I’m draped over the back of the couch, head on my stacked arms, still catching my breath when I feel something cold on my bottom.
It’s a wet washcloth that Marcus is using to clean up the mess he made. I close my eyes and let him have at it.
When he finishes with the cloth, he comes back with what feels like lotion that he smears on my new ink that’s still tender.
“What the hell were you thinking, getting that inked on here permanently?” he asks, now sounding like he doesn’t approve. “Don’t you know they’re bad luck – the kiss of death for couples?”
“Tattoos are not bad luck. People just make bad decisions about people who are temporary,” I tell him. “And I was thinking that you would like to see it whenever you’re spanking me or fucking me, which I hope you will continue to do often.”
A groan is his only response.
“Oh, and that you would maybe like seeing it when you claim that hole again?”
“Damn right I will,” he growls with a squeeze to my unmarked ass cheek. “This is the best gift anyone has ever given me.”
“Good enough to convince you to take me to the Savage Kings clubhouse with you, to let me meet the other members?” I ask hopefully now that he knows how serious I am about being with him and only him.
“No.”
The one-word refusal comes out faster than I thought possible.
“Why not?”
“Because you do what I say when I say it! Do I need to remind you who’s in charge here?” he yells at me as if I’ve suddenly pissed him off. And when he’s pissed off, there’s usually only a few things to be done.
“Yes, I think you may need to do just that. Remind me you’re in charge, sir.”
Without another word, I hear Marcus pulling his belt free from his pants; then he hits me with it hard a few times, avoiding my tattoo, before he tosses it to the floor.
Well, that was over quicker than I expected.
But something is apparently still wrong when Marcus gets dressed and starts toward the front door.
“Marcus? Marcus!” I shout when he doesn’t respond the first time. “Wait. Where are you going?”
The door slams behind him in answer.
