do,” she muttered. “
Sir.
”

He grinned to himself as he began to build a frame from the chain—hanging a length from the end of the spreader bar holding her wrists, leading it down to the bar to which her ankles were cuffed, using metal carabiner clips to hold it all in place. He did the same on the other side, the chains glinting in the colored lights as he worked.

He could see she was taking herself through some breathing exercises designed to calm herself.

Good girl.

Jesus, what a good girl…amazing girl, despite her bratiness. Or maybe because of it.

Focus.

He took another length of chain and wrapped it around her waist, using the carabiners to clip it tight and leading the ends to the hanging chains on either side of her body before clipping them there. It was more decorative than anything, but the weight of the chains was a kind of bondage in itself, he knew.

He came around to the front of her and tilted her chin in his hand, checked her eyes. She blinked at him with those heavy lashes. It made his dick hard. Even harder seeing the fire still in her eyes.

Have to have this girl later. Fucking have to.

“Still with me, sweetheart?”

“Yes. Still with you.”

“You are to tell me if you need a drink of water. If you panic. If the chains become too heavy. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Sir. I understand.”

“I’m going to flog you now.”

He felt the tension in her jaw melt away beneath his fingertips.

“Yes, please…”

Yes. Have to have her. But first…

He pulled one of his lighter leather floggers from his kit—it had narrow, square-cut tails and would sting nicely. He stood behind her, trying not to get distracted by her perfectly delectable ass, which was decorated with a pair of swallows, one at the top of each rounded cheek.

He began a slowly building rhythm on her upper back and shoulders to warm her up, moving from soft blows to harder ones, picking up the pace as he went.

She was quiet at first, even as the harder hits made her body bow a bit under the pressure. He let it build, eventually reaching a fast cadence, the leather making a hard slapping sound on her flesh and making a cross-hatch of pink welts on her pretty, pale flesh. He paused to smooth a hand over her heated skin. So soft. He listened for her breathing. It was a little faster now, but she remained silent. Still. Well, he’d take care of that. He pulled his arm back, held the tips of the tails in his other hand, then let it go like a slingshot.

She gasped.

He smiled. Did it again. And again. Soon she was dancing in her bonds—bonds he’d left enough room in so he could see her move. He loved this dance some bottoms did under the pain. When he felt she needed a moment to breathe, to deal with the pain and let the reactive flood of endorphins do their job, he stopped and hung the flogger over his shoulder, ran his hands over her body once more. Absolutely beautiful skin, so fair and fragile-looking. He heard a very soft moan from her as he stroked her back.