Pleasure overwhelms me, and I clench tight around him, cresting so hard. My body is a rigid snapshot of ecstasy.

"f.u.c.k," he says hoa.r.s.ely. I feel his body stiffen, see him get to his toes, and then he's emptying himself into my mouth, firing his hot seed into me over and over again. I only barely manage to swallow it all.

"d.a.m.n, Pen," he says, winding down. "You are good."

I've become too sensitive, and I jolt as he pulls his fingers from me. He examines them, and I see my pleasure on them. He sucks off each finger, pulls his c.o.c.k from my mouth, and then his hand is cupping my chin.

Pierce guides my face up to his, and he kisses me hard, pus.h.i.+ng his tongue into my mouth. I can smell and taste myself mixed with the smell and taste of him.

It's... gross and s.e.xy at the same time.

He breaks the kiss, pulls away, and tucks himself back into his trousers with some difficulty. He brings me a box of sanitized wipes from the counter, and watches, lips at a slight curl, while I wipe my mouth and chin.

"d.a.m.n it, Pierce," I say after a moment, breathing hard. "We could have been caught." But I feel so good, so relaxed. I needed that.

I quickly yank my jeans back up my legs, and get out of the chair. My tank top is sticking to my back. I notice that Pierce's neck is s.h.i.+ning.

He always looks so good when he sweats.

I sigh, and shake my head. "You really should go."

But he doesn't. He smirks at me and asks, "So, will you pierce my c.o.c.k?"

Chapter Three.

If a pin dropped, we'd hear it.

I push off him, fl.u.s.tered and frustrated, and quickly zip up my jeans and do up the b.u.t.ton.

"Go!" I say with venom, pointing toward the curtained doorway. "Leave. G.o.d, do you ever stop messing around?"

"I'll pick you up after work," he says. He grabs his crotch and adjusts it to exaggerated effect, and I can only look away, shake my head.

"No you won't."

"We can talk more about my c.o.c.k piercing then."

"I'll cut it off," I say. I make a pair of scissors out of my index and middle finger.

He winces. "Ouch. See you at six."

Before I can reply, he's left the curtain flapping in his wake, his finger in his mouth, and a c.o.c.ky swagger in his step.

I part the curtain, and catch him wink at Maya in the waiting room. I clench my jaw.

When comes into the back, sidling past me, she stops, seems to sniff the air. Dread fills me. Can she... smell it?

"I like his cologne," she tells me a moment later.

"Mm," I sound, turning around and taking a moment to collect myself.

"Not too strong."

"Yeah."

"Smells expensive."

"Sure."

"I've smelled it before. I think it's-"

I cut her off. "You ready?"

Maya looks stung. I'm being too short with her, and it's unfair. She has no idea, and she's also my client. Wrong. She's Tina's client, and d.a.m.ned if I'm going to lose her because I couldn't put on a better bedside manner.

"Sorry," I say.

Maya sits in the chair slowly, lowering herself onto the crinkling wrap. I wipe a hand across my sticky forehead, wonder if she can feel how warm the chair still is.

"Are you okay, Penelope?"

"Yes," I say, tucking hair behind my ears and taking a deep breath. I touch my cheeks with the backs of my hands. They're boiling. I'm sure Maya will notice.

"Trouble?"

"You could call it that."

"Is he a client?"

I sigh, and give her a polite smile. "Yes. Hold out your arm again, please." I pick up the tattoo machine, but my fingers are still trembling a little, so I put it down and shake them a bit. I've still got Pierce's taste in my mouth, and so I go to the sink and run myself a gla.s.s of water.

"What's a Prince Albert?"

I almost spit the water out, but play it off like a cough.

"You don't know?"

"Well, from what I gather, it's a piercing on a, uh, man's...?"

"Yup. It's a piercing on the underside of the p.e.n.i.s, beneath the glans, and into the urethra. The ring is pushed through one of the thinnest membranes on a male's body, into the urethral pa.s.sage, and actually comes out of the urethral opening. It's relatively simple as far as male genital piercings go, and is one of the most popular."

