Dirty Sexy Inked (Dirty Sexy Series Book 2)
Dirty Sexy Inked: Chapter 3

One minute Mason was trying to figure out how to nicely extricate himself from the overly aggressive woman who’d seemingly staked a claim on him the moment he’d walked into Coyote Ugly, and the next he was distracted by a round of loud cheers, appreciative male whistles, and catcalling coming from the direction of one of the bars.

Mildly curious as to what had the crowd all worked up, he glanced over the woman’s shoulder toward the commotion. Every muscle in his body tensed when he saw Katrina dancing on top of the bar, looking hotter and more seductive than he’d ever seen her before. He’d also never seen her so . . . uninhibited, and especially in a public place.

What the fucking hell?

A combination of shock and awe held Mason’s gaze hostage, and his mouth went dry as dust as he watched her body move so sensually to the beat of the music. Those small hips circled and swayed with lithe grace, and her cloud of gorgeous blonde hair cascaded down her back as she tipped her head, raised her arms above her head, and drove the men around her wild with a shimmying move that nearly brought Mason to his knees right where he was standing.

Lust made his blood surge like molten lava in his veins, spilling through him in a rush of carnal hunger. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t breathe. He could only stare at this bold, brazen, uninhibited woman he barely recognized as his best friend.

Who was this girl flaunting herself and what had she done with his composed and reserved Kitty-Kat?

The tight leather pants she wore molded to her sexy curves and her perfect ass—the same luscious ass she was currently putting on display as she bent over and ran a hand up her leg in a slow, sultry caress as she straightened once again. When she lifted her smoky gaze, Mason could have sworn that she was looking directly at him with those dark, come-hither eyes. Teasing him. Taunting him. Tormenting him with what he couldn’t have. Fuck.

Or maybe his wild imagination was just playing tricks on him, because she’d never, ever given him any indication that she wanted to get down and dirty with him. Then again, this racy performance could be for another man entirely, and why did that thought make his stomach feel as though he’d just swallowed a dozen burning coals?

Hips gyrating to the music, she continued to skim those mesmerizing hands over her stomach and cupped her breasts over the corset top that was held together with just the thin ties that laced up the front. So fucking naughty. Her lips parted, and a hint of a smile played across her sinful mouth.

A mouth he suddenly wanted to do filthy, wicked things to. Right now.

Another ovation of rambunctious cheers attracted even more male attention to Katrina. Some guy offered her up a shot, and she took the glass and tossed back the liquor in one gulp, then sent a defiant glance in his general direction before continuing with her dirty dancing.

Jesus Christ, was she drunk? It was the only thing that made sense to Mason. Katrina wasn’t an attention seeker, and she wasn’t the kind of woman who paraded herself in front of men. Then again, nothing about her behavior lately had been predictable or typical, and this little display of rebellion was the last straw. He’d had enough. Tonight, he was going to replace out what the hell was going on with her.

Before he could figure out a way to get Katrina out of there without causing a scene, one of the guys at the bar made the huge mistake of reaching out and touching her. The dickhead curled his hand around her calf and started sliding it upward, and Mason thought he was going to flip his shit.

He saw bright red, as hot, fierce jealousy jolted through him. An unprecedented depth of emotion flooded him as he pushed his way through all her admirers to make his way up to the bar. He told himself he was being a friend and protecting her from one of these douchebags who might take advantage of her being drunk, but that didn’t explain the possessive feeling pumping through him with each step he took toward her. Add to that the steady stream of adrenaline ramping him up, and it was a potent combination that had him on edge and itching for a fight.

Realizing that the mob around the bar was too crammed and it would take him too goddamn long to get to Katrina, he instead went for the stairs that led directly to the top of the bar. As he climbed up, she caught sight of him and her eyes grew wide with panic, as if she realized she’d provoked him a little too far. He narrowed his gaze ominously, conveying his thoughts with that one look. That’s right, Kitty-Kat. Be afraid. Be very afraid because tonight we’re finally going to hash out what the fuck your problem is.

Now that Mason was on top of the bar—and yeah, he knew men weren’t allowed up there, but tough shit—their audience grew. Heads turned their way as everyone watched the scene about to unfold. Despite how pissed he was, Mason was determined to set aside his anger and be nice and gentle about getting Katrina out of there.

When he reached her, he circled his fingers loosely around her wrist to make sure she obeyed. “Come on, Katrina, we’re leaving.”

