DeeperThanInk by M.A. Ellis

Balls to the
wall. “Then what do you want to do?”
    She let out a long sigh. “Dinner. Here. Naked.”
    “Really?” He looked down at her, watching her eyelids start
to open and close slowly. “I’ve got two things in the fridge.”
    “Mushrooms and eggs,” she said hopefully.
    “Jack and shit. So pizza it’ll be. With a nice red.”
    “Mmmmm. That sounds wonderful.”
    “But no nakedness for the delivery dude. I tip him well
enough without that,” Chad teased.
    Becca wiggled against his side, repositioning her head
against his chest. Getting comfortable, he imagined. She placed a quick kiss
just above his right nipple and his heart stammered.
    “Sheesh,” she whispered. “You’re no fun.”
    It was the perfect opportunity for a “words hurt” moment.
But he let it go because he wasn’t sure if his voice would even be steady. And
she was already asleep.
    Chad listened to her slow, steady breathing, the euphoria of
having her in his bed starting to wane. Life had taught him not to doubt the
things that came a person’s way. Not to worry too much. But he was feeling both
where Becca was concerned.
    Her doing the tattoos was more than a little worrisome.
Their entire experience at Club Rosenthorn had left him disturbed. Not because
of the voyeuristic scene they’d witnessed, everyone had their kink of
preference, he supposed.
    It was because Andres Herzog seemed to be able to read them
both. And it was clear he thought Becca had potential. That with a few lessons
at his hand she’d fit into their scene.
    There was no way in hell Chad was about to let that happen.
Not today. Not tomorrow. And certainly not whatever day that asshole decided
Becca needed to return to the club for her final payment.
    He looked down at her face, her strong features relaxed in
sleep.
    Yeah. No way in hell.

Chapter Five
     
    “Holy freakin’ hell, look at you!”
    Becca stopped dead in her tracks in front of the lunchroom
and glanced over her shoulder. She wanted to make sure her boss was talking to
her and not one of the other artists who might be following in her wake.
    “Miss Clairol and the Sephora Fairy go at it this morning or
what? I guess we know who came out on top. I like it, Wiley. Less is more, I
hear it all the time.”
    “I’ll bet you do, Joseph. And aren’t you lucky they have a
pill for that?” she teased, realizing his shock was centered on her new hair
color and not some outwardly discernible sign that she and Chad had spent the
past eighteen hours banging like bunnies. She’d been running so far behind this
morning she’d only done one layer of mascara. Didn’t even prime. Her lashes
felt naked.
    Mmmm. Naked, huh?
    Becca had known she was going to have a hard time
concentrating this morning when the light of day had shone through Chad’s
wooden blinds and she was still wrapped in his embrace. Panic had started
climbing from the pit of her stomach straight up her throat until Chad had
placed a light kiss against her temple and ordered her to be still for just a
while longer. And she had. She’d pushed all other thoughts aside and focused on
the delight of having Chad’s tall, solid form next to her as opposed to
flinging a knee over a big fluffy body pillow. The squeezing part was much more
rewarding.
    But the moment she’d stepped out his door, her thoughts had
gone haywire. Her stylist could have dyed her hair Oompa Loompa green and she
probably wouldn’t have noticed. She’d spent her time in the salon chair
reliving the bliss that had constituted the previous afternoon and evening with
Chad. He had nudged her awake with a raging hard-on around six o’clock, which
delayed their pizza-fest by another hour but Becca didn’t care. And when he had
wrung a few more orgasms out of her and they crawled into his shower, reverting
right back to their easy conversation and banter, she’d grown to love over the
past eight months. That had been her biggest fear. That sex with Chad would
change all