Table of Contents

  GET INKED

  COPYRIGHT

  DEDICATION

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR HELENA HUNTING

  OTHER TITLES BY HELENA HUNTING

  CONNECT WITH HELENA

  Read on for a preview of PUCKED UNDER

  Chapter 1

  Read on for a preview of FRACTURES IN INK

  Chapter One

  HELENA HUNTING

  COPYRIGHT

  Copyright © 2016 Helena Hunting

  All rights reserved

  Published by Helena Hunting

  Cover art design by Shannon Lumetta

  Cover font from Imagex Fonts

  Cover image from Depositphoto.com

  Back cover image from Depositphoto.com

  Formatting by CP Smith

  Editing by Jessica Royer Ocken

  Proofing by Marla at Proofing with Style

  Get Inked is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are all products of the author's twisted imagination and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locals, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Except as permitted under the US Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author.

  DEDICATION

  To Jessica, the editor who edits angst and puckers like none other. But seriously, you’re the best.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Mr. Lohgnhorn, I love you. Thanks for being so awesome all the time.

  Mom, Dad, Mel and Chris, you’re the best kind of family.

  Pepper, turkey and avacado forever.

  Kimberly, you’re magic and I’m honoured to be on this journey with you.

  Jenn, one day I will be super organized, it just won’t be today.

  Jessica thank you for straightening out my crooked edges.

  Shannon you’re like the Harry Potter of cover magic.

  Teeny, I’m not sure why you put up with me, but I’m sure glad you do.

  Sarah—thanks for sticking around even when I forget my own name.

  Hustlers, you’re an awesome team and I always feel so incredible fortunate to have all of you!

  Beavers and Wood, I wouldn’t laugh nearly as much without all of you.

  To my Backdoor Babes; Tara, Meghan, Deb and Katherine, I’m grateful none of us are sane.

  To my Pams, the Filets, my Nap girls; 101’ers, my Holiday’s and Indies Tijan, Vi, Penelope, Susi, Deb, Erika, Katherine, Alice, Shalu, Amanda, Leisa, Kellie, Kelly, Melissa, Sarah, Tracey, Teeny, Nina, Melanie—you are fabulous in ways I can’t explain. Thank you for being my friends, my colleagues, my supporters, my teachers, my cheerleaders and my soft places to land.

  To my friends outside of the writing community who love me even though I’m stuck in my own head half the time, thank you for being so amazing and supporting me on this journey.

  To all my author friends and colleagues; I’m so fortunate to have such an amazing support system in this crazy, awesome industry.

  To all the amazing bloggers and readers out there who have supported me from the beginning of my angst, to the ridiculous of my humour; thank you for loving these stories, for giving them a voice, for sharing your thoughts and for being such amazing readers. I’m honoured and humbled and constantly amazed by what a generous community you are.

  To my Originals; my fandom friends who were with me back in the day when Wednesday postings were the way of things, thank you for giving me the gift of your feedback and your excitement. It’s such an honour and a joy to know that you’re still with me, on this road and that you’re reason I took this journey in the first place.

  Chapter 1

  DESIGNS

  LILY

  Randy’s on the couch stroking Wiener. Not his wiener, but the wiener we’re dog-sitting for the weekend. Sunny’s been having some trouble sleeping thanks to being pregnant, so we’re taking Wiener off their hands for a few days. Also, Randy loves dogs, and so do I.

  Wiener sits to Randy’s left, making little whimpery noises while he alternates between patting Wiener’s butt and scratching under his chin. Meanwhile, he’s using his free hand to flip through a magazine in his lap. Randy, I mean. Not Wiener.

  I flop down beside him, fully expecting it to be hockey-related, since Randy’s a professional hockey player and all. Except it’s not. It’s a tattoo magazine. I curl into his side, checking out the designs along with him. Some are pretty and colorful, others are dark and macabre. Randy’s mostly a landscape and nature guy, based on his sleeve, but there’s a lot of empty canvas, so maybe he’s looking to diversify.

  “Is this for entertainment or research purposes?” I ask.

  The Vagina Emporium really, really likes the idea of Randy adding to his ink. She’s already preparing to open the doors and give him an all-access pass based on the thought alone. I didn’t put on underwear before I pulled on my sleep shorts, so it isn’t going to be much of a problem.

  Randy folds the page over and flips to the next one. “Me and the guys planned to get some ink together a while ago. I have a consult with my artist, ’cause I’m thinking about incorporating it into a new sleeve, and he’s got a few design ideas he wants to go over.”

  “Oh?” I remember Randy and Miller talking about tattoos last week, but I didn’t think anything of it because, well, Randy has an arm full of them. I look over at his sleeve, and that warm feeling spreads from between my legs through my whole body. “Another sleeve?”

  He stops leafing through the magazine to look at me. “Are you okay with that?”

  At first I think he’s kidding, and then I realize he’s actually quite serious.

  “Are you asking for permission?” I glance at the flower on his right hand. His dominant hand. His fingering hand. “Or just my blessing?” I try really hard not to sound all breathy and excited.