She yanked her hand out of his grasp and lifted her chin stubbornly. Her face was flushed and her eyes flashed fire. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

Okay . . . Apparently, he needed to line up a Plan B.

“Yes, you are,” he said firmly, all too aware of all the eyes on them. “I suggest you come with me willingly, or you’re not going to like the alternative. The choice is yours.”

She crossed her arms over her chest, a reckless glint in her eyes as she glared at him. “You’re such an asshole, Mase.”

Clearly, she was mad at him. For ruining her fun? Or something else? That was the problem lately—he had no fucking clue what he’d done wrong. Since she was already furious, he figured things couldn’t get much worse.

He sighed. “Since you think I’m an asshole, I might as well live up to my reputation.” Before she realized his intent, he bent low, wrapped his arms around the backs of her thighs, and hefted her over his shoulder in a fireman’s hold. She was slim and light—he bench-pressed more than what she weighed—and he heard her gasp at being taken by surprise.

She wriggled and squirmed as he headed back toward the stairs, with the crowd now cheering him on.

Her fists pummeled his backside. “Goddamn it, Mason Kincaid, let me down!”

He had no intentions of putting her feet back on the ground, because he knew he wouldn’t get this kind of leverage over her again. “Not gonna happen, Kitty-Kat, so relax and enjoy the ride.”

“Fuck you!” she bellowed.

He shook his head in disbelief. Jesus, when had she become such a goddamn hellcat?

He reached the bottom of the stairs and encountered Clay, who was frowning at him in that reprimanding way of his, and Mason knew that his big brother was going to be all . . . well, big brotherly, and try to interfere.

Before Clay could say a word, Mason spoke first. “Don’t you fucking dare try to stop me. Katrina and I have some things to hash out, and it’s happening tonight.”

Surprisingly, Clay backed down, nodded in understanding, and let him pass by. They all knew how out of character this stunt of Katrina’s was, and his brother also knew Mason would never physically hurt her.

The next roadblock Mason encountered was the big, beefy bouncer standing at the door, muscular arms folded over his chest, who wouldn’t let him walk by.

“Is she leaving with you willingly?” the bouncer asked gruffly.

“No!” Katrina shouted as she tried to kick her legs, which Mason held down with his forearm. “He’s kidnapping me!”

“She’s such a drama queen.” Mason rolled his eyes. “Honestly, no, she’s not leaving with me willingly,” he said, because, hello, he had Katrina flipped over his shoulder and she was yelling obscenities at him. There was nothing willing about this particular scenario or her conduct. “But she’s had a lot to drink and I’d rather her be my problem than yours.”

The bouncer didn’t budge, his expression dubious. The dude obviously took his job seriously, and while Mason appreciated him being thorough and cautious, quite frankly, he needed the guy to let them through.

“I can vouch for him.” Levi came up to the door, surprising Mason with his support. “He’s my brother and I’m a cop,” he said, and showed his Chicago PD badge, which he always carried in his wallet.

The bouncer verified the information, and that’s all it took to convince him that Katrina was safe with Mason. He finally moved aside to let them past.

“Thanks, man,” Mason said to his brother. “I owe you one.”

Levi gave him a wry smile. “Yeah, you do.”

Behind Mason, Katrina pushed up on her hands so she could look at Levi as they walked through the exit—or glare at him, Mason was guessing.

“You’re such a traitor, Levi!” she shouted at him.

Mason heard his brother chuckle before saying, “See you two at some point tomorrow.”

As soon as they were finally out on the sidewalk leading to their hotel, Katrina started up again, thrashing and pummeling and cursing. She drew curious stares from strangers, but Mason just smiled and nodded at the passersby as if this was normal for the two of them, and kept strolling toward the Bellagio.

“I can walk, you jerk! Put me down already,” she demanded as she smacked and pinched his butt, then growled in frustration when she encountered mostly firm muscle.

“Nope. And quit wiggling around.” When she didn’t obey, he returned the favor, slapping her bottom so hard she gasped and arched her back from the direct contact. His palm stung from the sharp swat, which meant she’d likely have his handprint on her ass—and Jesus Christ, the image of that possessive mark on her pale skin made his cock hard as stone.

She finally settled down. “I hate you,” she said, a pout in her voice.

There was no vehemence behind her words, but Mason knew that for the moment, for whatever reason, she wasn’t very fond of him. “I know you do, Kitty-Kat. I just don’t know why.”

“I already told you,” she said, perking up again. “It’s because you’re an asshole.”

