Chapter 3: Double Trouble
The lock clicked. Gunnar opened the door, his body filling the frame, blocking the view inside.
Marla Krawczyk stood on the step, a hardcover book pressed to her chest like a shield. Her eyes, wide and nervous behind her glasses, darted from his face to the darkened ‘OPEN’ sign and back. She wore a pale yellow cardigan over a simple dress, the very picture of librarian-chic, but her knuckles were white on the book’s spine.
“I was in the neighborhood,” she said, her voice too bright. “Found this in a donation bin. Thought of you.” She held the book out. “The Subtle Body: The Art of the Tattoo.”
From behind him, Jenny’s voice cut through the charged silence, rich with amusement and leftover sex. “She’s lying through her pretty little teeth, Gunny. She was watchin’ from her car across the street for ten minutes.”
Marla’s face flushed a deep, blotchy red.
Gunnar took the book, his fingers brushing hers. He stepped aside, opening the space. “Come in, Marla.”
The scene she walked into was unmistakable. The air was thick, warm, carrying the coppery scent of blood, the sweet sting of green soap, and beneath it, the unmistakable, musky smell of sweat and sex. Jenny lounged in the reclined tattoo chair, her jeans still in a heap on the floor, her black panties pulled up but crooked, the damp patch evident. Her hair was a wild halo, her lipstick smeared beyond her lips. She looked like a satisfied cat who’d not only found the cream but knocked over the whole damn jug.
Marla stopped, frozen. “I… I can come back later.”
“Why wait?” Jenny purred, swinging her legs off the chair. The fresh tattoo on her inner thigh glistened with Vaseline, the black lines stark against her flushed skin. She stood, a little unsteady, and took two steps toward Marla. “Gunny’s got enough ink in those bottles for a whole army.” She leaned close, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper Marla could feel on her cheek. “And, honey, from what I just experienced, he’s got enough of everything else for both of us.”
Marla’s breath hitched. Her eyes flew to Gunnar, who just leaned against the counter, watching, his expression unreadable.
Jenny’s hand came up, not to touch Marla’s face, but to hook a single finger in the waistband of the librarian’s sensible skirt. “All those books,” Jenny murmured, her mouth now inches from Marla’s. “All those stories about other people doing wild things. Don’t you wanna be in one?”
Before Marla could form a word, Jenny closed the distance, kissing her.
It wasn’t gentle. It was hungry, possessive, a claiming. Marla stiffened, a shocked squeak muffled by Jenny’s mouth. Then, something in her seemed to snap. Her hands, which had been clutching empty air, rose and tangled in Jenny’s blonde hair. The book she’d been holding thumped to the floor. She kissed back, a moan vibrating in her throat.
Gunnar watched, a slow heat uncoiling in his gut. The contrast was obscene. Jenny, all bold curves and smeared defiance. Marla, soft and dressed for church, yielding with a sudden, desperate ardor. He pushed off the counter.
Jenny broke the kiss, breathing heavily. She looked at Gunnar over Marla’s shoulder. “See? Quick learner.” Her hands went to the buttons of Marla’s cardigan, popping them open with practiced efficiency. “Let’s see what’s under all these layers, sweetheart.”
Marla allowed it, her head falling back as Jenny pushed the cardigan off her shoulders. The dress beneath was simple cotton, with a row of small buttons down the front. Jenny attacked these too, until the dress gaped open, revealing a sensible beige bra. Jenny gave a tut. “We’re gonna have to fix that.”
It was Gunnar who moved then. He came up behind Marla, his large hands smoothing over her shoulders, down her bare arms. She jumped at his touch, then sank back against him. He could feel her heart hammering against his chest. He nuzzled the side of her neck, smelling paper, vanilla, and now the sharp, clean scent of her arousal.
“Tell me what you want, Marla,” he growled into her ear.
Her voice was a thin, reedy thread. “I don’t… I’ve never…”
“She wants to be ruined,” Jenny answered for her, freeing the front clasp of Marla’s bra. It fell away. Jenny’s hands cupped Marla’s breasts, thumbs circling her nipples until they drew tight, pebbled peaks. “She wants to forget all about her prick ex-husband and his boring, bastard friends. She wants to know what a real man feels like. And…” Jenny leaned in, taking one nipple into her mouth, sucking hard. Marla cried out, her body arching. “…she wants a woman to show her how.”
Gunnar’s hands slid down, over Marla’s skirt, gripping her hips. He was hard again, a thick, urgent pressure against the seam of his jeans. He ground himself against her ass, and she pushed back, a raw, instinctive motion.
Jenny dropped to her knees, her hands pushing Marla’s skirt up around her waist. She made a low, approving sound. “No panties. You were hoping.” She didn’t wait, didn’t tease. She buried her face between Marla’s legs.
Marla’s scream was sharp, shattered. Her hands flew to Jenny’s head, not to push her away, but to hold her there. “Oh my god! Oh, god, Jenny!”
Gunnar held her upright as her knees buckled. He watched Jenny work, her mouth a fierce, relentless instrument. He could hear the wet, sucking sounds, see the muscles working in Jenny’s jaw. Marla was babbling, a stream of incoherent pleas and curses, her body trembling violently.
