The Dom With the Perfect Brats (12 page)

Was everything big in his apartment?
Maybe because he was so overly large – her gaze slipped to his crotch – in many ways. When she looked back up at his face, he was smirking down at her.

Caught staring. Just great. As if his ego needed any
more inflating.

Izzy
followed Cross to the couch. He sat and leaned back with his arms to the side in that sexy masculine way guys do. Izzy plopped down on one side and he wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

They both looked
up at her. She toyed with her lip, contemplating sitting on the recliner instead. So close to his seductive scent and warm body...he could convince her to try anything if wanted to. Nestled into the crook of his arm didn’t seem like the best place to make sound decisions.

“You’re playing with your mouth,” he rumbled.

She froze with her finger resting on her bottom lip. “And?”

H
e growled then lunged for her. Before she could skirt away, he caught a handful of her dress, yanked her forward then sat her right on his lap.

When she tried to scramble off, he slapped her bare thigh and com
manded her to stay. Her pussy tightened and she stilled. Could he feel how warm she was down there? Ugh, and no panties. She had better make sure cloth stayed between them.

Gently, he stroked where he’d slapped her. The sting faded. “There now. Isn’t this a better way to be on my lap than facedown, ass up?” He grinned.

She started to make a face at him then stopped herself. This was a precarious place to sit. She’d better behave.

“Now,” he started, giving them both a serious look. “How did you feel about the bondage last night?”

Izzy answered first. “It was fucking hot.”

He looked at G
emma expectantly.

“I’d do
it again.” She went for nonchalance but her raspy voice betrayed her. Fucking hot was right. The hell if she was going to tell him that though. She’d end up strung up, hanging from her ankles in minutes and she wasn’t ready for that yet.

“
I appreciate honesty in my submissives,” he told her, piercing her with his gaze. When she didn’t respond, he continued. “What about kissing Izzy? How did you feel about that?”

She fiddled with her fingers in her lap. “I can deal with it.”

From the corner of her eye, she saw Izzy’s shoulders sag. Her slight frown made Gemma feel like a royal bitch. Even though Gemma wasn’t bi, Izzy was becoming a close friend, and she didn’t like hurting her friends.

She rushed in for
damage control. “I mean...I’m just not used to it. It’s kinda weird right now.”

Cross patted her leg. “
That’s understandable.”

Izzy looked everywhere but Gemma
’s face. Guilt twisted in her chest. Truly it hadn’t been bad at all. A little awkward, a little messy, but it was...kind of nice. With a smile, she touched Izzy’s bare thigh. “Your lips are softer than his.” She hiked a thumb at Cross. “And not scratchy. That’s a major check on the pros list for making out with chicks.”

She gave Gemma a half-hearted chuckle.

Changing the subject, she turned to Cross. “What if we mess up a lot? I’m not used to following rules.”

He shrugged. “You’ll learn quickly.”

That strap was already haunting her, even from the other side of the room.

“So you’re going to beat me until I behave perfectly?” This part worried her the most. Perfection was something she strived for as an artist, not
as a girlfriend. It was too much pressure. Would he forgive her for making mistakes? Would he spank her for every little error? Would they have to go through submissive bootcamp or something? She didn’t do well with rules and confines. They made her feel stifled. That’s why she’d become an artist instead of something that required climbing a corporate ladder. “What if I don’t like being perfect?”

“Then I think you’ll get awfully tired of being spanked.”

His face was deadpan but she decided to take it as a joke. He couldn’t be serious about that. It wasn’t fair.

“Don’t fret,” he said, giving her thigh a squeeze. “We’ll go slow. I’m going to give you
both a list of websites with more information about dominance and submission. You can always come to me with questions and concerns. Okay?”

Izzy nodded.

He looked at Gemma.

She nibbled on her lip.
“Just one more question.”

“Go ahead.”

“Can I safeword your cooking?” She couldn’t hold back a grin.

Izzy laughed.

He grabbed her nape and tugged her in for a quick but hard kiss on her lips then pulled away. “Brat.”

***

It was too fucking hard to complete a good tattoo with so much noise in the background. Volunteering to work at the tattoo convention in the next city over had seemed like a good idea at the time – some extra money, some advertising for the shop. In reality, it was chaotic and overwhelming. She wished she’d eaten more breakfast at Cross’s house that morning. It was going to be a long day.

The client she was currently tattooing was the fourth spontaneous name or initials tattoo that day. Didn’t they know
tattooing the name of your lover was a curse? She was glad she’d said no when Sean tried to get her to tattoo his name on her lower back. She’d have been saddled with a tramp stamp of an ex-fiancé. Classy.

“Try not to move,” she told the girl for the twentieth time.

The blond porn star look-alike whimpered. “It hurts.”

No fucking kidding.
Anytime a prospective client asked if getting a tattoo hurt, she had to fight back the urge to give a smartass reply. “We’re almost done.” She wanted to roll her eyes. Yes, the hip was one of the more painful areas but the name Mark took only twenty minutes to tattoo.

Next to the table, Mark held her hand, calming her in shushed tones. It was sweet and they seemed to love each other. Maybe they’d last after all.
Who was she to judge?

“Hey there, beautiful.” The familiar voice rose above the loud band playing on the other side of the hall and the busy chatter.

She turned her head and smiled at Cross, standing in front of The Ink Haven booth. “What are you doing here?” A surprise, but a happy one.

“Is he your boyfriend?” Cindy whispered, eyes wide.

Gemma ignored her and her boyfriend’s scowl.