He let it go at that, and when they finally reached the Bellagio, Katrina was dead weight over his shoulder and uncharacteristically quiet. He figured she’d either fallen asleep or passed out from the alcohol she’d consumed.

He figured wrong. On the ride up the quiet, vacant elevator, she finally spoke.

“Will you please put me down now?” she asked through gritted teeth, her voice clear enough that he knew she’d been awake the entire time. “You’ve humiliated me enough tonight.”

“Me?” he asked incredulously as he bent his knees and anchored her feet on the ground, then helped her to stand. They were facing one another now, and he felt his earlier irritation flare back to life. “I was trying to keep you from humiliating yourself up on that bar!”

Her spine stiffened and her gaze shot daggers at him. “I was doing just fine until you came along and ruined my night. I didn’t want or need your help.”

“Yeah, well, tough shit,” he shot back as he jammed his hands on his hips and tried to keep his gaze above her neck when her heaving chest tempted him to look at her perfect breasts pushed up so enticingly by her top. “That’s what best friends do, Katrina. They make sure their drunk friends get back to their hotel safely instead of leaving with some random stranger.”

Her jaw dropped incredulously. “I can’t believe that just came out of your mouth. You’re such a fucking hypocrite.”

Hypocrite? Was that what she really thought when he was trying to be a good guy and do the right thing? Jesus, he’d never seen her so combative, so angry at him. Sure, they’d had squabbles over their twelve years of friendship, but it was as though her current animosity was an accumulation of weeks, or months, of harboring resentments of some kind.

Before he could demand she explain the hypocrite comment, the elevator arrived on their floor. As soon as the doors slid open, she marched out into the corridor all huffy-puffy and turned toward her suite. He grabbed her upper arm before she could walk too far away, and just like back at the bar, she managed to yank out of his grasp.

She spun around to say something most likely rude and scathing, her hair flying around her shoulders, and he took advantage and did the only thing he could think of to keep ahold of her so she couldn’t escape him or the discussion they were going to have. Whether she liked it or not.

Impulsively, his hand shot out and he grabbed the front of her leather pants. He seized the waistband in his fist and jerked her toward him so abruptly that she stumbled on her heels and inhaled a quick breath. Her hands landed on his chest, which allowed her to regain her balance, but she was quick to try and push away from him. She only managed about a foot of space because his grip was strong and unrelenting, and he didn’t intend to let her go.

“What the hell, Mase?” she said, her shock as profound as his own.

As he stared into her wide eyes that were a bit too bright with what he would have sworn was desire, he wasn’t sure if her surprise was a result of him asserting a bit of physical control over her, or the fact that he’d tucked four long fingers between the fly of her pants and her lower stomach. Fuck, his knuckles were grazing the softest, silkiest flesh he’d ever had the pleasure of touching.

He gritted his teeth. Christ, he literally had his hand down her pants.

Asshole that he was, he wanted to push his fingers a little lower, wanted to slide them between her thighs and discover how hot and wet and aroused she was. And deeper, how tight and slick her pussy would feel around his cock as he buried himself to the hilt.

He swore beneath his breath and shook his head, hard, doing his best to dislodge the indecent images in his mind, because this was not the time or place. Ignoring the erection thickening against the front of his jeans took equal effort, and he forced his mind back to the issue at hand.

“We’re not done with this conversation,” he said as he started toward his room while pulling her behind him by the waistband of her pants, being just aggressive enough that she couldn’t stop him and was forced to follow. “You’ve had a bug up your butt the past few months, and you’re not leaving my room until you tell me what the fuck is going on and why you’re acting so irrationally, and why lately you always seem to be pissed off or annoyed with me.”

Reaching his room, he pulled his key card out of his pocket with his free hand and swiped the magnetic strip. The lock disengaged, and he opened the door and hauled her inside the suite. As soon as they cleared the entry area and were in the small living room, he finally released her.

She quickly put distance between them, then whirled around to face him. There was one lamp turned on next to the couch, and the drapes had been pulled open across the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the glittering lights of Vegas at night. The room was slightly shadowed, and while he would have preferred more light, it wasn’t a priority at the moment. She was, and he refused to be the first one to look away from their current stare-off and give her any kind of advantage.

Her chin lifted a fraction, her expression fierce and angry all over again. With her leather pants, purple-tipped hair, and sleeve of tattoos, she looked like the tough chick she liked the outside world to believe she was. But despite her being a spitfire right now, he reminded himself that beneath that stubborn, defiant exterior, she was the sweetest, most vulnerable girl he knew. She’d survived a hellish childhood, had endured the kind of pain that went soul-deep and would leave most people as twisted and fucked up as he was.

