Page 66 of Chase

“If you’re not breastfeeding, Mrs. Waite, I could offer you a tattoo,” Raven attempts to move Violet's focus from my privates to herself again. “That would be perfectly safe. Maybe your daughter’s name and date of birth? A small symbol? Or a combination of the three.”

“Oh, I like that idea. No, I’m not feeding,” Violet responds, her frown turning upwards. “Okay, I’ll get a tattoo, and Sam will have the hood piercing.” I wince at the thought of the pain. I’m sensitive enough down there without someone sticking a needle through my hood, but the benefits do sound intriguing. And I did half-commit to having the procedure done alongside my friend. So, I guess I’ll be walking out of here sporting jewelry on my bits.

Violet lies face down on the tattoo artist’s bed. She squeals again as the needle pricks her skin. My friend decided to get her daughter’s name and date of birth imprinted on her lower back.

“I’m glad you didn’t pick a more sensitive area, Mrs. Waite,” Raven says as she flashes me an amused smile. “The lower back is low to moderate on the pain scale when getting a tattoo.”

“Low to moderate? I very much doubt that. My skin feels like you’re ripping it from my body.” I laugh out loud, and my friend’s annoyed eyes move to me. She glares. “What are you laughing at?”

“The fact you are such a drama queen and act like a petulant teenager. I love you, Violet, but, oh my, sometimes I feel sorry for your husband.”

“And I deserve your sympathy,” Harrison’s voice interrupts us. I look up, and he’s walking into the room, closely followed by Connor, with Russell limping behind. “She causes me nothing but fucking headaches.”

Russell laughs, jovial and lighthearted. I love to hear him happy. He can be so broody and melancholy, but when he’s joyous, it takes my breath away.

“I think Trouble is planning similar issues for my brother and me. What do you think, bro?” He taps Connor on the shoulder, whose eyes haven’t left my body since they walked in. They stand tall at the entrance, dominating the space and demanding everyone in the room’s attention. Owners here to collect their possessions; we wouldn’t get out of here without them even if we made a run for it. Which is unlikely, with Violet’s position and my recent treatment, which I never want to repeat. The pain was unbearable as the artist pushed the needed through my most sensitive skin.

“On that, I have to agree with you. Samantha is nothing but fucking trouble,” Connor mutters. My heart skips as the same endearment his brother uses leaves his lips. A rebellious part of me loves the fact I don’t make their lives easy. It’s exciting that even with our challenges, they fight for me.

“Are you nearly finished?” Harrison asks the artist, who’s sitting with her needle still poised and her jaw hanging open. She gapes at the three gorgeous men in her doorway dressed as if ready for court.

“Ten minutes, maybe,” she stutters. “I need to finish this, then pad her up.”

“Take your time. I don’t want my wife with permanent errors.” His tone is hard, but I can sense a hint of sarcasm underneath.

“So,” Russell interrupts, “what did you get, Trouble?” I glance at him, and my cheeks heat. I know what I had done barely three hours ago. The nip between my legs is fierce, and I can’t wait to get home to take some painkillers. It’s safe to say I do not want the sensation of a needle being slid through my private areas again.

“Oh, she had her clit hood pierced,” Violet announces to everyone in the room, and the whole place goes silent. “It’s meant to make sexual experiences more intense. I wanted mine done, but it’s not long enough since Evie’s birth. So jealous.” My friend mumbles under her breath as Harrison walks to the front of the table and crouches before her.

“Patience, Vi,” he says, laying a hand over hers that is lying flat on the bed. “We can always play with the original model before you’re ready for the upgrade.”

“I know, and I love it. But I wanted…” She trails off as he squeezes her fingers and drops a kiss on her forehead.

“And you can, just not now.” He stands again. “But Mrs. Waite, you’re in so much fucking trouble tonight. It’s almost five in the morning and you’re face down on someone else’s bed.”

“I was hoping you were going to say that,” she whispers. “How did you find me?”

“Do you really think I would let you run around London with no way to track you down?”

They stare at one another, so many unspoken words passing between them. Harrison and Violet have an understanding as a couple I yearn for, and in my heart believe I am developing with both the men in my life.

“You track me?” she hisses. It’s obvious from the smirk on her lips that her annoyance is completely faked. She probably already knew or at least suspected as much. Us “losing” her security detail was all a game in Violet’s mind.

“Vi, I would microchip you if I thought it would make you safer. But, alas, I merely air-tagged your phone.”

“You had your privates pierced?” Connor says, stunned, interrupting my viewing. I square my shoulders and look him straight in the eye.

“My vaginal clit hood, actually. The bead will sit on my clit and increase the sensation as I fuck.” We gaze at one another, and I’m unsure if his expression is excitement, disgust, or awe. “It should be beneficial for both parties.”

“That’s fucking awesome, Trouble,” Russell butts in. When I look at him, he is grinning from ear to ear. Connor glances at his brother and then back to me, increasing the tension in the room. I’m not sure which man looks more ready to pin me down and find out if what I am telling them is true.

“How soon can we test it out?” Connor asks.

I blink at him, surprised by his open question and him looking for more information in front of everyone in here.

“It is up to the client,” Raven begins, taking the opportunity to insert some professional experience. “It’s important only to do as much as you feel ready for and to follow the instructions I gave you.” She focuses on me. Her expression stern. “No matter how impulsive you or your partner is, please don’t do anything that doesn’t feel right. But normally, within four to eight weeks, you’ll be fully healed.”

“Excellent,” Russell exclaims, clapping his hands together like a seal. “Just in time for this bastard thing to come off.” He gestures to his cast, and I shake my head at his idiocy.

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