Chapter 11

 

Sammi

8:54 PM FRIDAY

 

The clanging of the bells fades, soon replaced by a mechanical hum.

I take a swig from the bottle of tequila, sighing as the magical tonic washes down my throat.

“Maybe you should slow down, darl.” Lock teases, removing the bottle from my hand.

He takes a swig of his own.

Yeah, right.

There’s a mild but insistent pain in my shoulder.

Lock reaches over me, passing the bottle to the monk currently tattooing my skin. He doesn’t even slow as he drinks from it, the tattoo rod continuing with practiced ease.

The monk removes the bottle from his mouth and passes it back to me. Not once does he break eye contact with his design.

I admire his attention to detail. Not to mention his ability to pound tequila.

I raise the bottle back to my lips, catching Locks eyes as I do.

He raises one eyebrow in question.

Should you really do that? the look says.

Damn straight I should.

I take an even bigger swig as punishment for his audacity before passing it off to him.

He chuckles and shakes his head, his sandy blonde hair falling in a way that makes me bite my lip.

I can’t help but think of the cabaret earlier. Of him under that table.

I feel myself getting wet again at the thought.

“How’s it feeling, Sammi?” he asks.

“Not too bad, really. Tequila helps.”

From outside, we hear giggling. It’s the sound of my BFFs making mischief, I have no doubt.

“So are you guys like…priests?” I hear Percy ask someone on the other side of the door.

“How do you mean?” a man responds, his voice heavily accented.

“Oh, you know…” she says. “I just have a, uh…a thing for priests. Wanna bang?”

From the silence that follows, I take it that he doesn’t.

I hear Liam laugh, breaking the awkward pause.

What the fuck are they up to?

“Well,” Becky chimes in, “I was just looking at those flowers. What kind are they?”

“Which?” the monk asks

“Oh, I dunno. They’re over here. Come look.”

After a moment, I hear Mysti May giggling like a lunatic. Someone, presumably Ladyboy Celine Dion, joins her.

“I’m gonna be, like, soooo zen!” I hear Mysti say.

There’s a thump, like something falling onto the grass, followed by more giggling.

Yeah, I definitely don’t need to know.

The metal rod continues all the while, the muffled sound of it soothing to my nerves.

Lock scoots closer to me, locking his eyes onto mine.

“Are you feeling better?” he asks.

“Sure am.”

“About Eggs—” he starts.

“I’d rather not.” I interrupt him.

His new proximity to me makes my heart beat a little harder. I feel my gaze being drawn to his mouth.

That fucking mouth.

His lips twitch into a smile that tells me he’s not oblivious to my thoughts.

I’m actually glad. I don’t want him to be.

Images from the cabaret play in my head again.

That kiss.

That fucking amazing kiss.

I know I probably shouldn’t, but I feel myself leaning towards him anyway.

The monk says something in Thai, clearly displeased.

Still, he adjusts the rod accordingly, following me forward.

Lock’s eyes twinkle as he watches me, his smile growing wider.

My mouth claims his hard, desperate.

God, this Aussie fuck can kiss.

Eggs pops into my head, and I try to remember if we ever shared a kiss even remotely as good.

Nothing comes to mind.

Lock’s tongue pushes past my lips, finding my own.

All thoughts of Eggs disappear.

I moan in the back of my throat, content to finally feel his lips on me again.

He breaks the kiss suddenly, his eyes aflame.

He doesn’t look away from me as he pushes his chair back, his stare still cutting into mine when he lowers himself to his knees.

This is definitely not the place.

Then again, neither was the cabaret, and that worked out pretty well…

I don’t even pretend to protest as he reaches out to grab my legs.

I don’t bicker when he pulls them apart.

Behind me, the monk never even slows. The rod continues its rhythmic tapping.

Lock doesn’t check if the monk is watching, obviously determined no matter what.

I’ll give him that much. When the man sets his mind to something, it’s probably gonna happen.

Unless I’m involved, of course.

Tonight being the obvious exception.

I feel his hands slide into my dress, pushing the fabric up my thighs and grabbing my thong in one fell swoop.

The flimsy material gives way in a single tug, tearing easily.

I grip the seat of my chair with both hands, willing myself to stay still no matter what.

