Dangerously Inked

 
Dedication

As always, to my dear fellow Smutketeers, R.G. Alexander and Robin L. Rotham, without whom I could never survive. Also, to my beta reader and friend, Dawn, who always comes through for me in a panicked pinch. To the amazing, magical city of New Orleans, for endless inspiration. And lastly to my puppy Voodoo, who provided comic relief when I was about to tear my hair out, as well as many cuddly naps in my lap. Love you all!

So this was The Bastille, New Orleans’ most infamous dungeon. Finn took a quick inventory of the small reception area. He’d never have guessed what the nondescript warehouse among a row of warehouses on Magazine Street hid inside. Even this small chamber was luxurious, done in a purely Bohemian style: red velvet drapes and Moroccan lamps surrounded an enormous, carved desk, two small settees covered in gold brocade were piled with embroidered pillows, and the air was sweet with incense, as exotic as the city itself. This place promised to be everything he’d heard it would be. Even as he showed his ID and paid his fee he could sense the anticipation on the other side of the door that led to into the dungeon, could feel the low beat of music reverberate through the old wood floor.

He felt at home right away.

Smiling to himself, he hefted his black leather toy bag onto his shoulder and passed through the inner door.

He blinked in the dim light. Shades of purple and red and gold cast a sensual gleam over everything, reflecting off the black lacquered walls of the enormous room that housed the main play area. It was filled with the all the traditional furnishings of kink: spanking benches, large wooden crosses and steel bondage frames, chains with spreader bars and cuffs dangling from the high ceiling. As he moved further into the space he saw the tall alcoves set into the walls here and there, where submissives stood on platforms, chained or bound by colorful rope, some gagged or blindfolded, their skin and hair coated in silver glitter that caught the light, making for sensual décor. And above him was a spectacular human chandelier of sorts—four women in chains hung face down, turning slowly on a heavy-duty hard point mounted in the ceiling, all of them glittering like those in the alcoves. Beautiful. A little insane. He loved it.

“Finn, you bastard, you made it!”

His friend Mick clapped him on the back and drew him into the room.

“Of course I did. It’s fucking New Year’s Eve. Why would I miss it?” He pulled Mick into a bear hug, squeezing hard enough that his friend took in a gasping breath.

“You God damn Aussie bear. If you break me Allie will have words with you.”

Finn laughed as he released him. “Where is your girl, by the way?”

“She’s in the changing room, getting ready.”

“Send her my best in case I’m too busy to say hello.”

“We weren’t sure you could tear yourself away from all the fawning girls at your Atlanta club,” Mick said, grinning as he rolled his shoulders. “But I’m glad you showed up. We have business to discuss later. Not tonight, but later.”

“I’ll be glad enough to get to it after the evening is over—no worries, mate. You did say you had someone set up for me for tonight?”

“I wouldn’t let you down, would I?”

“Never,” Finn agreed. Mick was one of his few close, trusted friends. Apart from Kenji…but he wasn’t going to think about Ken tonight. No, tonight he would celebrate the New Year the right way—a night of depravity with a beautiful girl. “So? Tell me. And tell me why only the one?”

Mick laughed. “You and your harems. But trust me, this one is all you’ll need. She’s small, but she has crazy stamina. She’ll keep you occupied all night.”

“We’ll see about that, won’t we?”

“Finn?” Mick’s tone grew more serious. “She’s not one of your usual subbie girls. She won’t go down without a fight, so don’t expect it of her. But when she does…well, you’ll see.”

Finn raised an eyebrow. “I must admit I’m intrigued.”

“Come on and I’ll make the introductions.”

Mick led him past the couples and groups already utilizing the play space, and he breathed in the familiar scent of leather, took in the low cries and moans beneath the ambient music. These places really were home to him, where he felt most alive. That familiar tingle was just beginning, a small, electric thrill running just under his skin. Now to see this girl his friend had spoken so highly of. Surely she couldn’t be that good…

“Finn, meet Roison.”

He said it as ‘Rosheen’, a good Irish name if he’d ever heard one.

He paused. Blinked. She was fucking beautiful, alright. Beyond beautiful. Tiny thing, with one of those waif-like bodies, except that her breasts were full and round, almost too large for her delicate tattoo-covered frame.

The ink was spectacular. In a roving glance, he took it in—a mantle of roses and thorns around her shoulders and collarbones, meeting in the center with a darkly, ornate cross. On one arm was a flight of doves crossing over a life-size set of rosary beads—all of it black and gray work with touches of red on the beads. A lot of finely-done script over her ribcage on one side. Amazing ink on an amazing body.

Amazing girl…

His gaze went to her gorgeous, full breasts. Her nipples were covered with two perfect ‘X’s’ done in black electrical tape, indicating a boundary, the only thing she wore other than a black lace thong. Well, he’d see about that. After he looked at her face.

Fuuuuck.

The only other word that came to mind was ‘exquisite’. Not a word he thought to use often, but hell, nothing else would do. Heart-shaped, he thought it was called, with big blue eyes—like sapphires, they were, the lashes long and dark beneath perfectly arched black brows. Her hair was black with streaks of blue running through it, falling in waves around her bare shoulders. But it was her mouth—a lush slash of red—that really got him. Made him want to kiss the lipstick off her, to suck in the soft flesh.

He went hard.

Oh, yeah, that was a good sign. Maybe Mick was right about her, after all. Because he could fucking just 
look
 at her all night.

Except that he had every intention of doing more. A lot more.

Mick elbowed him. “Say hello, Finn.”

He pulled himself back together in a flash. “Hallo, little beauty.”

Her chin came up a few notches and her nostrils flared. Her blue eyes were on fire.

Interesting.

