DeeperThanInk (11 page)

Becca knew he was staring at her ass. Or maybe he was
looking at her straining thighs. He shifted his knees and pushed them wider
until she was forced onto her toes.

“Disobedience demands punishment.”

She swallowed hard. Not knowing his definition of
“punishment” heightened her arousal.

“Clasp your arms in front of you and look straight ahead.”

She had barely obeyed when his hands gripped her waist. He
rotated his thumbs inward and slowly massaged the pair of sea-foam-green
Old-World dolphins that were inked over the muscles just above her glutes. His
thumbs rose upward, touched the center of her spine and she knew he was tracing
the water that spouted from their mouths.

“Relax, Becca.” His words only served to make her more
restless. She flexed the muscles in her ass. Then wished she hadn’t. The motion
sent a contraction of lust through her pussy.

His palms glided downward over the satin of her panties. He
lingered at the bottom of her ass, stroking the underside of each cheek until
she couldn’t help shifting her stance.

“Anxious?” he asked.

She knew better than to answer. If she said yes, he’d stop.

Maybe you should say no and see what happens.

Becca shrugged instead. Then held her breath.

His hand snaked between her legs, his fingers pressing into
the valley of her outer folds. He rubbed her then made his way to her clit,
drawing a wide circle around the sensitive kernel before he closed his fingers
over it and pressed hard. Becca tossed her head backward and bit her lip. She
throbbed against his fingers. It felt good. Better than when she teased herself
to orgasm. She didn’t understand how that could be. How he could know her body
as well as she did.

Chad palmed her fully, the heel of his strong hand pressed
against the spot of skin between her anus and her pussy. He flexed his wrist
and pleasure shot to both places. Little waves of delight rose and fell with
each miniscule rocking motion. Waves that wouldn’t crest unless he stripped her
bare and stroked her skin on skin. He applied more pressure to her swollen
labia and Becca couldn’t contain the frustrated grunt that slipped from her
parted lips.

He gathered the back of her panties in his other hand,
forcing the material tight against her aching clit. “Still indifferent?” he
asked.

She couldn’t tell if his tone held more smugness or more
satisfaction. He moved his hand again and her vision clouded. Perspiration
broke out and trickled along her spine, under her breasts. The tautness of the
material against her flesh made his stroking more maddening and Becca thrust
against his hand.

It was so different from how he’d touched her before. With
one breath she wanted him to stop and put an end to his teasing. In the next,
she wanted him to make her crave more.

“Do you want to come?”

“Yes!” Becca thrust against his hand again. He yanked his
hand away, then slapped her silk-covered pussy, sharp and quick. Just once. If
he did that again, just a little higher, Becca thought she’d explode.

“Wrong answer.” He grabbed her waist again and slid his
knees together, holding her until she followed his lead and was standing
shakily in front of him. Her panties remained stuffed between her ass cheeks
and she had the sudden urge to step to the side and fling herself over his
knees.

“Turn around and take off your clothes,” he said in a thick
voice.

No. That isn’t what’s supposed to happen. Ask him to
spank you.

He didn’t want a striptease. That was clear from his tone
and Becca reached behind her and unclasped her bra. She turned, sliding it from
her shoulders, and found him holding one of the neckties. Dropping her bra to
the floor, she hurried to wiggle her panties downward. She pulled them over her
boots, careful not to catch the leg openings on one of her heels and take an
unsexy header to the floor.

She thought losing the constricting garments would have
offered some relief but she was wrong. Her pussy still throbbed and the cool
air made her nipples tighten a little more.

“Wrists.”

Becca looked down at Chad. His erection was still there, a
tiny glistening drop of pre-cum showing her his seemingly distanced attitude
was a front. But damn, the man was good. She extended her arms, shivering when
he brushed the silk over her knuckles. He used the narrower ends to encase her
wrists, leaving a good portion of the tie to hang downward. He repeated the
same slow process with her other wrist and Becca dropped her hands to her
sides.

He stood up and she didn’t move. He hadn’t told her to and
this way she’d have a good chance of touching his hot skin, of feeling his
chest brushing her erect nipples. She tilted her head backward, closing her
eyes as she parted her lips, silently pleading for another of his kisses.

“Hands and knees on the ottoman.”

Becca’s eyes shot open, ready to refuse the totally
vulnerable position but his deep-blue gaze had turned expectant. He wanted this
as much as she did and she looked downward, not wanting him to see she
recognized the fact. It was as if she was the one who was really in control.