I recite it off the top of my head. It's a way to distract myself, and hopefully Maya. I know a lot about body art and piercings.

She scrunches up her face. "That's kind of disgusting. Doesn't that hurt?"

"Typically people say it hurts more than an ear piercing and less than a nipple piercing," I tell her. "Some guys say it doesn't hurt at all, but I don't believe that. Four-to-six weeks healing time."

"Why do they do it?"

I shrug, and then sit down on my stool next to her. "It's not like I have a p.e.n.i.s. People report they have heightened s.e.xual pleasure. Some say they like the sensation when they urinate. Some women say that, in certain positions, the piercing can actually enhance s.e.x for them."

"Really?" she asks. "Huh. I wonder what positions?"

"Use your imagination," I deadpan.

"Why does that guy want one? Doesn't he know you don't do piercings here?"

I laugh. "Oh G.o.d, to tell you the truth, I don't know. I don't think he even knows why he wants one, or if he truly does, or if he's just winding me up."

"He's hot, though."

I push my lips together, stare daggers into her arm. I try not to squeeze it too tightly. "Yeah, he is."

"Great body."

"Yeah," I say, contemplating pus.h.i.+ng the needle into her arm a little deeper than I should.

"Who is he, anyway? Your ex or something?"

I shake my head slowly. "No, not my ex. He's Pierce Fletcher."

"Pierce Fletcher," she echoes. "I've heard that somewhere before."

"He's an underground cage fighter."

"Yeah, my brother talked about him. Something like one of the best ever in the scene."

"That's what they say." My tone lacks any semblance of enthusiasm. "He's also about to become my stepbrother."

"Oh," she says. I see it on her face. At first, there's polite acknowledgement, and then confusion: Weren't they just talking about his c.o.c.k?

"And," I say, sighing, drawing out the word. "We're sleeping together."

She covers her mouth.

Silence swallows us.

Chapter Four.

One month earlier...

"I'm moving to Melbourne."

It is a statement of fact.

My father looks up from his paper, and his cornflake-filled spoon hovers in between the bowl and his mouth. His sea-green eyes narrow and his crow's feet deepen.

"Are you telling me or asking me?"

I flash him a quick smile. "We've talked about it before, and I've made up my mind. I'm moving to Melbourne, and I'm going to apprentice for Tina Azume. She's already granted me an interview."

Dad gives me a slow blink. Out of nowhere, he looks like he's aged ten years. "Oh."

"Rose lives out there and she's got a spare room and says that I can move in with her. Tina Azume is my favorite artist and one of the best on the planet." I offer a small shrug. "It's what I want to do."

"You're serious about becoming a tattooist?"

I hold my breath, wait for that hint of pa.s.sive-aggressive judgment to rear its ugly head, but it doesn't, so I nod at him. I should give him some credit this time.

"Yeah, Dad. I really am. And actually, we prefer to be called tattoo artists."

"We?" he asks.

"I'm going to become one, Dad, and I'm going to be good. And I'll be honest, nothing you say will stop me from chasing this."

His bushy brows bunch, and he looks hurt for a moment. "I can see you're on the offensive."

I lick my lips. I won't lie, I'm nervous. b.u.t.terflies are raging in my stomach, and I'm desperately hoping he doesn't say no. I want to go with his blessing. I don't want to disappoint him.

"You're confident you can do this, Penelope?"

"You've seen how well I can draw. I'm going to be good, Dad. I really am. I have a good hand, and a better eye."

"I know you do. I've seen your drawings. You've got great perspective and lines."

I feel a blush in my cheeks. "Thanks. That means a lot coming from an architect. And from you, Dad."

"But, Penelope, body art, really?"

"Do you have any idea how hard it is to draw well on skin?"

"I can't say I do," he admits.