“I came to visit you.” Cross shifted uncomfortably. A young man with a beer knocked into him and Cross tossed him a
dirty look. He seemed irritated with the crowd. She didn’t blame him. Most of the attendees were obnoxious. The fact that they served alcohol didn’t help.

“I’ve never been to a tattoo convention
and I thought I’d check it out. Can you take a break for a few?”

“Sure. Let me finish her up then I’ll be ready.”

Silas was the artist from the shop who had come with her today. He was busy with another client but could man the booth for a bit. He’d take down names if anyone came to get a tattoo. She’d had to be careful she wasn’t tattooing anyone who’d been drinking. It wasn’t safe and most often resulted in a stupid-ass tattoo they’d regret later. Though sometimes it wasn’t alcohol that influenced people to get dumb tattoos at these events – sometimes it was the adrenaline from the metal bands and encouragement from friends. Poor Silas was doing a squirrel on a guy’s upper thigh, reaching toward his nuts.

“Okay,” Cross said. “I’m gonna go get a beer. Do you want a water or soda?”

“Don’t worry about me. I’ll get something when I’m done.”

He gave her a steady look. “Water or soda?”

So it was going to be like that? She chuckled. “Diet Coke please.”

“
Good.”
Girl
hung in the air, unsaid but in both their heads, she was sure.

She
shot him a small smile then looked down at her client before her face turned bright red. After dipping the machine in the black ink, she finished the last letter. Cross was gone when she looked up again.

“Are you done?” Cindy asked, straining her neck to look down without sitting up.

“Yes. Let me just clean you up.” She wiped the area down with green soap and paper towels then spread a hefty amount of ointment on the tattoo.

After helping her to stand, Gemma handed Cindy a
mirror.

“Aww,” she gushed. “It’s so cute! Thank you so much, Gemma.” She grabbed her in for a hug, squeezing her tight enough to make her grimace.

Mark handed her a wad of cash and the couple left hand in hand. With a tired sigh, she wiped the table with sanitizer and disposed of the gloves and needle.

A paper cup
with a straw appeared in front of her. “One Diet Coke,” Cross said, holding the cup out.

“Thanks. Hang on to it a sec. I’m almost done.” She finished cleaning then told Silas she’d be back in a bit.

“So,” she looked Cross over as she took the soda from his hand, “you stalking me or are you finally ready to start that fairy tattoo?”

He chuckled. “No, brat. I swung by the shop to say hi and Malachi told me you were here. Why didn’t you say so earlier?”

She shrugged. “You didn’t ask.”

“Wanna walk around or do you need to sit somewhere and rest?” His face scrunched in a look of concern. “You look tired.”

Arching her back, she stretched her sore muscles. It sucked having a job where she had to be hunched over all the time. “No. Walking is good. Have you looked around yet?”

He shook his head. “I just got here.”

She noticed the clear cup of beer in his hands. “You’re drinking? Be careful or you’ll end up with a tattoo of Bart Simpson with his pants down.”

His bark of laughter rose up above the noise of the crowd. It was contagious and she found herself chuckling too.

“Don’t laugh,” she said. “It’s been done.”

“
Thanks for the warning.” He took her hand and gave it a squeeze. “I’ll be careful.”

Two girls walked by in skimpy clothing and stiletto heels, showing off tattoos all over their perfect bodies. She waited for Cross to check them out but his gaze remained fixed on her.

“Those girls not to your taste?” she asked.

“What girls?”

She shook her head with a grin. “Flatterer.”

“
Drink your soda,” he ordered, squeezing her hand again. “You look like you need a caffeine boost.”

“I look that good, huh? Would you like me better wearing that?” She nodded her head toward a cluster of girls in front of a large booth
. It belonged to a popular NYC shop. A giant banner with a skull on it hung in the background and several artists worked on clients.

The girls all wore fetish wear – black leather or
skin-tight PVC. Fishnet stockings and platform shoes adorned every one of them. Even she had to admit it was hot. Maybe the Ink Haven booth would get a crowd if she dressed like that.

“
There are several things I’d like to see you in.”

“Uh, no. Definitely not my style.”

“It’s your style if I tell you to wear it.”

She stiffened. He was using his Dom voice. She was beginning to recognize it. The rumbled threats and orders sent a spike of fear and excitement through her.
Strange how it made her want to grin and run, hoping he’d chase her down like a predator and make her his. Rough sex had always intrigued her, but she’d never felt such a strong desire to challenge and tease before. It was as if the more dominant Cross was, the more interesting he became. Maybe her aversion to kink could be overcome.

It took her a moment to realize they’d left the exhibit room and stood in the carpeted conference center hallway. He
stopped her in a private area against the wall. A collar unfurled from his hand. It was the one she’d worn at his shop a couple of weeks ago.

She shook her head. “No. I’
m not wearing that today. I’ll look like a plastic, kinky slut that just walked out of a costume shop.”

He arched a brow.

“What?” she perched a hand on her hip. “I’m off duty as a sub.”

“Being a sub isn’t a timed thing, girl. It doesn’t turn on and off.”
He moved the collar closer but she merely looked at it.

“I thought being a sub was just doing what someone tells you to in the bedroom.
”

“It
can be, I suppose, but that’s not the way I do things. I demand a deeper submission. One that’s freely given and constant.”

She nibbled her lip and stared at the collar, ignoring the hint of arousal blossoming in her belly. Was she getting turned on just by looking at the damned thing?
How annoying. But she couldn’t deny the idea of wearing it made her feel owned. And, although that went against many of her principles, it was a delicious feeling. Temporarily. To enjoy sex more fully. And that was it.

“
So you want a robot,” she said, finally tearing her gaze away from the smooth leather.