Dangerously Inked (8 page)

“The beignets are the best part,” she told him. “Pure heaven on your tongue.”

He’d already had heaven on his tongue kissing her. But he wasn’t about to say it.

They walked the few blocks to Café du Monde, and found the last available table on the awning-covered patio just as it started to rain. The waiter brought them beignets and coffee, and she told him to top his cup with milk, as she did.

“You were right. Fucking heaven, both the pastry and the coffee. I have to come here six times a day now. It’ll be all your fault when I put on fifty pounds this month.”

“I’ll accept the blame. This place is too good to ignore.” She wiped the powdered sugar from the beignets on her napkin and leaned toward him, elbows on the table holding her chin in her hands. “So, where are you from in Australia?”

“Melbourne. But I’ve been in the U.S. a long time.”

“I assumed so, since your accent is so light. What brought you here?”

He shook his head, thought he would avoid the question, as he usually did. But it was Kenji’s secrets, his acute sense of privacy, that had led to his lonely end—and wasn’t he trying to learn from seeing that? It had been a changing moment for him, that sad funeral. So, things had to change. He may as well start with this.

He cleared his throat. “I married an American girl, Olivia. I was young, only twenty-four. Stupid of me. It didn’t last long—about a year and a half.”

“But you didn’t go home after?” she asked.

He nodded his chin. “Your ghosts? Well, I guess you could say I have my own in Australia. There was a reason I was so eager to get out even though I knew I didn’t really love her.”

He’d never admitted anything so true to anyone. It made his chest ache.

“I’m sorry,” she said, reaching to cover his big hand with hers, so small and delicate. “Tell me about your ghosts, Finn.”

The knot in his chest pulled tighter. He shook his head. “Maybe another time. Why don’t you tell me about yours?”

She let out a short, barking laugh. “What makes you think I have any?”

“Don’t we all?”

“Hmm. Yes. But mine are…well, no one’s died. Thank God.” She took a sip of her coffee, wiped her mouth again very carefully. He loved the way she looked with her scarlet mouth. Even without her lip gloss her lips were a lovely, deep red. “So…” she stopped again, folded her napkin in half on the table, then in half again. “I guess you could say my family is not very supportive of me. It’s almost as if my parents and my sister are cut from a different cloth, you know what I mean?”

He nodded, and she went on.

“Family for me was always Christie. We’ve just always been close, ever since we were kids. And there was my uncle, Henry Lee, my mother’s brother. He owned the shop for years, taught me to tattoo at sixteen so I didn’t put any more crap ink on eager teenage boys. He understood me. That I needed to tattoo. That it was almost a sort of redemption for me.”

“Redemption for what?”

When she looked up there was fire in her eyes. “Do you really want to know?”

“Yeah.” And he did. It was almost as if this conversation, the two of them sitting at this table at nearly midnight, was some sort of sacred space. Just the two of them insulated from the world, the rain coming down with a soft patter on the awning overhead.

“Okay. Okay.” She lowered her eyes, smoothing her napkin once more. When she looked up, her gaze was dark. “I really was a good Catholic girl, went to Catholic school. Well, I was always a bit of a rebel, but I had faith, you know? Anyway…there was this substitute teacher one semester. I was fifteen, but a girl knows when she’s being undressed by a man’s eyes. It wasn’t long before the bastard tried it with his hands.”

“What? Bastard,” Finn agreed, his heart wrenching. He wanted to kill someone. He might have, had the fucking wanker been within reach.

“He didn’t get very far. But it left me…pissed off. I’d always drawn. It was a kind of escape for me, a way to express myself growing up, and at that point I needed it. And Henry Lee, he caught me tattooing some idiot guy in the parking lot at the school with a machine I’d stolen from him. God, he was mad. But he realized I was going to do it with or without him. He started mentoring me right then. Didn’t tell my parents, of course. They would have had a stroke. And that was redemption, too, that he trusted me to have this secret, just the two of us. I should say three of us, since Christie was my biggest repeat customer while I was learning. Tattooing has been the best thing in the world for me. I know this kind of thing has happened to a lot of girls. I don’t mean to sound pathetic, because I’m not. My art has been my way of dealing with it.”

