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“Take it. Take her! Right there on the table. Bend her over!”
Moans, screams. They mingled with the noise, prominent as we passed what looked like an old town saloon. It was getting so hot I could barely breathe. Sweat covered my skin, and I felt myself reach for Mark’s black shirt. It was practically soaked and sticking to his muscled body as he shoved out his hand again.
“Fuck this. Mistress.” His eyes were narrowed but determined as he leaned in. I could see his internal battle as his gaze penetrated mine, and I knew the moment I saw a darker side of him win. He looked at my lips but licked his own. “Forgive me, but I’m going to have to take the punishment on this one. I’m getting you the fuck out of here.”
Before I could argue, he threw me over his shoulder, sending people flying. He pushed anyone in the vicinity out of his way as he took us further into the road. He turned left, slamming his fist brutally into a stumbling man who was falling right into us. When he finally threw open the black metal door of the tattoo place, cold air rushed against me, and he put me to my feet. All I could do was stare up at him in nothing short of shock. Awe.Need.
“Dirty Anchor. One of you looking to get inked up?”
My slave smiled, facing the man. I couldn’t. I was still stuck on his gorgeous face. Had he become more attractive, or was I losing my mind? No one had ever done anything like that for me. Sure, bodyguards came close, but they hadn’t held that sort of…ferocity. It was inside him, reeling me in as if it had truly hooked me. Who was this man locked away? This…power he held? I liked it way more than I should.
“Me. My Mistress wishes for me to be covered in tattoos. She’ll be choosing what I get.”
“I believe I should be the one telling him this.” I forced anger to take over my enamored features. “Sit your ass down. You’re in trouble for that shit you just pulled. I don’t believe I said I needed help.”
A pout. It appeared, but he sat down on a black velvet chair. I turned to the tattoo artist, taking in his own tattoos. There was a cross just off to the side of his right eye. Ink covered his neck and arms in what looked like a Japanese theme. Black words and art even covered his hands and what part of his legs I could see from below his shorts.
“Are you familiar with the rock star, Pistol Stephens?”
The artist laughed. “He was in here not an hour ago.”
“Perfect. Then when I say cover him, you know what I mean. Give me heaven and hell. Heaven on the back, hell where I can see it. History. Dark gothic with a romantic twist. Religion. Chapels. Gargoyles. That sort of thing. Freestyle it. I don’t care. I need it immediately. Neck down. Oh.” I pointed to my face, where he had the cross. “CW.”
“Charlotte Wyce. Got it.”
“What would you like done today?”
I glanced at my slave only to turn back to him. “As much as you can. Start with the face and work your way down. I have shopping to do. Text me on your last hour and I will return to retrieve him. If he gives youanytrouble feel free to text me too. I’ll take care of it.” I took out my special Mistress phone I’d received from the Gardens. “What’s your number?”
As I entered the digits and texted him, I didn’t even feel my slave move in behind me. I turned to threaten him, only to crash right into his chest. His finger settled under my chin as his other arm wrapped around, righting me. He brought my face up, and I saw the power again behind his eyes as they bore into mine.
“You can’t go out there on your own. It’s not safe.”
“You listen to what you’re told.” I slapped his hand down, putting distance between us. Having a part of him becoming so dominant wasn’t good for my persona of a Mistress. I felt myself soften.I wanted to give in. Even if for the smallest amount of time. “Best behavior, slave. I better not hear a single thing about you acting up or I’ll buy a crop, beat you with it, and keep you in my closet for days. Do you want that?”
“Maybe not the closet.” At my pause, he tightened his jaw. “No, Mistress.”
“Are you going to listen?”
“Yes, Mistress.”
“He has my number. If you need me, text or call. I’ll make it back here when I can.” I glanced over my shoulder. “How long do you think?”
The tattoo artist checked his watch. It was still early, just after nine and we’d already eaten breakfast. “Come back around seven tonight.”
“Seven.” I repeated it, nodding, but not liking him gone that long. “You’ll need to eat. I’ll be back in a few hours to bring you food and check on you.Behave.”
M0088
Seeing myself in a mirror again was going to take some getting used to. I didn’t know this man. Not the one under the new tattoos, or the one who stared back. There’d been no way to see myself since I’d been taken. Glass was a risk to the slaves in their cells, and even the shower rooms had been empty aside from the facilities. This man. This stranger I’d turned into the last year, he had matured since his days back in college. The angles by my cheek bones were sharper. My jaw even appeared more defined. I looked…good underneath all this ink. Even better with it, but damn good.
Should I think that? Was I entitled to my looks?
We’d undergone so much training by the guards during our time locked away. Or maybe it was brainwashing. They taught us how to behave for the Masters and Mistresses. They repeated the rules to us over and over. Overtly, they tried erasing any form of humanity we held. Sometimes, they’d even hook us up to machines or put this weird thing on our heads, and I’d just wake up back in my room. I didn’t know what happened, but my mind wouldn’t let me dive too deep into it. I wasn’t cut or injured. I was fine as far as I knew. We were objects. Nothing. Playthings for those of superior quality. It was truth. But here, now, maybe I was something? Charlotte chose me, and she was the most beautiful woman alive. That spoke volumes, didn’t it?
“I’m late; I’m sorry.”
The voice had me spinning from the mirror. I hadn’t seen her since she brought me lunch. Whether my alertness came from the shaky tone or the fact it washer, I wasn’t sure.