She crawled onto the middle of the ottoman and placed her
arms shoulder width apart, but moved her legs close together. He’d have to
order her to spread them.

He walked around until he was standing in front of her,
offering a gorgeous view of his cock. Without thinking she reached for him. Ran
her fingers up and down his shaft before closing her fingers around it. The
little drop hanging at the end got bigger and she leaned forward and licked it
away. That little taste demanded more and she opened her lips just far enough
that she could slide his cock head into her mouth, keeping the suction nice and
tight. She drew him deep then drew back and bobbed her head in the little short
strokes she knew he liked until she needed to do more than breathe through her
nose. The minute his cock left her mouth he leaned forward and she smiled,
assuming he wanted more.

The sharp sting of his palm landing against her ass cheek
made her squeal.

“Change of plans. Lie down flat.”

Now you’re going to have to wait even longer, dumbass.

Becca eased downward, flinching when the cool leather came
in contact with her stomach and her breasts. She needed a moment to get used to
it.

His palm landed again, this time on the other cheek and she
stopped herself before she cried out. It was harder than the first smack but it
rocked her hips against the ottoman, the quick moment of friction making her
toes flex. He whacked her again, catching the underside of one ass cheek and an
arrow of sheer desire followed the brief moment of pain. It shot to her pussy
and Becca squirmed. He wasn’t hitting her as hard as that one crack. The one
that allowed her clit a second of stimulation.

His strikes were quick and shallow, never landing in the
same spot twice. Pain and pleasure and torture all rolled into one. Heat
radiated from her skin and Becca began to writhe. Juice trickled from her
pussy, downward over her neglected clit.

“Stop. Please,” she gasped.

He did. Immediately.

Her ass had to be cherry red. It felt as if it were.
Coolness touched her flesh and she realized it was his opposite hand. The one
that hadn’t been administering the punishment. He caressed her in light little
circles that should have been a balm. But all they did was make her throb even
more. She shifted her hips again and he trailed his fingers around the outer
curve of her ass cheeks and down her legs. He stopped just above her knees and
spread her legs wider.

Normally, she’d be apprehensive but Becca was to the point
that she didn’t care. She wanted release, however he wanted to give it.

His big hands closed over her ass and he squeezed, pulling
her cheeks apart. She bit her lip, waiting for whatever was next. It would be
delicious, she knew that now. He’d stoked her higher than she’d ever been.

“Fuck.” His curse echoed through the room.

Becca held her breath. Wondered what she did wrong.

“Get up. Elbows and knees.”

He moved and she turned her head just in time to see his
naked form disappear through his bedroom door. She faced forward and had her
arms and knees in position before she heard him stalk back into the room.

“Open your legs wider.” Urgency overrode his commanding tone
and she rushed to comply. His words were enough to stoke her right back to the
point her pussy was dripping.

She heard the rip of a condom packet being opened and the
sound of a flip cap. Cool, wet liquid rolled down her cleft.

His fingers followed in its wake, rubbing the liquid between
her inner labia over her sensitive clit and upward again. He didn’t stop at her
pussy. He moved to her anus and she clenched her muscles against the unknown.
Chad took his time, stroking the puckered flesh until apprehension transformed
into curiosity. She couldn’t keep her hips from moving.

He moved onto the ottoman and ran his cock up and down the
path he had just lubed, teasing her as it slid down and tapped her clit before
moving upward and teasing the sensitive skin between her pussy and her anus. He
rubbed tiny little circles there, not moving upward. Not moving downward.

“Oh my god,” Becca moaned. The torment was too much. “Pick
an opening,” she gasped, half-joking. “Any opening.”

His snort of laughter was accompanied by his cock sliding
downward and stretching her pussy with one long, slow stroke. “Mmm. That really
is heaven.”

She thought so too but when he just knelt there Becca
decided to take control. She eased away from his thighs then rocked backward,
tilting her pelvis as she impaled herself once more. His groan told her she’d
done something right for him. His cock head was hitting her G-spot with a
precision that definitely worked for her and she set an easy tempo, one that
made her orgasm build steadily.

It was more than heavenly. It was perfect.
Chad
was
perfect. And Becca knew they were perfect together and always would be.

That thought had Becca missing a couple of rungs on the
ladder to release. Her rhythm faltered but Chad was there for her, grasping her
hips and holding her steady as he began thrusting harder and faster. The
quicker tempo rocketed her to the peak. But he hadn’t told her to come. She tried
to hold back, but she couldn’t.

“I can’t wait,” she gasped, a rush of heat preceding the
oncoming orgasm.