Finn shook his head. “I get it. I do.”

She tilted her head, smiled a little, though he could still see the darkness in her eyes. “I think you do.”

He wanted to kiss her again. Needed to.

“Come on, Roisin. Let’s get out of here.”

She just nodded and pulled her coat on as she got to her feet.

Together they moved through the crowded tables and onto the rainy sidewalk. Neither of them mentioned that they were getting wet as they walked. He had his arm around her small waist, pulled close to his body, and that was all that seemed to matter.

“Back to the shop?” he asked. “Or shall I walk you home like the gentleman I’m not?”

She laughed. “I already know you’re not a gentleman, Finn. Walk me home, anyway?”

She batted her lashes, and in the lamplight he could see the rain caught on the tips. Oh, the things he wanted to do to her. With her.

“Home it is.”

By the time they reached her apartment in the old building on Conti Street, they were both soaked and Rosie was shivering. Her hands shook as she tried to get the key in the old lock on the iron gate. She didn’t want to admit even to herself that the shaking wasn’t just because she was wet and cold. Finn took the keys from her, unlocked the gate and held it open while he ushered her inside and up the stairs, his hand on the small of her back reassuring, solid. Authoritative even in that simple gesture. He unlocked the deadbolt on her apartment door and pushed it open.

She dropped her purse on the dilapidated antique velvet chaise she’d bought at a swap meet and pushed her damp hair from her face. “I haven’t been rained on like that in a while. Do you want me to take your coat?”

He stepped closer, his gaze burning into hers. “Roisin.”

“What?”

He only stared at her, silent as a statue. And as he did, she began to get it. Her mind sank down and down, her body humming to life, yet going strangely numb at the same time.

After several moments he said again, his tone low, “Roisin.”

“Yes, Sir?” She knew she’d gotten it right that time.

“Take off your clothes.”

She didn’t take her gaze from his, blue fire locked to scorching blue heat as she tore her wet coat off and dropped it on the floor. He did the same. Her tee shirt came next, and as she slipped it over her head he followed suit, revealing the tight six-pack of abs, the beautifully muscled chest covered with the ink she herself had put there, which was incredibly hot to her. And his shoulders and arms…big enough to crush her, every inch of delicious muscle covered in more stunning ink.

She kicked off her flat boots and her hands trembled as she unbuttoned her jeans and peeled them off. As she went to straighten her gaze traveled over his strong, bare thighs. She had to catch a gasping breath when she reached the black boxer-briefs and the hard bulge she saw there.

She swallowed.

He stepped closer, ran a finger under one red satin bra strap, grazing the bare skin of her shoulder.

“Very nice. But this will have to come off, too.”

She nodded, already practically drowning in subspace.

With clever fingers, he undid the clasp at the front, and her breasts were freed, heavy and aching with need.

Please touch me.

He reached out and brushed the tip of one nipple with his fingertips. “So pretty. So dark and red. Like your lips. Makes me want to kiss you all over.”

He moved in, and in a flash he’d wrapped one big arm around her and yanked her in tight. He smelled like rain and the ocean, like wet, warm flesh. She moaned softly.

“Tell me,” he demanded in an urgent whisper. “Do you remember what it was like when I kissed you everywhere the other night at the club? When I tasted your skin? Dragged my tongue over your clit? You were so swollen it was like licking a ripe cherry. Are you that ready for me now?”

“God, yes.”

“Let’s find out.”

He bent and tore her red panties down over her legs, leaving her naked. He stepped back.

“You are bloody gorgeous, girl. Your breasts are as perfect a pair as I’ve ever seen. And your tight little body…flawless. I love to see my teeth marks on you. Makes my cock so damn hard.”

He lowered a hand and stroked himself. She swallowed. Shivered.

He said quietly, “Do you want to touch me, Roisin?”

“Yes. Please, Sir.”

“Then get down on your knees, pretty girl.”

She went right down, knelt on the old Persian rug in front of him, her eyes level with the hard ridge of his cock.

“Take it out,” he said.

She drew the boxer-briefs down and off, his thick cock inches from her face. Just looking at it made her want to have it inside her. But she understood that would not be allowed. Yet.