“She’s gonna come,” Jenny muttered, pulling back for a second, her chin glistening. “Right fucking now.” She dove back in, a finger sliding inside Marla, crooking upwards.
That did it. Marla’s climax ripped through her, a silent, seismic shock that made her entire body stiffen in Gunnar’s arms before collapsing into violent, jerking spasms. A long, ragged wail tore from her throat.
Jenny stood, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, a look of fierce pride on her face. “See? Wild one.”
Marla was panting, boneless, held up only by Gunnar’s arms. Her glasses were fogged. He turned her in his grasp, kissing her deeply, tasting Jenny on her lips, the unique salt of Marla herself. He walked her backwards until the backs of her knees hit the edge of the tattoo chair. She fell into it, looking up at him with dazed, wondrous eyes.
He unbuckled his belt, shoved his jeans and boxers down. His cock sprang out, fully erect, veins standing in relief. Marla’s gaze locked onto it, her mouth falling open.
“You wanna taste him?” Jenny asked, already guiding Marla’s head down. “Go on. He won’t break.”
Marla didn’t need more encouragement. She took him into her mouth with an eager, clumsy hunger. She sucked, her tongue exploring his length, her hands gripping his thighs. She was inexperienced, too eager, her teeth grazing him, but the sheer, unfiltered want in it was the hottest thing he’d felt in years.
“Fuck, yeah,” he groaned, his head falling back. He tangled a hand in her soft brown hair, not forcing, just holding.
Jenny watched for a moment, a smirk on her lips. Then she climbed onto the chair, straddling Marla’s lap, facing Gunnar. She kissed him, a deep, filthy kiss, her tongue swirling with the taste of Marla and herself. She reached behind, guiding Gunnar’s cock from Marla’s mouth, and positioned it at her own entrance. She was still soaked from their earlier fuck, from watching Marla come.
She sank down onto him in one smooth, slow motion, her eyes locked on his, a low moan escaping her as he filled her again. “Your turn to watch, librarian,” she gasped over her shoulder.
Marla did. Her hands came up, sliding under Jenny’s shirt, pinching and pulling at Jenny’s nipples as Jenny began to ride Gunnar, a slow, rolling grind. The chair creaked wildly. Marla leaned forward, kissing Jenny’s back, her shoulders, biting the muscle where neck met shoulder.
The sight was unreal. Jenny, riding him with practiced, desperate intensity, her head thrown back. Marla, unleashed, worshiping Jenny’s skin with her mouth and hands. Gunnar gripped Jenny’s hips, helping her move, driving up into her. The air was filled with the sounds of it: skin slapping, the wet noise of their joining, gasps, moans, the raw, choked words Jenny began to chant.
“Give it to me… breed me… fuck, Gunnar, I’m close…”
Marla’s hand slid down, over Jenny’s stomach, through the coarse hair, finding the swollen bud of her clit. She rubbed, frantic, awkward, determined.
That was the final key. Jenny’s body clenched around him like a vice, her scream echoing off the tiles. Her inner muscles pulsed, a rhythmic, milking contraction that pushed Gunnar over the edge. He pulled her down hard onto him, burying himself to the hilt as his own release tore through him, hot and blinding. He shouted, a raw, animal sound, as he emptied himself inside her.
For a long moment, the only sound was their ragged, shared breathing. The neon from the street sign pulsed, painting their slick, tangled bodies in red, then shadow.
Jenny slumped forward against his chest. Marla rested her forehead against Jenny’s sweaty back.
The cheap phone on the counter rang, a shrill, jarring bell that shattered the stillness.
Nobody moved.
It rang again, and again.
Slowly, Gunnar disentangled himself, lifting Jenny off him. He grabbed a clean towel from the shelf, wiped himself roughly, and pulled his jeans up. The phone kept ringing.
He walked to it, the weight of the last hour settling into his bones. He picked up the receiver. “Bjornstad Tattoo.”
The voice on the other end was male, young, trembling with forced bravado. “Yeah. You the ex-soldier?”
Gunnar’s eyes narrowed. “Who’s asking?”
“Grady Hicks. My brother’s car got keyed last night outside your shop. We think you did it. We’re comin’ to talk about it.”
The line went dead.
Gunnar placed the receiver back in its cradle. He turned. Jenny was pulling her jeans on, her face now sharp and alert. Marla was buttoning her dress with fumbling fingers, her post-coital glow replaced by fear.
“Trouble?” Jenny asked, her voice flat.
“Grady Hicks,” Gunnar said, walking to the front door and flipping the deadbolt. He peered out the frosted glass. The street appeared empty. “Says I keyed his brother’s car. Says they’re coming to talk.”
He turned back to the women. The room still smelled of their sex. The tattoo chair was a testament to it. But the heat was gone, replaced by a cold, familiar clarity. He met Jenny’s gaze, then Marla’s.
“Time for you both to go,” he said, his voice calm, the voice he’d used before patrols. “Out the back. Now.”