“Then come,” he said in a hoarse, shaky voice.

And she did. Her body convulsed, her muscles tightening to
the point of pain until the wave of heat turned molten. It shot through her
arms and legs with a speed and intensity the likes of which she’d never
experienced. Tremor upon tremor rippled through her until Becca’s upper body
collapsed onto the ottoman. Chad followed her down, his chest pressed against
her back, his chin resting against her shoulder. Their harsh breathing mingling
then bouncing off the leather to warm their faces.

“So,” he said when he’d caught his breath. “Did you like
that? Despite the fact we never actually got to tie you up.” He nipped her
shoulder then said in a very serious tone. “I suck.”

Becca laughed, then stopped quickly when she realized the
motion started to dislodge his softening cock from her pussy. She didn’t want
that. She loved the feel of them together. Loved the way he made her body burn.
She loved—

Her heart slammed against her ribs, her mind refusing to
finish that thought. She adored him, that was all. Which was different than
love. Because she was pretty certain neither one of them were ready for that.

Chapter Seven

Becca’s generic ringtone sounded and she jumped, digging her
elbow into Chad’s ribs as she bolted upright. No one called her at night and
she immediately thought of her parents. Her sister. Her nephews.

She rolled to her side, heart hammering. Her legs tangling
in the blanket Chad had thrown over them, nearly sending her off the ottoman
and onto the floor as she tried to remember where she’d left her purse. The
ringing became louder and she turned to see Chad hurrying across the room, his
chest illuminated by the soft glow of her phone. He swiped the screen and
handed it to her.

“This is Becca.”

“This is Shawna. From today. At your shop.” Her voice was
shaky and Becca could hear other people talking in the background. “Oh my god,
we need your help,” she cried.

The thudding in Becca’s chest increased and she hit the
speaker button.

“Calm down, Shawna. Whatever it is, it’ll be fine.” Becca
went into full-frontal aunt mode and started scooting off the ottoman. “What
happened?”

“It’s Franco. He told the Master he didn’t know where Libbie
had gone. And he told us he didn’t like the way the gauze looked and made us
take it off. And he used the whip on Franco instead of the flogger because the
people from Romania were here and they like that better—”

The woman was rambling and Becca tried to follow as she
quickly put her bra and panties on. Chad was already in his clothes and rushing
toward the kitchen.

“But the Master asked him again about Libbie and Franco said
he didn’t know and the Master got angry and accidentally hit Franco’s tattoo
and now it’s bleeding. And he’s crying. Franco never cries.”

“Call an ambulance,” Becca said, taking the phone with her
and setting it on the small table in the foyer. She opened the closet and
grabbed the miniskirt she’d considered wearing for Chad and pulled it up her
legs and over her hips.

“No! We can’t do that.” Shawna’s voice took on a more
desperate tone.

“Then take him to the ER,” Chad interjected, suddenly by her
side. He had grabbed her boots in one hand and her trench coat in the other.
Becca took the coat and quickly put it on while Chad hit the button for the
elevator.

“Can’t you come and fix it?” Shawna implored. “We have
medicine and stuff, but didn’t know what we should use. Gretchen thinks no
alcohol.”

Becca could have offered advice but that would have meant a
rundown of what they had on hand and Shawna didn’t sound in any condition to
focus. She picked up her phone and took the boots from Chad. He pulled the
edges of her coat together and cinched the belt around her waist. She would
have mouthed her thanks but the sound of Shawna’s soft sobs stopped her.

“How are we supposed to get in the club?” Chad asked loudly.

Becca looked at him, at the determined set of his jaw, and
knew he was a hundred percent on board with her decision.

Silence. Then in the background, Gretchen’s voice yelling,
“Keep it together, Shawna, and just fucking
tell
them.”

“O-okay.” Shawna stammered and another few seconds passed.
The elevator arrived and Becca hoped the call wouldn’t drop on the descent. “If
you’re going south on Fourth there’s an alley just past the entrance to the
club. Turn down there and when you pass a couple Dumpsters there’s a door on
your left. It’s where the deliveries come in. How quick can you get here?”

“Ten minutes,” Becca and Chad replied in unison.

The elevator swept them straight to the ground level and the
taillights of Chad’s Rover flashed as he unlocked the car. Becca jumped inside.
“Do you want to stay on the phone with me, Shawna?”

“No, I need to give it back to Gretch. I’ll meet you at the
door. Please hurry.”