Her sex squeezed. Her mind emptied. She was exactly where she needed to be.

“Touch me,” he commanded.

She smiled a little as she feathered her fingers over the tip of his cock, the skin flushed, his flesh gorgeously swollen. Her pulsing clit was just as needy, but it was his turn.

She leaned in and breathed on the sensitive head, looked up at him when he moaned.

“Yeah, that’s it. Take it in your mouth and keep your eyes on mine.”

She wrapped her fingers around the heavy shaft, guiding the tip to her mouth, and licked.

“Ah, that’s brilliant,” he murmured, his eyes going dark, gleaming with desire.

She licked again, and again, lapping at the head, then sucked it into her mouth.

“Ah, fuck…”

His hips arched, pressing his big cock down her throat. She took it until her eyes watered, her gaze still locked on his, seeing him watching her, the desire blue flame in his eyes, so erotic it stole her breath. He tasted like sin and flesh and 
him
. She’d always loved giving head, but with him it felt like service even as it flooded her with a sense of power. She dipped her head, and swallowed as much of him as she could.

“Ah, Christ…fuck!”

He picked her up and flung her roughly onto the big Bohemian-style, silk-covered bed that served as her couch. He pushed her facedown into the pile of embroidered pillows, pulled her hips up and began to spank her right away. His big hands were a hard, thudding sting on her flesh. She breathed in the pain, breathed in his scent, and took it, her cheek pressed into the mattress. He smacked her harder, and harder still, until she began to squirm, to moan, only vaguely aware of the sound of his harsh breathing. She was soaking wet, needing to see him, to feel him, the pain bringing pleasure in sharp, electric jolts.

“Finn,” she gasped between smacks. “Please…”

“Please what? Please, this?”

He thrust his fingers inside her, and she came, her body shaking as pleasure roared through her like the thundering ocean that was 
him
. He kept pumping into her as waves of her climax shuddered through her.

She was still trembling when he turned her onto her back, his body over hers. His hand went to her throat, tightening just enough that she felt his command down to her bones. His brows were drawn together over his beautiful blue eyes, their expression one of intense concentration. His mouth was loose and lush. Kissable.

Please…

“Fuck, Roisin. You are too beautiful. I can’t believe the way you submit to me. So fast. So thoroughly. Just going loose like this… Makes me want to do every dirty thing to you I’ve ever imagined.”

“Yes, do it,” she murmured, her mind dazed with her orgasm, with her submission. “Sir…”

He shook his head, some emotion flashing over his handsome features. “Makes me want to just…kiss you…”

“Oh…yes, please, Sir.”

He shook his head once more and his voice dropped even lower. “None of that now. No more ‘Sir’. Not now, Rosie.”

Something in her chest went tight. No, that wasn’t it. Something that had been held tight went lax, as if it had been unshackled. She couldn’t figure it out right now. All she knew was an absolute sense of relief that he wanted to kiss her. It was exactly what she needed.

He held her chin in his hand, a firm hold full of authority. Then he let his fingers slip away as he bent to touch his lips to hers, so gently she could barely believe it was happening.

Not with Finn. Not to her. But it was—gentle and lovely as he kissed her softly, his lips brushing, brushing, then opening hers to slip his tongue in like silk.

He kissed her just like that—sweetly, tenderly—until the desire still flooding her body shifted, went softer. Until something in her chest shifted, opened up, blossomed.

What is this?

But it was too good to question. Too good to be afraid of.

And as Finn held her, kissed her breathless, and finally slipped into her body, they made love while the rain fell outside, the only music they needed, the only thing they needed other than each other.

***

Finn ground his teeth and 
pushed
.

“Gonna break that chest press, Finn,” Mick said.

“Fuck you. Let’s see you lift this much weight.”

“No thanks. I’d like to keep my limbs intact. Anyway, you’re twice my size, Hulk.”

Finn slid the bar into place and sat up, wiping his brow with a towel. The gym was kept cool but he’d been pressing as much weight as he could handle for an hour already, and he’d worked up a good sweat. “Not hardly, mate.”

“Close enough. So, tell me again why you missed our run yesterday morning? Oh yeah, that’s right. You never did tell me.”