Uncaged (An MMA Stepbrother Romance) (7 page)

If a pin dropped, we’d hear it.

I push off him, flustered and frustrated, and quickly zip up my jeans and do up the button.

“Go!” I say with venom, pointing toward the curtained doorway. “Leave. God, do you
ever
stop messing around?”

“I’ll pick you up after work,” he says. He grabs his crotch and adjusts it to exaggerated effect, and I can only look away, shake my head.

“No you won’t.”

“We can talk more about my cock piercing then.”

“I’ll cut it off,” I say. I make a pair of scissors out of my index and middle finger.

He winces. “Ouch. See you at six.”

Before I can reply, he’s left the curtain flapping in his wake, his finger in his mouth, and a cocky swagger in his step.

I part the curtain, and catch him wink at Maya in the waiting room. I clench my jaw.

When comes into the back, sidling past me, she stops, seems to sniff the air. Dread fills me. Can she…
smell
it?

“I like his cologne,” she tells me a moment later.

“Mm,” I sound, turning around and taking a moment to collect myself.

“Not too strong.”

“Yeah.”

“Smells expensive.”

“Sure.”

“I’ve smelled it before. I think it’s—”

I cut her off. “You ready?”

Maya looks stung. I’m being too short with her, and it’s unfair. She has no idea, and she’s also my client. Wrong. She’s
Tina’s
client, and damned if I’m going to lose her because I couldn’t put on a better bedside manner.

“Sorry,” I say.

Maya sits in the chair slowly, lowering herself onto the crinkling wrap. I wipe a hand across my sticky forehead, wonder if she can feel how warm the chair still is.

“Are you okay, Penelope?”

“Yes,” I say, tucking hair behind my ears and taking a deep breath. I touch my cheeks with the backs of my hands. They’re boiling. I’m sure Maya will notice.

“Trouble?”

“You could call it that.”

“Is he a client?”

I sigh, and give her a polite smile. “Yes. Hold out your arm again, please.” I pick up the tattoo machine, but my fingers are still trembling a little, so I put it down and shake them a bit. I’ve still got Pierce’s taste in my mouth, and so I go to the sink and run myself a glass of water.

“What’s a Prince Albert?”

I almost spit the water out, but play it off like a cough.

“You don’t know?”

“Well, from what I gather, it’s a piercing on a, uh, man’s…?”

“Yup. It’s a piercing on the underside of the penis, beneath the glans, and into the urethra. The ring is pushed through one of the thinnest membranes on a male’s body, into the urethral passage, and actually comes out of the urethral opening. It’s relatively simple as far as male genital piercings go, and is one of the most popular.”

I recite it off the top of my head. It’s a way to distract myself, and hopefully Maya. I know a lot about body art and piercings.

She scrunches up her face. “That’s kind of disgusting. Doesn’t that hurt?”

“Typically people say it hurts more than an ear piercing and less than a nipple piercing,” I tell her. “Some guys say it doesn’t hurt at all, but I don’t believe that. Four-to-six weeks healing time.”

“Why do they do it?”

I shrug, and then sit down on my stool next to her. “It’s not like I
have
a penis. People report they have heightened sexual pleasure. Some say they like the sensation when they urinate. Some women say that, in certain positions, the piercing can actually enhance sex for them.”

“Really?” she asks. “Huh. I wonder what positions?”

“Use your imagination,” I deadpan.

“Why does that guy want one? Doesn’t he know you don’t do piercings here?”

I laugh. “Oh God, to tell you the truth, I don’t know. I don’t think he even knows why
he
wants one, or if he truly does, or if he’s just winding me up.”

“He’s hot, though.”

I push my lips together, stare daggers into her arm. I try not to squeeze it too tightly. “Yeah, he is.”

“Great body.”

“Yeah,” I say, contemplating pushing the needle into her arm a little deeper than I should.

“Who is he, anyway? Your ex or something?”

I shake my head slowly. “No, not my ex. He’s Pierce Fletcher.”

“Pierce Fletcher,” she echoes. “I’ve heard that somewhere before.”

“He’s an underground cage fighter.”

“Yeah, my brother talked about him. Something like one of the best ever in the scene.”

“That’s what they say.” My tone lacks any semblance of enthusiasm. “He’s also about to become my stepbrother.”

“Oh,” she says. I see it on her face. At first, there’s polite acknowledgement, and then confusion:
Weren’t they just talking about his cock?

“And,” I say, sighing, drawing out the word. “We’re sleeping together.”

She covers her mouth.

Silence swallows us.