Riot

Then what I’ve just done strikes me.

Riot in my apartment. In my living room, on my sofa.

In my bed.

Nervousness swamps me. Was that a stupid thing to do, ask for him to come over to my place, know where I live?

Oh stop it, I tell myself as I head to my car in the huge parking lot of the campus. Riot’s on the clock, and the agency checks on him. In fact they did background checks on all their escorts to make sure they don’t have a history of violence. The website said so.

Besides, Riot’s not a stalker. He’d never hurt me. I know it deep in my gut. The way he looks at me is predatory, like he wants to put his mouth all over me, put his cock into me, fuck me hard.

A wave of heat washes through me at the image.

Back on track. He may want to fuck me, but he won’t hurt me. What other guy would let me tie him up and do whatever I wanted? He’s doing all he can to help me, save me.

My place it is.

***

Corey is waiting for me outside the tattoo shop. It’s called Under The Skin, and it’s tucked between a Laundromat and a Thai restaurant. The smells drifting from the restaurant’s open door make my stomach growl.

“Hey, girlfriend.” Corey smiles when he sees me and throws his half-smoked cigarette to the ground, grinds it with the heel of his shoe. He always smokes when he’s nervous. “You made it.”

“You kidding me? There’s no way in the world I’d let you put ink on your skin without my supervision. You’re not to be trusted.” I stick my tongue out at him, and he does the same, because deep inside we’re a pair of two-year-olds.

Can’t always hide it.

We head inside and wait until the spunky girl at the reception desk finishes her call. The décor is all metal and graffiti and crazy tat designs.

Gives me tat envy. Maybe I can get a small one, too?

“What are you getting?” I poke Corey in the ribs. He looks distracted. “Hey.”

“Don’t know.” He waves a hand. “Something or other.”

What in the world? “You can’t be serious…”

He grabs a catalogue, starts leafing through it, green eyes hooded, lower lip tucked under his teeth.

What am I missing here?

“You insisted you had to get a tattoo. You asked me to come with you. We’re here. And you actually have no frigging clue what you would like. Then why the rush?”

He glances sideways, then back at me. “It was urgent, okay? What’s the design got to do with it?”

I gape at him. Eyes bulging and all. “You’re not Corey. The aliens kidnapped Corey and replaced him with a dummy.”

“Haha.” He scowls.

“You always told me tattoos are stupid. That only people who—”

“Shhh.” He tries to clap a hand over my mouth but I duck under his arm. Easy when the other guy is over six feet tall.

“Sorry.” Not sorry. “Spill, Corey. What’s going on inside your blond head?”

He says nothing. A guy is approaching us. Tall, muscular, in an Under Your Skin T-shirt, with dark hair and dark eyes and…

Oh dear God, no.