He reached out and pulled her hand into his, felt a slight tug as if she might pull away. He gripped tighter, watching for her response. Oh yeah, there it was—that moment of resistance before she gave way. And Christ, her skin was soft as a baby’s.

“Roisin,” Mick prompted.

She looked up at him through a fringe of sooty lashes. A warm pit formed somewhere in his gut. Damn it if she couldn’t take him down with a few bats of those lashes.

“Hello, Finn, Sir.” A husky voice, deeper than he’d have expected from such a tiny woman.

He chuckled. “So it’s to be ‘Sir’, is it? Did my friend Mick tell you to call me that?”

“He did, Sir.”

He turned to Mick. “Right enough. So, what else did you two discuss, my friend?”

“The usual pre-negotiations,” Mick said. “She knows you’re vetted by me. You know 
she’s
vetted by me. I know you two have enough kink interests in common to keep you happy for the evening.”

Without releasing her tiny hand or taking his gaze from hers, Finn asked Mick, “And what might some of those interests be?”

“The pain and pleasure dynamic. Restraint. Specifically, leather or metal cuffs and shackles, chains—I know neither of you are much into rope, which always disappoints me greatly. You both love the stingy impact toys. Square-cut floggers. Canes. And whips, of course.”

He saw her plush, red lip tremble at that. Oh, this was going to be good.

“Pinchy?” Finn asked, directing the question to her.

Her brows raised a fraction of an inch, but he caught her surprise. She’d expected Mick to handle the negotiations, which was standard procedure—to a point. But he was ready to see how communication between the two of them went without Mick there to chime in.

“Yes, Sir.”

“Yes, what?”

She paused, a small smile spreading, changing her expression completely. “Yes, please, Sir.”

Why did that soft, gravelly voice go through him like gunfire? Pelting him with small, stinging stabs of desire that made him clench and unclench his fists just to keep himself from throwing her up against a wall, taking those luscious breasts in his hands, and kissing her until she couldn’t breathe.

Fuck. He was the one who couldn’t breathe.

He released her hand. 
Had
 to.

Pull your shit together, mate.

Rosie could feel her breath hitching in her chest already, simply knowing this was the man who would play her tonight. His very size was daunting in the most delicious way—he must have stood a good six-foot-seven—with the heavily muscled shoulders of a linebacker, which she could see quite well since he wore only a leather vest with his finely fitted black jeans. His arms were just as muscled, and sleeved in Maori tattoo work. She let her gaze travel up to meet his, eyes that were an intense, focused blue—as blue as her own. Too intense. She had to look away, biting her lip as she did it. 
No one
 intimidated her. But this man…

Jesus.

“Roisin.”

It was his voice this time, not her friend Mick’s. She loved the Australian accent. An accent always did her in.

This man was going to do her in—she knew that much right away. What she didn’t know was what he intended to do to her tonight.

She shivered as she glanced down at his big hands, the strong forearms covered in gorgeous ink and corded with muscle.

“Look at me,” he demanded quietly, in the way a true Dominant knew to do.

She obeyed, caught a glimpse of his spiked, white-blond hair, his mouth which was full and lush against his strong, masculine features—the square chin and jawline, the high, carved cheekbones.

Beautiful man.

“Yes, Sir?”

“We’re going to go sit and talk for a bit before we get started. Come with me now.”

“You’re in good hands,” Mick assured her.

She nodded. She knew Mick and Allie would never have set up this play date if that weren’t absolutely true.

Finn led her across the main floor to one of the velvet-covered sofas half-draped in red silk curtains hanging from the ceiling. He sat, and she waited, trying hard to be compliant, something that never came easy for her, and yet she yearned to do it.

Especially for him.

What is wrong with you?

She couldn’t figure it out. Couldn’t calm the hammering of her heart. The tightening of her nipples.

“Sit,” he said, gesturing to the sofa next to him. With a relieved sigh, she perched on the edge of the couch. If he’d told her to kneel on the floor she thought she’d have gone right down. The idea caused a small panic in her.

“You seem nervous,” he said, more an observation than a question.

“I…yes.”

“Tell me what that’s about.”

She shook her head mutely.

He leaned in, pulling her closer by the hand. God, he smelled good. Like the ocean. And his enormous hand was warm on hers, the fingers grasping tightly. Command there.

Oh, yes.

“We are going to have to have a chat before we get started, Roisin,” he said, his low voice some strange combination of a scold and a caress, bringing her gaze to his mouth. He had perfect, strong white teeth. Perfect for biting. She wanted to run her tongue over them. “Don’t make us sit here all night. It’s New Year’s Eve. I intend to have some revelry.”

She blinked up at him. He was grinning at her. She let her tight shoulders drop a bit.

“I don’t really know why I’m nervous.”

“Is it being set up to play with a stranger?”

“No. I’ve done it many times.”

“Then what?”

She almost couldn’t help from smiling. “Don’t be insulted, but I think it’s…you.”

He laughed then, a loud chuckle. “Good on you, girl. I like that kind of honesty. Alright now, let’s have some more honest talk about what could happen here tonight. My mate Mick got us started, but there’s always more to this kind of story, isn’t there?”

“Always,” she agreed with a smile, feeling more herself. Except that his strong white teeth were forcing her to look at his strong, beautiful mouth. His lips were the color of summer cherries.

A strangely poetic thought about a man’s lips. Except it was true.

Don’t be ridiculous.

“Let’s talk about your hard limits,” he said. Demanded.

She sat up straighter. “No gags. I don’t like them. They’re not pretty.”

He caressed the back of her hand with a thumb, his touch silky and shocking all at once, making her shiver.

Oh, yes. Want him.

“Hmm. I’ll have to just let you scream then,” he said.

Her chin came up. Not that she didn’t want to scream for him, this giant of a man. But the idea made her rebel. “Maybe. I also won’t be blindfolded.”