Chapter 2
two
MAC
There she is, standing behind a spotlessly white counter in her tattoo parlor.
Her blue dreadlocks shine like jewels, and she’s got that cocky grin stretching her glossy lips.
What a fucking knockout, even if she is ten years too young for me and the exact kind of smart-assed masochist I try to avoid.
Her smile doesn’t reach her eyes, though. Those sad, sad eyes. They reach down into my gut and twist. I’ve spoken to her for less than ten minutes, but I’d already do almost anything to put a smile in those eyes.
After she and Emily disappeared to shower yesterday, I asked Logan for the brief on her.
He wouldn’t tell me much, only that she’s going through a bad time, which is why she’s staying with them.
Logan’s submissive can’t leave anything alone that’s hurting.
Brenna may not know it yet, but she’s been adopted until she’s through her rough patch.
I shrug out of my cashmere pea-coat and set it on the counter. Have I dressed to impress? Maybe a little. She saw me at my worst yesterday: unwashed, unshaven, in old sweats, limping after a run. That’s not how I want this girl to see me.
Her eyes drift up over my hand-knit, Aran sweater and settle on my eyes. She gives lots of eye-contact. Unusual in a submissive. Bold girl. But I like it.
I set the mermaid design that Emily gave me on the counter next to my coat. “Nice to see you again, Brenna.”
“You, too, Mac. I see Emily gave you the picture. I’m guessing you’re the friend with the bad mermaid.”
I nod.
“How bad is it?” She leans over the counter, which gives an illusion of intimacy in the open plan shop and waggles her eyebrows at me. “Tell the doctor.”
“Really, really bad,” I admit. “I’m embarrassed to show it to you. You’re not going to be impressed.”
She holds up her hands and wiggles her fingers at me. Slender wrists. I want to wrap them in cuffs and rope. And maybe dip those long fingers in latex. That’s not a kink I’ve explored before, but I never ignore an idea that turns me on.
“I’ve seen it all,” she says. “Follow me and I’ll take a look.”
She leads me to a cubicle with a reclining chair, a rolling table and a small sink. Looks like any other tattoo station I’ve seen, but if the design Emily gave me is any indication, Brenna creates magic in this small space.
She pulls a curtain to close off the cubicle. “Whip it out.”
I wink at her before I reach back over my head and pull off the sweater. “Whipping’s usually my line.”
“So I’ve heard,” she says.
“You asked about me?”
“Would I?”
I catch her chin between my thumb and forefinger and tip her face up until her brown eyes meet mine. “Yes, you would, bold girl.”
She smiles, and doesn’t pull away from my hold, and there is definitely a spark in those sad eyes now. “You think I’m bold?”
“I know you are.” I draw her toward me so I can whisper, since I’m not sure how open she is about her kink at work. “When can I have that rain check?”
She licks her lower lip. “I’m closing tonight and tomorrow night. We stay open until ten.”
“I don’t turn into a pumpkin. Ten is fine. But I’d like to take you to dinner before we scene. When do you eat?”
“When I’m working, I just grab a sandwich. But I don’t start until three tomorrow, so we could do lunch.”
“Lunch it is. I’ll text you the time and place.”
I want to find somewhere we can talk, really talk, without vanilla ears listening.
Logan will probably know somewhere. And if he doesn’t, Emily will probably volunteer their place, which is only about six blocks from Brenna’s shop.
Emily will probably volunteer to cater, too.
That baby girl is a gift that just keeps on giving.
“You don’t have my number,” she says, with another little flick of her pink tongue over her lower lip. Two lip-licks and she’s got my dick standing at attention.
“Yes, I do. You’re not the only one who asked.”
Her eyes sheen, and she finally lowers them. She tugs her chin away. “Let’s look at this ink.”
I really am embarrassed by it. I’ve got some good tattoos.
A portrait of my daughter as a baby on my left arm that captures her better than any picture.
The Navy motto and seal down my left thigh that’s still sharp a decade on.
But the mermaid is terrible. I got it thirty years ago, the night before I shipped out.
I was drunk and I think the tattoo artist might have been, too.
It’s faded and the lines have warped as my skin has stretched and contracted over the years.
The only saving grace is that it’s on my back so I don’t have to look at it.
She circles around behind me and I feel her fingertips, firm and warm on my skin. Fuck, I want those fingers on my cock.
“You’re right. This is terrible.”
“I know. I’ve been living with it for thirty years.”
She laughs, low and throaty, a sound that shoots straight to my balls. “I’m not sure what’s worse. Your awful judgment in getting it in the first place or keeping it for thirty years.”