But not his Kitty-Kat. She’d always been his anchor, the one person who kept him balanced and grounded when his life felt as though it was spinning out of control. She’d saved his ass more times than he could count. Maybe it was his turn to return the favor, to try and be patient and understanding—two things that he admitted had never come easily for him.

Except judging by the tight pursing of Katrina’s lips and the irritation and restless energy nearly vibrating off of her, she didn’t seem to want his empathy. No, she looked like she was ready for an uncivilized altercation with him.

If that’s how she wanted to play this out, he’d give her the verbal brawl she was anticipating. He knew how to poke and prod and push her buttons. She wasn’t leaving this room until that fucking chip was off her shoulder and they cleared the air between them.

Since she didn’t seemed inclined to speak first, he did. “What did you mean when you called me a hypocrite?” he asked, wanting to know what he’d done to deserve that less-than-complimentary label.

“A fucking hypocrite,” she corrected him. “Because that’s what you are. You’re so concerned about me leaving with a random stranger—”

“Because you’d been drinking,” he cut her off, though he knew that excuse was only the partial truth. Watching her dance up on the bar, so lithe and hot and sexy—something she’d never done before—while other men lusted after her, had been the other very strong motivating factor for his rash actions.

“For the record, I am not drunk. Not even close,” she said as she folded her arms over her chest—tempting his gaze to stray once again to those plump breasts straining against the front of her corset top.

Damn, he wanted to pluck that tie and set those gorgeous tits free so he could mold them in his hands and take them in his mouth.

“I had two shots over the course of two hours,” she went on, oblivious to his wandering thoughts and gaze. “So if I decide to get up on top of a bar and dance and shake my ass, that’s my choice, not yours. And if I decide to leave with some hot random guy I want to fuck my brains out—which I was considering since I had so many eager males to choose from,” she said in a tone designed to provoke him, “again, I’m a grown woman and that’s my decision to make.”

Oh, yeah, she was all fired up, and he was still trying to get past the disconcerting image of her leaving with a guy she wanted to fuck her brains out.

His gut churned with something very green, like envy, and he didn’t like it. Not one bit. “I just don’t want you to do something you’ll regret later.” Jesus, when had he become such a goddamn liar? And when had her sex life, and who she chose to sleep with, become his concern?

“Oh, my God,” she said incredulously. “Aren’t you the one who told me on the plane ride here that I’m too uptight and I don’t know how to have a good time? And didn’t you bring up the fact that it’s been a long while since I’ve been laid and I ought to take advantage of Sin City and replace myself a one-night stand and fuck him through the Kama Sutra?” she exaggerated.

He bristled in frustration and irritation, because somehow she’d turned all this around and was now intentionally pushing his buttons. “I never said that,” he replied heatedly as he moved toward her.

“Whatever. Close enough,” she said, waving a careless hand in the air. “And I don’t know why you’re so worried about who I might or might not screw when you were well on your way to hooking up with the first woman you came across in Coyote Ugly!”

As he neared, he saw two distinct emotions pass over her features—hurt, which was quickly followed by . . . jealousy? How could that be possible?

Certain he’d misread her fleeting expression, he pinned her with an unyielding look and got a few things off his chest, as well. “I don’t know why you’ve been so irritable lately, or what your problem is, but I’m getting damn tired of trying to figure out your mood swings.”

She sucked in an indignant breath. “Want to know what my problem is?” she said on a sudden eruption of outrage. “You’re my problem, Mason.”

She turned to leave, but he was faster. He grabbed her arm, and before she could shake him off this time, he pushed her up against the nearby wall. He flattened his hands on either side of her shoulders to cage her in, and pressed his hips hard against hers to keep her in place until he decided they were done talking.

“You don’t get to say something like that and just leave without an explanation,” he said in a low, harsh voice.

Her glittering green eyes flashed with a quiet but meaningful message for him to go to hell. Lips pressed tight together, she gave him the silent treatment—something she knew he hated.

He was prepared to wait her out as long as it took. “I have all goddamn night, Katrina.”

Seconds ticked into minutes, her willful and obstinate attitude never wavering, nor did her heated gaze. After a while, she tried to move to the side to escape him, but that maneuver only caused their lower bodies to rub together—the soft mound of her sex against the fly of his jeans.