The phone went dead and Becca stared at the screen. “Fuck,”
she muttered, just as Chad cleared the security gate. The tires squealed as he
made the turn and started speaking into his hands-free unit.

“Call Dave at work.” A voice, cheery but with a Kathleen
Turner-like tone, repeated his request and asked if it was correct. “Yes,” he
replied.

Dave? The same Dave who was Jim Phelps? The dude who had
offered the intel on Andres? Becca fastened her seat belt. There were a ton of
questions she wanted to ask Chad about all that but she remained quiet.

The phone rang and rang then went to voicemail. “This is
Agent Dave. Please leave a message.”

Can’t get more concise that that
, Becca thought.

“Where the hell are you at one thirty in the morning?” Chad
demanded. “I’m on my way to Club Rosenthorn with Becca. Not feeling great about
this one, buddy. One of the kids she inked is hurt. Whipped by that fuckhead
Herzog to the point people who see that shit on a daily basis are calling for
help. That enough for you to get involved yet?”

He pressed a button on the steering wheel and blew through a
yellow light. “Where the fuck
is
he?”

His pissed-off tone was puzzling. “So Dave is your friend.
You weren’t kidding about that secret agent stuff, were you? That was kind of
harsh. The message you left him.”

“We go back. He’ll understand,” was all Chad offered.

“No last name? Just Agent Dave? That’s super secret.” Becca
was trying to lighten the vibe in the car, despite the fact a lead weight had
formed in the pit of her stomach.

“Dave works with a lot of young people. He says Agent Dave
is easier for them to remember than his full name.”

She wasn’t going to harp on him for changing the subject,
not when he was doing eighty on a public street to get her to where she needed
to be. She concentrated on getting her boots on, twisting and turning until she
had them up and zipped.

“That was quite the contortion act,” he said. “Glad to see
your flexibility has no bounds.”

Becca smiled then reached over and placed her hand on his
forearm. Just for a minute to feel the strength he provided.

“You think Franco is going to be okay?” Chad asked.

“I honestly don’t know,” Becca replied. “I’ve never had
anyone call me about something like that. I’ve tattooed a boatload of people,
some of whom I’m pretty certain get in fights on a regular basis. But never
right after fresh ink. There’s a respect for the artwork as well as a healthy
fear of infection.”

She watched the lights from the storefronts zip by so fast
they were blurred strips of white and blue and yellow.

“Andres is a fucking bastard.” She exhaled, not realizing
she’d been holding her breath. “What do you think your buddy Dave can do about
any of this?”

“Not sure, but there’s got to be some illegal shit going on
in there. Has to. That pixie woman you tattooed looked like she might be
underage. Maybe even Franco.”

“I checked their IDs for the consent forms. All eighteen and
older.”

“Sure. It’s not like Herzog could get fake ones. Anyhow, I’m
sure Dave’s already checked out liquor license infractions. Health code
violations. The little stuff that can start a snowball effect.”

Chad slowed down as they approached the club. Becca was
shocked to see the velvet rope outside and the long line of men and women who
were waiting to get in. They wore everything from shiny red latex to trendy
club wear to suits and tuxedos.

“Good god,” Becca whispered. “It’s a hodgepodge of humanity.
Like someone took the nightclubs on Demaris and blended them with the Shore
Club. Did you see the size of that bouncer?”

“Sex and titillation. They both sell to the masses.”

“Do you think they’re waiting to watch or to play?” Becca
asked.

Chad turned sharply into the alley and snorted. “No idea.
But look at you, learning the lingo.”

His little barb helped to relieve some of Becca’s
apprehension. She’d have him at her side if they happened to run into Andres.
Chad had handled the man well before.

“Screw you, Harrington,” she shot back, watching closely for
the door Shawna had told them about.

“I hope you’re going to, baby. Tonight and every night.
Right after we get all this shit taken care of.”

Becca liked the way he was thinking. And she appreciated him
more than he could ever imagine. “Thank you for—”

“Stop. Like I’d let you go without me.”

He passed the Dumpsters and Becca saw the door. It took him
four points but he got the vehicle turned around and facing out the way they
came.

“You’re so smart. Parking like this,” Becca said, reaching
for her door handle. “I’m impressed.”

“Save that until we’re both back in the front seat and
making a superhero-type getaway.”

Becca shut her door and the side entrance of the building
immediately opened. Shawna was there wearing a black vinyl miniskirt and
matching bra. The two skimpy pieces of clothing were connected with a series of
linked silver chains.

Chad placed a restraining hand on Becca’s arm and she
stopped and looked up at him.

