The Tattoo Artist's Mate

Prologue

“I have decided, pet, it is selfish of me to keep you to myself.” Julian smiled at Isla in a way that made her skin crawl. What did he mean? Dare she ask? She opened her mouth, but he forestalled her in a simple effective manner. He put his hand over hers, his little finger curled inside her lips. She smelled, and tasted, snuff. Taking snuff was a horrible, archaic, disgusting habit Julian had cultivated. It made her want to sneeze and throw up in equal measures.

“Now, pet, be careful. You know what happens when my pet gets above herself. Remember I know what’s best.”

Did he? Lately Isla had begun to doubt that. Surely his “I know best, do as I say attitude” could be tempered at times? Weren’t subs supposed to be able to say “enough”? Why did he know best? And why for fuck’s sake did he call her pet? Oh, she knew a lot of Doms used the affectionate sobriquet, but from Julian it sounded false. As if he had decided he needed to sound Dom-like and thought that was the way. She could have told him it didn’t. If she dared.

Good lord, what had she become? Shame flooded her. She was a mouse. A pathetic, groveling, couldn’t stand up for herself mouse.

“Isla, are you listening?”

Argh, she’d tuned out. Not very sub like. Maybe she wasn’t sub material after all? “Sorry.”

The tap to her cunt was short, sharp, and hurt. “Listen now. I’ve said I’m not going to keep you to myself. I will share you with my friends,”

You what?

Had she heard that right? “Say that again.” In her shock she forgot the “Sir”.

His eyes narrowed. “Don’t be disrespectful. Whoever I decide can have you. However I decide. You heard and earned a punishment. I’ll let Harry Thurston give it. You are for all of us.”

Harry Thurston? He was renowned as a sadist.

“No.”

Julian appeared flabbergasted. She was a bit gobsmacked herself. Where had that come from?

“What do you mean no?” He snarled the words.

“No, I won’t.”

“You will or—”

“No and no or nothing. It’s over.” Isla heard herself and wanted to high five. It was. “No more, I’ve had enough. I quit.”

His eyes narrowed. “You go, and it’s forever, pet. How will you cope, eh? No Sir to protect you, show you where you are going wrong. You’ll soon come crawling back.”

She grinned, confident now that he was not what she needed.

“I’ll manage very well.”

“With that reminder of who you belong to?” He pointed at her ankle where he’d insisted she have his name tattooed.

Isla trembled but managed a creditable, scornful laugh. “That? I’ll get it lasered off.” She grabbed her handbag, turned on her heel and marched out. Out of his house and out of his life.

Chapter One

Six months later

Isla woke up in a sweat. That bloody dream again. Why bears for goodness’ sake? Oh, she liked her shifter stories—who didn’t? There was nothing nicer that a hot bloke with a body like a Greek god who in the blink of an eye changed from said bloke to a—well in her case it seemed a bear—to make a girl wet and wanting. Most times a session with her bullet usually helped. Not now though. For some reason she woke up sated and strange though it seemed, with a feeling she wasn’t herself. That someone or something had changed her. Almost, she thought, as if she’d had some sort of out of body experience.

Which of course was daft. She was no shifter. Her mum was from Auchtermuchty in Scotland and her dad an out and out cockney, who he said was related to Pearly Kings and Queens. Not that she believed that bit. Her granddad had been a coalman and her grandma allegedly a bit weird. A lady who Isla remembered as small and white haired, who smelled of cough drops and told the most amazing stories about wizards and dragons.

Maybe that was it? She was subconsciously remembering those stories. Wasn’t one about a bear who was lonely and wanted a mate? And found a human instead?

Wouldn’t that be good? Isla sniggered and rolled her eyes.

“Too much cheese.”

Was that really a growl she heard, or the bin lorry doing its usual gear-crunching reverse around the corner? She poked her head between the curtains. The lane outside the house was empty. Not even her next-door neighbor going for his usual early morning jog with Pongo his sheepdog.

Nothing except the trees across the lane waving as if someone—or something—had recently rushed through them.

“For us, I’m watching over you.”

Isla shivered. Where had that stupid thought come from? She headed for the shower and remembered her vow.

Today is the day.

****

“Bare Alley, third on left.” Isla muttered to herself as she parked her car in the multi-story of her nearest town, got out and locked up. “Stupid name for a street.” Okay it was probably steeped in the deep dark annals of time and full of mystery and intrigue, but it still didn’t seem right. It reminded her of naked orgies, Lady Godiva, and a picture she’d seen in an art gallery of a bear with a naked lady. Both looked happy. It made her miserable. Where had her happy gone? Her joie de vivre? Her love of life and all things ridiculous?

Down the toilet.

It was galling to admit that those bloody months with Julian had eroded them. As he’d tried to mold her into his … his what? Not a sub for sure, his slave in a most unpleasant way perhaps? She understood that now. He was, to put no finer point on it, a charlatan. Isla could hit herself for being so taken in. But the man was a smooth talking, persuasive, slimy toad. And Isla realized she had been ripe for someone to love. At university, all her mates had paired off, and nerdy Isla Cameron hadn’t. She’d been more concerned with good grades and aiming for a career in something esoteric.

Instead she’d fallen into his lap and life, forgotten esoteric, spent a miserable few months before she jumped out of said lap and then indulged in her love of cakes. Which added several inches to her already ample hips as of course at first, she couldn’t make, bake and sell such things without sampling them. Now she was more sensible, but those inches clung to her like an insecure child who didn’t want to leave its mum. However, she was happy within herself, and if having to buy new trousers was a result of that happiness so be it.

Being you own boss was great up to a point. But when you were so successful you had to ask a mate if you could switch your answering machine to her phone so you could have a day off as well as your normal Monday and Tuesday, it wasn’t on. Not really.

Oh, she enjoyed Is

la’s Bakes, was happy to do bespoke celebration cakes for whoever wanted one, and enjoyed the success she’d achieved. However, it had taken off so well, she needed help. Help she hadn’t so far discovered. Her one employee was perfect, but oh how one or two more part-timers would give them more normal working hours not the ten- and twelve-hour days she seemed to be putting in more and more.

She yearned for time to breath and relax and think. Not just about work. About her other current dilemma as well.