Page 23 of Ink
Or that I’d do it again if I had to.
We mingled for a while, falling into a sense of camaraderie with the others. I was pulled into the fold of women wearingProperty ofjackets. There weren’t many, as it seemed the single men overpowered the clubhouse at the moment. There were other women too, scantily dressed, though gathered together in their own separate circle. I bet they were the putas of the club, girls who slept with them all in exchange for accommodations, food, and work. An interesting life, one I wouldn’t judge, no matter how hatefully some of them chose to glare in my direction.
Soon, food and booze flowed and more of the single club members started sidling up to me. I laughed at their jokes, flattered at their interest. It was no secret that I was pretty, I was self-aware enough to know that about myself. I relished in their attention, even if I wished it was Ink instead.
As if I’d summoned the surly tattoo artist, he appeared behind Cubano, a dark-skinned, curly haired Afro-Mexicano with a stunning smile, and gripped him by the back of the collar.
“Get lost.” He yanked.
Cubano didn’t move. He was a jovial dude and turned those blindingly white teeth in Ink’s direction. “Can’t you see I’m having a conversation with the lady?”
Ink let out a growl, a sound that was almost animalistic and violent.
It did something to my core.
“Get. Fucking. Lost.”
Cubano laughed but did as he was told, winking at me. “Fine,” he conceded as he walked away. “I’ll take Xio’s mom out to dance.”
I glared lazily at Ink. “We were talking.”
“Not anymore. Come here.” He gripped me by the wrist and I stood and followed, because the other choice would have been to be dragged like a rope behind him with the determined way he moved.
We wove our way around the party and into the clubhouse. Music blasted through speakers, bodies moved together twirling with fast footwork. We went up a flight of stairs, then another, until he dragged me to a room down the hall.
I wasn’t stupid. I knew he was taking me to his room. Just like I knew why. Men were so fucking infuriating and also so predictable. He said he didn’t want me because I was his employee, but he also wouldn’t let anyone else flirt with me? How fucked up was that? And why was I a puta for such behavior?
He closed and locked the door behind him then gave me a shove in the direction towards the bed. I fell onto my ass, my breathing speeding up.
I knew what he wanted.
I wanted it, too.
Even if he was a huge, possessive, machista asshole, I fucking wanted it. Because in that moment, none of his defects mattered. It didn’t matter that he was my boss. That he’d fired me. That he’d barely spoken two words to me since we’d met. That he was acting like a jealous boyfriend when he literally had no right to do so.
All that mattered was the other things. The way he’d had someone paint my ma’s house. The angry way he’d shoved a prospect’s face into a wall for disrespecting me. The tender way his smirk kicked up when he thought my ideas were good. The way he lifted my chin and let me lose myself in his gaze.
The way he’d cleaned the blood off my hands and ensured I was protected and didn’t cower back from the shadows and monsters that plagued me from the inside.
Even if he was silent in his demands, his eyes did the speaking for him. And I understood every fucking word.
His slow perusal of my body ignited my skin, settling every nerve and vein ablaze. Where his eyes tracked, licks of fire trailed after until I felt too hot, too uncomfortable. I shifted, letting myself fall slowly back against his mattress. My brows kicked up, a smirk touched my lips. A challenge and a dare both.
If he thought I was going to fight him on this, to argue, to remind him that we were nothing but boss and employee, he had another thing coming. Did I think starting something was wrong? I did. Yet my stomach twisted up into knots when he was near. I felt safe in his presence, and I wanted to know–at least once–what it felt like to be taken care of by someone else instead of the other way around.
So, yeah. This was a terrible idea. But I knew what doing this meant. It wouldn’t change anything, it wouldn’t make him fall for me, and the next day when we were done, we’d go back to being boss and employee. Nothing more, and certainly nothing less.
Our eyes held, but my hands moved of their own volition, sliding across my body in a sensuous dance down my sides, over my breasts and lower still. Ink tore his gaze from mine to track my movements. He bit along his bottom lip.
The quiet wasn’t unnerving. It only emboldened me. My fingers flicked at the button on my jeans and the zipper slid down, material parting to reveal the tight, black boxers I wore beneath.
He finally moved, stalking forward until his knees hit the bed. Every movement he made was confident, sure.
I liked that about him. I liked that there was no hesitation in this, when there had been before. I liked that he stared at me like I was something–someone–to be admired. Someone he couldn’t take his eyes off of.
His fingers hooked into the waist of my jeans, and he yanked on the material, pulling them down the length of my legs. I helped him, kicking them and my boots off. There was no awkward moment. No stopping. Just heat pressing between us, rising as his body fell over mine. He held himself up by the hands and stared down at me.
“I’ll ask this once.” His voice vibrated all down my chest, tightening my core. “Do you want this?”