  “Is this you giving it?” He’s wearing an odd expression. I’m not sure where he’s going with this, but I’ll play along.

  “Why would you even need it? It’s your skin.” I trace the outline of a tree on his forearm. “You can put whatever you want on it.”

  His smirk makes an appearance. “So you’re cool with me starting another sleeve?”

  He knows I like the tattoos. I trace them all the time with my fingers, and sometimes my tongue, which is exactly what I want to do right now. “Why wouldn’t I be cool with it?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe one sleeve is enough? Maybe you only tolerate my ink because you love me.”

  I snort. “Your tattoos have nothing to do with why I love you. They’re just a bonus.”

  I wasn’t even really a tattoo lover until I met Randy last August. And it isn’t that I didn’t like tattoos before then; I’d just never understood the obsession with them. Then Randy had come slamming his way into a bathroom while I was shaving my legs, with his tattooed hand shoved down the front of his shorts. As enraged and embarrassed as I’d been, I’d still noticed how hot he was—especially his tattooed arm.

  After being with him for the better part of a year, I have a serious appreciation for ink. Particularly his. So much so that I’ve even entertained getting a tattoo myself. Not a sleeve or anything, just something small and pretty and meaningful. At least to start.

  I keep following the outline of the forest on his forearm until I reach the crook of his elbow. It’s a sensitive place on Randy, as is the inside of his arm close to his biceps. Sometimes when I’m horny and he’s distracted by game highlights, I’ll start tracing the designs there. It’s usually enough to bring his focus around to where it belongs: Me.

  “Wanna guess which one’s my favorite?”

  “You have a favorite?”

  I nod, then tug on the bottom of his shirt.

  “What’re you doing?”

  “What does it look like I’m doing? I can’t show you my favorite tattoo when half of them are covered by your shirt.” I’m full of shit. Most of his tattoos are visible, except for the ones on his shoulder. But now that we’re talking about tattoos and I’m thinking about how much I love the way his arm looks when he’s using his fingers to get me off, or holding on to my boob when he takes me from behind, I figure getting closer to naked is a good plan.

  “Oh. Well, then.” He raises his arms over his head. The sudden movement startles Wiener. He barks and jumps off the couch, pacing around Randy’s feet before he trots off.

  I take advantage of the newly available space and straddle Randy’s thighs. He’s already sporting a semi. It’s straining against his pajama pants. The elastic waist is super convenient. I lift his shirt, exposing the defined ridges of his abs until his man nipples come into view. I might run into those with my nails, just to watch his abs flex.

  Randy’s body is insane. He’s all cut lines and lean muscle. He’s put on a little weight since it’s off-season and his workout schedule is a lot lighter, so he’s a bit bulkier right now.


  I, on the other hand, am struggling to keep my weight from dropping thanks to Randy’s ultra-high sex drive. Apparently when he’s not expending energy on the ice, he needs to find a way to get rid of it. Getting freaky with me happens to be one of his preferred ways.

  I pull the shirt over his head and toss it to the floor. I’ve messed up his beard and hair on purpose so I can perform one of my favorite pre-sex activities. Before Randy can fix his face, I run my fingers through his hair, and then smooth out his beard with my fingernails.

  He makes this deep sound in his throat, somewhere between a man-purr and a growl, as he runs his palms up my bare legs, stopping just before the hem of my shorts. So I keep stroking his beard a while longer.

  When I stop, he grabs my wrists. “You should keep doing that.”

  I lean in until I can feel his hard-on between my legs. It’s not a semi anymore. Now it’s a fully. “I thought we were talking about my favorite tattoo,” I whisper, my lips close to his.

  “I thought that was a bullshit excuse to get my shirt off.”

  “That’s because all you think about is sex and hockey.”

  “Not true. I have other thoughts.”

  “Such as?” I drop a kiss on his neck, right where his beard ends.

  “Such as how long it’s going to take for you to stop pretending you’re not ogling my chest.”

  “You’re pretty full of yourself, aren’t you?”

  “Not as full as you’re going to be pretty fucking soon.” He slips his hands under my shirt.

  I clamp my elbows against my ribs to prevent him from getting it over my head. “Oh? You think so, eh?”

  Since I’m barring his way under my shirt, he goes for my shorts instead. “Are you even wearing panties?”

  “We’re not talking about my wardrobe choices right now; we’re talking about my favorite tattoo.” I don’t stop him from feeling his way around in there, but much to my vagina’s disappointment, as well as the rest of me, he doesn’t make a move to verify my lack of panties.

  “You should hurry up and do that so I can tell you about all my favorite Lily parts.”

  “Don’t you want to guess?” I run my fingers through his hair one more time, skimming the short sides with my pinkies. Even his hair is sexy.

  “Sure. If it gets us past this part of your foreplay faster.”

  “Who says this is even going to lead to sex? Maybe I just feel like talking tonight.”

  Randy’s brow lifts, then furrows. “You’re kidding, right?”

