Rock Bottom (Tristan & Danika #2)(21)

“Well, tough shit,” I told her, sending her a sidelong smile. “You know what that outfit is? It’s a tease. You’re only getting what you’re dishing out right now.”

She lifted her shirt, and my hand was suddenly kneading at her bare skin.

Fuck.

I glanced over.

She was folding the band of her shorts down, making them even tinier, and pulling the waistband open wide. She grabbed my hand and slid it down her body, cupping my hand over her sex, shifting until she could force one of my big fingers inside of her.

I yanked my hand away, and refused to look at her for the rest of the drive. As always, she’d won the teasing contest. She was the uncontested champ.

I should have known better than to go there.

I put my arm around her like the overprotective boyfriend I was as we walked through the casino, glaring at every ass**le that stopped to stare at her.

“Fucking pinning you to that table as soon as she’s done. Going to f**k until we’re both f**king raw,” I muttered under my breath, making her giggle. I wasn’t even close to joking.

She tried to hug Frankie when we got to the shop, but I got in between them, giving Frankie a pointed look. “You talked her into wearing this, but you sure as hell aren’t feeling her up while she does it.”

Frankie just laughed.

Danika punched me in the shoulder.

I stood back, arms folded across my chest as the TV producer did a brief interview for the show about her tattoo. She blushed and giggled and told a little story about how she’d always loved cherry blossoms.

She was adorable, and I was counting the seconds until I could f**k her brains out again.

They did a lot of close-ups of the spot on her back where the ink was going. Frankie held up a square of paper that was about three by five inches, illustrating exactly where and how she planned to place her precise sketch of a cherry blossom branch, left of her spine, the top ending right where her shoulder blade started. It was beautiful, as I’d known it would be. Frankie’s work was always excellent.

I stood at Danika’s head, holding both of her hands for hours while Frankie worked, wanting to punch each member of the camera crew nearly every second of those hours.

The process was slow and fascinating. Watching Frankie work was always a treat, but watching Danika’s lovely back becoming even more exquisite with an intricate piece of art was an experience.

And of course, it turned me on.

Danika took the pain well. I’d crouch down to check her expression, and only occasionally were her eyes squeezed tight with pain. Mostly, they were clear and excited about seeing the results.

I took down her hair, stroked it, and even bent down to kiss her face when Frankie took the needle off for brief breaks while she switched ink, or wiped the area.

The final result was well worth the wait and the pain. Dark branches were painstakingly detailed and ended in pretty blossoms that went from myriad shades of pale pink, to magenta, to a bright red.

It was a feminine tattoo, perfect in every detail, just like its owner. She squealed in delight when she finally got a good look at it.

“Give her some privacy while she gets dressed,” I snapped at the crew when Frankie was finally done.

Frankie shooed them out, following behind. She gave me a rueful smile before she shut the door behind her. “I’ll blast some rock so you can have some privacy. I’d recommend you lock up after me.”

I locked the door, moving back to the table. Danika was already on her stomach, lying down, so all I had to do was twist her until she was sideways, her hips at the edge of the table, her feet not quite touching the ground.

“Get up on your elbows,” I told her, tugging off her shorts.

“I can’t believe you’re doing this,” she said breathlessly, rising up just enough to give me access to her chest.

“No one can say I didn’t give you fair warning.”

“Frankie knows exactly what we’re doing in here.”

No shit, I thought. “Nah,” I said. “You just needed a minute to straighten your clothes.”

“I don’t have that many clothes.”

“That’s the problem, now, isn’t it?” I slid my hands up her ribs, palming her bare br**sts under that joke of a shirt.

I rammed into her, not stopping until my hips slammed hard against her.

She screamed, gripping the other edge of the cushioned table.

“Well, now she definitely knows what we’re doing,” I rasped, pulling out slowly. I let go of her br**sts, leaning back to watch my c**k slide out of her slick entrance, cursing as her sheath gripped me tight, the curses turning into praise as I lunged back inside of her, hitting the end of her so hard it jarred us both, and she screamed again.

I bent back over her, speaking into her ear. “Did I hurt you, sweetheart?”

“No. More, Tristan, more. Fast. Please, please.”

I closed my eyes, the sound of her soft voice begging me about all I could take.

I was true to my word. I pinned her to that tattoo table and f**ked her brains out.

I came so hard, my legs just about gave out, and I was shouting nearly as loud as she was screaming.

“You like that angle, huh?”

She mumbled something in the affirmative, laying her cheek on the table, looking like she was about to drift off.

I cleaned us both up with paper towels from the bathroom that adjoined the room, slipping her shorts back on her.