Ink and Iron

“You’re staring, Mr. Hale. Is there something on my skin?”

I snapped my gaze up from the intricate blackwork curling around her wrist, up her forearm, disappearing beneath the starched white cuff of her blouse. Mia Kessler. My new boss. She was a fortress of tailored suits and clipped syllables, but that ink was a crack in the armor.

“Sorry, Ms. Kessler. It’s… beautiful,” I said, feeling the heat crawl up my neck.

The night train swayed, the dim light of the compartment casting long shadows. She’d offered me a drink from her flask, a peace offering after a brutal first day. Now we were alone in the cabin, the world outside a blur of black.

“It’s not a painting,” she said, a ghost of a smile playing on her lips. “It’s a map.”

She unscrewed the cap of her flask, took a slow sip, her eyes never leaving mine. “Of everywhere I’ve been. Every mistake I’ve made.”

“And the one on your neck?” I asked, gesturing to the delicate script just below her ear.

She leaned forward, and I caught the scent of whiskey and something floral. “That one’s a promise.”

The silence stretched, thick and heavy. Her gaze was a dare. I’d never had a boss look at me like that. Like she could see right through my shirt and knew exactly what I was thinking. My cock was already straining against my jeans, a painful, insistent pressure.

“Show me the rest of the map,” I said, my voice rougher than I intended.

She held my stare for a long, breathless moment. Then, slowly, she reached up and began unbuttoning her blouse. One button. Two. The pale skin of her chest revealed, then the black lace of her bra, and then the full, stunning canvas of her torso. A phoenix, wings spread, its tail feathers dissolving into intricate geometric patterns that snaked over her ribs and down to her navel. The ink was alive, moving with her breath.

“Fuck,” I breathed.

“Language, Mr. Hale,” she chided, but her voice was husky. “Now, come here. I want to see if you can follow the lines.”

I was on my knees in front of her before I could think. My hands, trembling, reached for her waist. Her skin was warm, impossibly soft under the heat of the lamp. I traced the phoenix’s wing with my thumb, feeling her shiver.

“I think you’re lost already,” she whispered, her fingers threading through my hair.

I didn’t answer. I leaned in and pressed my mouth to the ink just above her navel. She tasted like salt and soap and pure, raw woman. Her breath hitched. I kissed a path along the geometric lines, down, my tongue flicking out to taste the sensitive skin of her hip bone. She arched into me, a low moan escaping her lips.

I fumbled with the button on her tailored trousers, pulling them down her legs along with her black panties. She was already wet, her pussy glistening in the dim light. The scent of her, musky and sweet, filled the small compartment.

“You’re so fucking wet for me,” I growled against her thigh.

“Don’t get cocky,” she shot back, but her legs spread wider, an open invitation.

I lowered my head and licked a long, slow stripe up her slit. She shuddered, a sharp gasp cutting through the rhythmic clatter of the train. I lapped at her clit, tasting her, feeling her pulse against my tongue. Her fingers tightened in my hair, pulling me closer.

“Yes… right there,” she panted, her composure crumbling.

I sucked her clit into my mouth, flicking it with my tongue while I slid two fingers inside her. She was tight, hot, and soaking. She bucked against my hand, a string of curses falling from her lips. The strict boss was gone, replaced by this writhing, desperate woman.

“I’m close,” she gasped, her thighs clamping around my head.

I pushed her over the edge, my fingers curling inside her as she came with a sharp cry, her body convulsing. I didn’t stop, licking her through every wave until she pushed my head away, breathless.

“Enough,” she commanded, her voice shaky. She sat up, grabbing my shoulders and pushing me back onto the narrow bunk. “My turn to read you.”

She made quick work of my jeans, freeing my aching cock. Her hand wrapped around it, cool and sure, and I hissed through my teeth. She stroked me slowly, deliberately, her thumb smearing the bead of precum over the head.

“You’re just as eager as I thought,” she murmured, before lowering her mouth onto me.

The heat of her mouth was a shock. She took me deep, her tongue working the shaft as she swallowed me to the base. I groaned, my hands finding the back of her head, not forcing, just holding on. She moved with a rhythm that was almost cruel, pulling back until just the tip was in her mouth, then taking me all the way down again. The sounds she made, wet and hungry, were driving me insane.

“I need to be inside you,” I rasped, pulling her off me.

She didn’t argue. She swung a leg over my hips, positioning herself above my throbbing cock. She reached down, guiding me to her entrance, and then she sank down onto me in one slow, agonizing motion. We both groaned. She was so tight, so wet, so perfect. She sat there for a moment, her eyes closed, just feeling me inside her.

Then she started to move. She rode me hard, her tits bouncing under her bra, her head thrown back. The tattooed phoenix seemed to be flying. I grabbed her hips, meeting her rhythm, driving deeper.

“Fuck, Mia,” I gritted out.

“Harder,” she demanded, her nails digging into my chest.

I flipped her over, pinning her beneath me, my weight on top of her. I slammed into her, deep and rough. She cried out, wrapping her legs around my waist. I buried my face in her neck, tasting the ink there, the promise she’d spoken of. I fucked her with a frantic, primal need, the train rocking us in a rhythm of our own.

Her climax hit her again, her inner walls clenching around me, milking me. The sensation pushed me over the edge, and I came with a guttural groan, spilling my seed deep inside her. I collapsed on top of her, my heart hammering against her ribs, both of us slick with sweat.

We lay there, tangled and breathless, as the train hurtled through the night. The silence was different now, comfortable. She traced a lazy circle on my chest.

“Coffee’s at seven,” she said, her voice soft. “Try not to stare at my tattoos in front of the client.”

I laughed, a low, satisfied sound. “No promises, Ms. Kessler.”

CATEGORIES: [Tattoos, On the Train, Boss, Just the Two of Us, Rough sex]