  I slow-blink at him and give him my best fake-confused face. “Just because I’m sitting in your lap and you have your shirt off doesn’t mean we have to get totally naked.”

  He nods somberly, but I can tell he doesn’t buy it for a second. And he shouldn’t. “Of course not. You can wear your shorts if you want to, even if that makes it more difficult for me.”

  I snicker and follow the contour of his abs down to the waistband of his pants. I take my time, because—as stated earlier—Randy’s abs are incredible. He has the most amazing six-pack in the world. I like it best when it’s flexed, either because I’m riding him or he’s riding me.

  “How about if you guess right, I have to do whatever you want tonight, but if you guess wrong, you have to do whatever I want?”

  He’s focused on my fingers, which are trailing back and forth along the waistband of his pants. His eyes lift, his expression devious. “If I guess right, I get whatever I want?”

  “Within reason.”

  I can practically see his wheels turning. “Just to be clear, we’re talking about sex, right?”

  “Sex? I was talking about board games. I was thinking Monopoly would be fun. You know how that can go on forever and ever.”

  Randy grabs me by the waist and flips me over so I’m sprawled on the couch. I don’t have time to get my legs closed before he gets between them and stretches out on top of me.

  I put my hands on his chest and push, but he’s heavy. “Hey! We’re having a conversation, remember?”

  “There will be no Monopoly tonight,” he growls.

  “There will be if you guess wrong,” I threaten.

  He pushes up so he’s doing a one-armed plank. Holding his tattooed hand in front of my face he wiggles his fingers. “I’m going to say this one.”

  “You’re so smart.” I lift my head enough to bite one of his knuckles. “Do you know why it’s my favorite?”

  “Because it’s like I have your name tattooed on my hand?” The flower is a lily. Since we started dating, I’ve come to discover it’s his mother’s favorite, and that’s why it’s there. But I like that there’s an unintentional connection to me, and that sometimes people come to the inaccurate conclusion that he had it put there because it represents me.

  “If I say yes, does that make me egotistical?” I’m working really hard to keep my legs from wrapping around his waist.

  Randy’s tongue peeks out to sweep across his bottom lip. “Not even a little.”

  “Good to know, but that’s not the primary reason it’s my favorite.” I press my knees against his hips, but keep my feet glued to the couch.

  “No?”

  “Nope.”

  Randy runs his hand down my side and gives my thigh a gentle squeeze. “You gonna tell me why, or are you gonna keep me guessing?”

  “I like that you’re this big, badass hockey player with a pretty tattoo right on the back of your hand. It’s sexy.”

  “Oh, yeah?”

  “Mmm.” I bite my lip, being intentionally coy. “Wanna know why else I love that tattoo?”

  “Why’s that?” Randy drops his hips so his amazing hard-on is now pressed against my stomach.

  “’Cause it looks hot when that hand is between my thighs.”

  “Is that right?”

  “It is.”

  “You mean like this?” Randy pushes up, folding back on his knees between my spread legs.

  I’m momentarily disheartened by the lack of moody dick contact. Moody dick is my nickname for Randy’s penis. He took a skate to the groin as a kid, resulting in a pretty significant scar that makes his penis look sad when it’s soft and happy when it’s hard. He slips his fingers into the front of my shorts—thank Christ for the elastic waist—yanks them down low, and grazes my clit with his knuckle.

  I suck in a sharp breath. “Just like that.”

  He withdraws his hand just as fast as he shoved it down there. “I knew you weren’t wearing panties.”

  “Why bother when there’s a good chance you’re going to take them off anyway?”

  Randy eases his hands up the inside of my thighs, stopping too far away for anything good to happen. “I thought you wanted to play board games tonight.”

  “Naked board games?”

  “The board games part is where you lose me.” He’s still kneeling between my parted legs.

  I open them even farther. “How about just playing naked?”

  He grabs the crotch of my shorts—with his tattooed hand, of course—and makes a fist. At first I think he’s going to yank them off, which would be totally welcome at this point. Sometimes I threaten no naked time just to amp Randy up. Not that it’s necessary, he’s usually pretty amped as it is. But the sex when he’s been worried he isn’t getting any is often out of this world.

  Instead of taking off my shorts, he tightens his fist. His lip curls in a sexy sneer as he rubs his knuckles over my clit again. I groan and start to lift my hips, but he’s quick to put his free palm low on my stomach, keeping me from achieving any additional friction. This is Randy’s way of punishing me for my threats, even if he knows it was all a farce.

  “Why don’t you take your shirt off for me, luscious?” He adjusts his grip, his knuckles pressing right where I want them.

  Grabbing the bottom, I keep my eyes on his and drag the cotton up over my abs. Like Randy, I have a six-pack—mine is far less defined, but it’s definitely there. Randy’s eyes are on my stomach, moving higher as I uncover more skin. I may arch my back a little more than necessary as I expose the swell of my breasts. I don’t have big boobs, so the arching helps make them look more ample. It also makes Randy’s knuckles slide over the right spot.