I’m already dripping wet by the time his tongue finds me.

He starts out slow, seeming to savor the taste of me.

I groan, equal parts pleasure at his touch and frustration at my limited movement.

He answers with a moan of his own, wrapping his lips around my engorged clit and sucking gently.

My hands dig harder into the chair, knuckles turning white at the effort.

“Fuck, Sammi,” he groans, releasing me for the briefest moment. “You’re so fucking sexy.”

I release the chair with one hand, risking the movement to pull him back to me.

His tongue finds me with increased resolve, flicking steadily across my clit.

His hands are on my inner thighs, and he pushes at them, spreading me further open.

I let my hand stay on his head, twining my fingers deep into his sandy hair.

Each tap of the tattoo rod sends a small spark of pain racing through me. Each flick of Locks tongue sending pleasure up to meet it.

The two seem to meet in my core, mixing and building until I can’t tell one from the other.

I close my eyes, losing myself completely in the warring sensations.

When Lock’s fingers slip inside me, I gasp, pulling hard at his hair.

It’s all but torture, staying still when my every instinct screams at me to move. To thrust against him, drive his fingers deeper into my aching pussy.

Instead, I grip his hair even harder.

I moan out my frustration and delight.

His fingers rub deep inside of me, seeming to know every inch, every nerve.

His tongue perfectly matches their movements.

I feel myself getting close, my body tensing as I approach my orgasm, my pussy tightening around his thrusting fingers.

I pull my other hand free from the chair, momentarily unconcerned with the movement.

It tangles in his hair with the first, tugging frantically.

He redoubles his efforts, fingers driving deep into me, tongue flicking across me like lightning.

I scream as I come, pulling his face harder against me.

Waves of ecstasy rush though every inch of my body.

I feel my muscles spasming, my heart racing.

It seems to last for ages.

Every time I think it’s reached its peak, it only intensifies. My moans echo off the walls of the room, startling even me with their power.

By the time it passes, I find myself gasping for air.

Lock takes his time in stopping, his fingers thrusting for a moment more.

His tongue sliding over me like he’s hesitant to stop.

The pain in my shoulder re-solidifies, real again, now that it’s alone.

Tap tap tap.

The rod digs into me.

I could care less.

I feel a level of drunk that not even the tequila can account for, my pleasure still radiating through me.

All I can do is stare at him. Needing him even more now that I’ve come.

A million images flash through my mind. A million things that I want to do to him.

It’s all I can do to remain in my seat.

It’s only moments before the rod stills behind me, going quiet after one final tap.

I turn to the monk, inclining my head in question.

He nods, looking from me to Lock.

“My turn?” Lock asks, and I’m not sure which of us he’s speaking to.

The monk answers from behind me, Thai words spilling from his mouth. I look questioningly at him.

“He says that this tattoo comes with obligations.” Lock says.

“Obligations?”

“Sure, all blessings come with obligations.” There’s a smirk on his face that I don’t much care for.

“And they are?”

He chuckles, “Nothing much. You just have to perform certain duties—for me. Or else you’ll be…you know. Cursed.”

I raise my eyebrow at him.

“Duties, huh?”

“Nothing you can’t handle,” he says with another smirk, returning his attention to the still talking monk. “He says…hmm. He says you need to perform these duties daily. Or else.”

I roll my eyes at him.

As far as I know, Lock doesn’t even speak Thai.

“Hey,” he says, mock-wounded, “they’re not my rules. Don’t shoot the messenger, darl.”

“And what exactly do I get in return?” I ask him.

“Like performing sexual acts on me isn’t reward enough?” he asks, smiling broadly, “I mean, honestly, Sammi, greed doesn’t become you.”

The needle lifts. Tattoo finished. It hurts a little, but I suppose some blessings do.

Lock stands before I can answer, motioning with one hand for me to do the same.

“Anyway,” he says, taking my seat, “enough chit-chat, it’s my turn.”

From the bulge in his pants, I can tell he’s not just talking about the tattoo.

“And when do these duties begin, darling?” I ask, voice dripping with sarcasm.

Lock and I switch places. I lick my lips as we pass each other and I catch his scent.

“Oh…immediately,” Lock reassures me. “The sooner, the better.”