INKED 8: A Tattoo Shop Reverse Harem

"Is that why you read?" I ask, remembering the black and red cover of the book I caught Kyla buried in at the deli one lunchtime.

"For sure," Kyla says. "My life isn't the worst, but it certainly isn't the most interesting."

"Are you sure of that?" I hand her the drink and take a sip of my own. It's the perfect mix of sweet and sour with the warmth of alcohol as it hits the back of my throat.

"Right now, I'm reading a dark mafia romance. I guess I'm kind of glad that my life hasn't taken that kind of turn."

"Exactly," I say. "But I'm sure there are some romance novels out there where the heroine has lots of kinky fun with a tattooed hero."

"There are lots where the heroine has kinky fun with lots of tattooed men at the same time."

"Really!" I say, leaning a little closer. "And have you read any books like that?"

"I might have done," Kyla admits, sucking cocktail up her straw with bright eyes.

"Well, my night might not live up to that kind of excitement," I say.

"Noah, cocktails and ribbons," she murmurs, as though she's still trying to work out what it means.

"So, you have me, and you have the cocktail. Now all I have to provide are the ribbons."

"Ribbons don't seem very kinky." Kyla hands me her empty glass and raises an eyebrow.

"Anything can be kinky with the right person in control," I say. "For example, that banana over there. In one person's hand, it's just an innocent little fruit, but in my hands…"

Kyla holds up her palm, the imagery of the banana seemingly too much for her. "You said nothing about bananas on that little slip of paper. I think I'll stick with the ribbons."

"It's not an either-or situation," I smirk, sliding my hand around hers so that I can lead her to the bedroom. I've tried to set the scene without making it like something from a tacky third-rate 1970s porn movie. I've covered my bed in my plain white cotton comforter, with matching pillows and a soft gray woven throw. The light comes from a muted bulb in my black lamp, resting on my nightstand. Candles seemed too cliched, but this feels just right.

I've left a mellow playlist on in the background too. Somehow, music has the power to turn a cold empty room into an inviting space. I hope everything I've done will relax Kyla enough for her to let go and hand all control over to me.

"Are you planning to tie me up?" she asks softly, making her way around the bed and fingering the thick red ribbon that is already fixed to each corner of my bed.

"Will you let me?"

She takes the ribbon and wraps it around her left wrist, testing the feeling of it by pulling away from the bed the way she might if she was struggling. It pulls tight around her skin, the bite obvious from the way it indents her flesh. Her lips part at the sensation, pink and soft-looking, totally mesmerizing. There's another roll of thick ribbon on the nightstand that she notices.

"What's this for?" she asks.

"Your eyes. Have you ever been blindfolded before?"

Her brown eyes find mine as she shakes her head. "I would never have guessed that this would be your kink," she says softly.

"What would you have guessed?"

"Dirty talk," she says. "You have a way with words."

"Oh, I like dirty talk too." I take a step closer, then another, moving slowly, so that I don't startle her. Kyla seems skittish and nervous tonight, a contrast from the controlled and confident woman she is at work.

"Do I get a safe word?" she asks.

"Of course. That's yours to pick."

"Banana," she says, tucking her hair behind her ear as I get close enough to reach out and touch her.

"Not banana," I say. "Because if that's your safe word, you'll never be able to actually ask for the banana."

Swatting her hand at my arm, she shakes her head. "Seriously, are you not content with pushing my boundaries with these ribbons? You want to go even further?"

"I want you to go as far as you want," I say. "Whatever you want, I will deliver."

"I'm sure there would be things you wouldn't want to do," she says with an arch to her eyebrow.

"Maybe." I smile, "But I don't think you'd be stepping that far out of my comfort zone."

"Tell me what you want me to do," she says, with a curt nod.

Tipping her chin, I dip my head, running my lips across hers with a featherlight touch, waiting until I feel her first tremble. She'll learn that what I like can't be rushed. It's about slow, torturously good pleasure. Layer upon layer of sensation that curls toes and elicits begging. She won't understand it now, but she will when we're done.