Fractures in Ink by Helena Hunting
Publication Date: November 14th, 2016
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Waitressing at a seedy strip club isn’t ideal, but it pays Sarah Adamson’s tuition. Her goal is to finish her master’s program and get a job that doesn’t involve tight skirts and groping hands. She doesn’t need distractions. Especially not the one that comes in the form of a hot-as-sin tattoo artist who works across the street from her apartment.
Kicked out at sixteen, and a high school dropout, Chris Zelter is familiar with wanting things he can’t have. His fractured life has never been easy. As the product of someone else’s bad decisions, he knows exactly what happens when the wrong person controls your marionette strings. Now an accomplished tattoo artist in a renowned studio in Chicago, Chris has it together.
Apart from his infatuation with Sarah. She’s way out of his league, and Chris knows it.
But he’s willing to be her bad decision. At least for now.
So tonight, instead of pushing him to talk about whatever was making him hurt, I let him have what he wanted: an escape. I could be that.
I was exactly that every night I worked in the club. I was my customers’ escape from life, from the wives who ignored them, or from the girlfriends who didn’t exist. I smiled and batted my eyelashes and pretended their lewd comments were funny.
Tonight I could easily be whatever Chris needed, and if that was naked and a distraction from the things outside of his control, so be it. Or that’s what I told myself as I pushed his boxers over his hips.
My clothing took a little longer to remove since I was fully dressed. Chris wasn’t as slow as usual, or gentle. There was an urgency in him I’d never experienced before. What he wouldn’t give me in words, he gave me in actions. Desperation leaked through, making him frantic as he pulled my shirt over my head and fought with the clasp on my bra.
“Fuck,” he groaned. “I just wanna get my hands on all of you.”
I brushed him away, taking care of the bra for him. Sitting on the edge of the bed, I opened my legs and welcomed him between them. He locked shaking fingers around the waistband of my jeans and paused, his expression clouding.
“You sure you’re okay with this?”
“With you wanting me?” I popped the button.
He lifted his gaze. “I fucking need you.”
I shivered at his tone, wishing it indicated a different kind of need—a sustained one that was more than physical. But I pushed the feelings down, locked them inside my aching heart, and released my zipper. “Then you should have me.”