He got hard—so fucking huge there was no way to hide his response to her and the position of their bodies. There was no way she could miss his massive erection, and still, he didn’t move, determined to wait her out for the answer she owed him. Except he hadn’t anticipated that the awareness and sexual tension between them would grow so increasingly thick he could barely remember why he’d trapped her there in the first place. To make some kind of point, yes, but all his aggravation gradually dissolved as male instinct and an undeniable bolt of sexual hunger coursed through him.

Forbidden desire and dark lust swirled through his veins like smoke, testing his control and weakening his will to resist this woman and all the dirty, filthy things he’d fantasized about for too long. Everything below his waistband tightened and pulsed as he stared into her eyes and saw her own carnal cravings reflecting back at him. Flecks of gold glittered in her green eyes, and her full, tempting lips softened and parted, as if inviting him to replace out just how sweet she was inside.

He licked his own lips, so starved for the taste of her he felt as though he’d fucking die if he didn’t get the chance to experience her flavor. Kissing women, anywhere, wasn’t something he indulged in often, and he honestly couldn’t remember the last time he’d wanted to put his mouth on a woman for the sheer pleasure of it.

Sex for him was always quick and uncomplicated, focusing more on his body’s needs and chasing that intoxicating high that rushed through him at the peak of orgasm. That physical release allowed him to forget the pain and torment that was always lurking just below the surface, just waiting for a moment of weakness to consume and ravage him.

As a result, his sexual urges were dark and dominant and aggressive. He liked control, and he’d only hooked up with women who wanted the same thing and gave it up willingly, without any expectations. Easy women who made it simple to fuck them and walk away without any emotional involvement.

He’d long ago recognized that out of narcotics, sex, and alcohol, fucking was his self-medicating drug of choice, and his way of coping with the self-destructive urges that threatened to drag him into the depths of a worse kind of hell. But like with any high, the relief was only temporary, and too many times, the aftermath of his actions were rife with regrets and self-loathing. It was a vicious cycle he couldn’t seem to escape.

But right now, in this moment with Katrina, he wasn’t looking to forget or escape anything. No, he wanted to document every single trembling breath she took, wanted to memorize the flush on her face and the way her pupils dilated with lust the longer they stood in this position, with his cock aching to be inside her. He wanted to remember how small and perfect her soft curves felt pressed against his straining dick, how her increasingly erratic breathing caused her breasts to lift and quiver as the undeniable anticipation between them escalated, second by second. He wanted to bury his face against her neck, inhale her heady female scent, and lose himself in her sweet, luscious body.

Except there would be nothing sweet about the way he took her. He didn’t know how to do slow or gentle or romantic. When he fucked, he was rough and hard and demanding. Katrina was the one good thing in his life, and he never wanted to taint her with his perverse need to use sex, to use her, to ease all those underlying raging emotions from the past that he struggled to keep buried so he didn’t hurt anyone or anything.

Especially Katrina.

But as their battle of wills continued, despite the gradual softening changes in her body language, a part of him couldn’t deny how much he needed this woman, how badly he ached to be a part of her, in a dozen different ways that were so goddamn wrong he was a prick for even contemplating corrupting her.

But then she made a soft, aroused sound of need in the back of her throat, and his control wavered as an answering fever thrummed through his veins and the beat of his heart echoed louder and louder in his ears. The intensity between them became a tangible thing, until she turned her head away, finally breaking eye contact with him.

And he hated it. Hated that she was trying to shut him out and ignore this fire smoldering between them. He moved one of his hands, his fingers touching the side of her face while his thumb skimmed along her lush, damp bottom lip.

“Look at me, Katrina,” he demanded softly. This was no longer about their argument or extracting an explanation. No, this was something altogether different, and he was fucking helpless to resist the temptation beckoning to him.

Much to his surprise, she exhaled a shuddering breath that made her breasts tremble and obeyed his command. When her soft green gaze met his once again, he knew he was done for. Gone. Lost. Those beautiful eyes, they saw into the deepest, darkest part of his soul. They always had, and in this moment, he felt so open, exposed, and vulnerable.

She swallowed hard, the hands at her sides coming up to his chest, where she lightly gripped his T-shirt in her fists. Conflicting emotions flashed in her eyes, and he knew she was struggling to deny what they both clearly wanted. What they both needed.

“Mason . . .” Her voice sounded strangled and uncertain.

He didn’t want to hear any excuses. Didn’t want to give either of them a chance to stop what was about to happen. Without thinking of consequences, he pushed her chin up with his thumb and lowered his mouth to hers, finally taking what he’d wanted for the past twelve years.