“It was a badge of honor. Worst tattoo in the company. But now that I’m out, I’ve got to do something about it.”
I hear the soft click of a smart phone.
“Please tell me you’re not taking pictures for a wall of shame?”
Another low laugh. “No, a picture for reference helps when I’m sketching. How long have you been out?”
“Three months.”
“What brought you to the City?” More clicking. “You don’t sound like a native.”
“I’m a native of nowhere. Citizen of the world.
” At her snort, I chuckle. “I’m second-generation Navy.
I grew up all over, wherever Pops was stationed.
I had a place in Florida for a while, but I never could stand the summers down there.
Naomi’s at school in Queens. Logan’s close by—” I trail off.
I don’t want her to think I’m rootless, even though I am.
“Seemed like a good place to settle. What about you?”
“Like you, citizen of the world.” She moves back around my body. The light’s gone out of her eyes. This is a source of sadness.
I don’t make any jokes and I don’t ask why. Not yet.
“Strangest place you ever lived?”
“Lake Placid. It’s upstate. It was like living on the moon. Except that living on the moon might have been more fun.”
I grin at her. “I wouldn’t mind living on the moon. Can’t be any stranger than living in a sub for six months. So, any chance of fixing my grotesque lapse in judgment?”
The spark returns. “No, nothing I can do about your lack of judgment. But I can fix your tattoo. I’ll do some sketches and bring them to lunch.
You can tell me what you like and what you don’t, and I’ll do a final design and text it to you for approval.
It’ll probably take three or four hours, so we can do two sessions if pain’s a problem. ”
“Pain is never a problem,” I tell her, catching her chin in my hand again, just to feel the softness of her skin under my fingers. “Before I go, show me your favorite tattoo.”
“I like the portrait on your arm the best. Great shading.”
“On you, bold girl.”
The spark softens to a glow. Such a warm glow. A man could bask in that glow and never feel the nip of cold in his bones again.
“It’s on my hip. I’d need to take my pants off.”
“I’m good with that.”
She unbuttons and unzips the dark red leathers she’s wearing and shimmies them down over her sleek hips. Underneath are black, satin panties that tie at each hip with little bow. I want to pull them off with my teeth and lick every inch they’re covering.
Her hip piece is big, covering the whole of her hip and right ass cheek. It’s eye-popping. Pale lilies and roses on heavily inked black and gray scrollwork. There are eyes and numbers worked into the scrolls.
“What are the numbers?”
“Dates,” she says.
She doesn’t explain further, and I don’t press. I’ll explore these hints she’s given me when we’ve built more trust.
“It’s beautiful.”
“Thanks.” She begins to pull up her pants, but I stop her with my fingers on her wrist.
“Can I touch it?”
She nods and I slide my palm over her skin until I feel the ridges the tattoo conceals.
“Surgical?” I ask.
“Uh-huh. Three ops before they told me I’d reached the ‘end point’ of what they could do to repair my hip.”
“What happened?”
“Not something I talk about.”
I file that away for later.
“Surgeons told me the same thing,” I tell her, to create a little more connection between us.
“Four ops on my knee and they said there was nothing more they could do. There’s more scar tissue in there than cartilage.
It’s why I left the service. I wasn’t up to deployment anymore and the idea of a desk job. ” I shake my head. “Not for me.”
“Maybe I should tattoo your knee,” she says wryly.
“If I like your design for the mermaid, I might be up for that.”
She makes a little snorting noise. “Anything’s better than the flounder with boobs on your back.”
“Are you shaming my tattoo?”
“Absolutely.”
“Okay-okay, I agree with you. What’s your favorite food?”
She purses her glossy lips. “Anything spicy. Thai, Chinese, African, Caribbean.”
“The hotter the better, huh, bold girl?” I capture her chin again. “Give me your panties.”
Her pupils expand until her irises are just a thin brown rim. A man could drown in those eyes.
“I’m at work,” she whispers.
“That’s why I’m taking your panties instead of your bra. Take them off.”
She only hesitates a moment before her hands drop to her hips and her fingers tug at the bows.
“You’ll go commando until I give you these back,” I tell her quietly, as I watch her untie her panties. “You may not touch yourself except to clean until after our scene tomorrow.”
“I don’t really do the twenty-four-seven thing,” she whispers.
I haven’t. Not in a long time. Not since Amy. But with this girl, I feel the itch for that level of control. The rightness of it settles in my gut. Something to work towards.