“Just now, I got the very real feeling that all this might
be Herzog luring us here.” His words sent a shiver through her. It hadn’t
crossed her mind. She looked at Shawna, could feel the woman’s fear.

She turned back to Chad and whispered, “I don’t think so.”

“In here. Hurry.” She motioned them forward. “I’m really
afraid. The Master called for Delia right after I hung up with you. I don’t
know what the rest of us did to anger him.”

Shawna led them down a hallway to the right. The smell of
grease and vinegar permeated the area. They passed a small industrial kitchen.
One of the workers was cleaning the grill, preparing to shut down for the
night.

Farther down the corridor a series of doors lined each side
of the hallway. They all had peepholes and Becca assumed they must be sleeping
quarters. Andres wouldn’t have rooms by the hour in this part of the club.

A door halfway down was being held open by a hotel-style
security deadbolt that had been turned to the lock position. Shawna didn’t
stop. She led them to the end of the hall where another door was propped open
in the same manner. She pushed the door open and walked in, waiting for them to
follow before she eased it closed but left it ajar.

The sound of heavy footfalls overhead made everyone freeze.
It was loud and the floor actually shook. Becca looked from Chad to Shawna and
then toward Gretchen who was sitting on a folding chair next to Franco’s prone
body. He was lying facedown on a twin-size bed.

“Shawna, take Delia and see what the hell’s going on. If
that’s the Special Team fucks from UF again and Troy didn’t tell me, I’m going
to nut-bust that worthless piece of—”

“It’ll be fine, Gretch.” Delia hurried over and placed a
quick kiss on Gretchen’s forehead.

Becca hadn’t seen the woman standing off to the side. Short
denim cutoffs. Sleeveless red gingham shirt tied above her midriff. Six-inch
Lucite heels with silk sunflowers embedded in the platforms. She looked like a
sexed-up version of Mary Ann from
Gilligan’s Island
.

Delia grabbed Shawna’s hand and pulled her toward the door.
“Don’t worry, Gretch. We can suck a few extra cocks if we have to. You stay
here with Franco.”

Becca had little time to be surprised by the woman’s words.
Franco chose that moment to try to push himself upward. He cried out in pain
then turned his head, opened his eyes and looked straight at Becca.

“I’m sorry, Mistress. I didn’t mean for this to happen.” The
misplaced form of address and his need to apologize were enough for Becca. They
snapped her out of the surreal fog that swirled thickly around her brain.

“Drop the ‘mistress’ crap, Franco. Let’s take a look at what
he did to you.”

“The Master loves me. I just don’t understand.”

“The Master’s a sociopathic cocksucker,” Chad added, falling
in right next to Becca’s side. “What do you have in the way of first aid?” he
asked Gretchen.

She went to move and Franco grabbed her hand.

“Just tell me where it’s at,” Chad said. “I can get it.”

“On the bathroom counter. There’s a basket. It’ll have
whatever we need.”

Becca knelt next to the bed and took a good look at Franco’s
back. Red welts crisscrossed his smooth flesh. All but a few were identical in
length but several of the raised areas sported tiny pinpricks of blood. The
deepest laceration cut diagonal through the center of the tattoo, marring the
precision of the capital F.

It was deep, well below the layer of the ink she had laid.
Relief swept through her for choosing to place the image between his shoulder
blades and not higher on his neck where there could have been a risk of worse
damage. But the injury would definitely leave a scar as well as ruining the
tattoo.

“Franco.” Becca placed her hand on his shoulder and gave it
a reassuring squeeze. “You’re going to need stitches.”

“No.” He buried his face in the mattress and his body was
racked with noiseless sobs.

“He’s afraid of needles,” Gretchen explained. “I know it
probably seems weird to you, with everything that goes on here, but we all have
our limits. When the Master suggested the tattoos, Franco was scared. But our
devotion to him overrides our fear. Because, at the end of the day, he’s
supposed to take care of us.”

The woman couldn’t keep the accusation from her voice and
Becca realized she’d never have a better opportunity to press for details. “I
thought the whole Master and slave relationship wasn’t supposed to have someone
needing medical attention at the end. What happened?”

“Not what should have happened. Not what’s happened in the
past,” Gretchen said. “Our punishments have always been fitting in the past.
Discipline is doled out for infractions we’ve incurred, not for abstract things
we can’t control.
Libbie was here this morning when we left
to come see you but when we got back, she was gone. And this is her day to have
private time with the Master. We each get a turn. But she didn’t show and he
became furious.”