INK

Marie couldn’t move. She didn’t want to move.

But then, given that her hands were tied together with the remains of her panties, and given that she was kneeling face forward and helpless in Logan’s favourite chair, and given that she hadn’t seen him in nearly a month she supposed she would just have to learn to live with it-

Because Christ, she wasn’t willing to do anything else.

Logan laid the wooden box- her gift to him from Japan- lightly on the table then. Opened it. Looked at the bottles of ink, of salt. The brushes. Took out one of those, holding it up to the light and testing the fineness of the hairs. Running his fingers along its length- But putting it down. Cutting her bra off her instead. Jeans too. Stockings, shoes, gloves and- Well the panties were already a lost cause, he’d seen to that. A flick of his wrist- snikt- and then he’d had the perfect way to keep her where he wanted her. Whether she liked it or not. Bound her hands together with her scarf and her own Goddamn underwear-

“It’s time, darlin‘,” his voice rumbled in her ear.

Marie tried to stay still then, tried not to react to his voice. But somehow a small sigh escaped her. A whisper of anticipation, of arousal and want. The breath she felt she’d been holding ever since she left the Mansion last time finally rushing free. His smile was pleased, his large hand twisting her hair around his fist. Pulling it over her shoulder. Strong, blunt fingers sliding to touch the delicate flesh behind her ear, the nape of her neck. Ghosting down to the bottom of her spine and she let out a purr of pure satisfaction as her bare skin tingled against his touch. It felt so good to be home. So good to be where she was supposed to be after all these weeks apart…His stubble rustled against her as he reached down, lips and tongue gliding along the edge of her jaw. Her neck. Fingers kneading against her shoulders, her belly. Her spine. Nose bumping the delicate skin behind her ear, taking in her scent and that pleased sound rumbled through his chest again and-

“Jesus, I missed you,” he muttered then. Voice hoarse. Hands sliding over her shoulders, warming down her bare arms and gripping her tight and Marie knew in that moment she’d have committed any sin he’d asked of her without a second thought. “I ain’t seen you in so long,” he was muttering, “And now I’ve got ya all to myself-”

“I know,” she said breathlessly. And she leaned back to kiss him. Tongue darting wetly against his, the sensation wonderful but fleeting. The heat of his chest against her shoulder-blades, her spine. She had to pull away, the angle was too acute, and when she did she felt her body flare in protest at the loss of him. Tension twisting in her belly as she felt his breath against her skin now, lips at the back of her neck now. His hand gripping her hip now. And she wanted him so Goddamn bad. The heat of his body was pooling against her back and ass, her fingers gripping the chair-back so hard she thought she might tear the leather as he pushed her forward and Marie knew she couldn’t hold on much longer, she wanted him inside her right now, would do anything to make that happen-

But he hadn’t done teasing her, not yet. Thanks to the situation in Kyoto he’d had nearly a month to plan her homecoming and she suspected he’d spent most of it thinking about this sweet torture and nothing else-

Because if there was one thing her man knew how to do, it was bide his time.

Logan reached over and picked up the tiny, delicate brush then. Opened the bottle of ink beside it. And moved away. Began methodically opening every window in the room, letting the chill autumn air slide across her skin and make her nipples tighten into hardened peaks. His gaze glittering and hungry as he took her in. Marie ached to relieve some of the tension, pulling her thighs in tighter against her clit even as her bound hands went to her breasts, not thinking of anything beyond the desire for relief-

But Logan stilled her. Pulling her bound hands towards him and repositioning them on the back of the chair.

“I need you to be still Marie,” he said quietly then. His voice raising goose-bumps on her skin, itching along her flesh and driving her crazy. “I need you not to move fer me. Not until I’m done.” And she felt the leather shift as Logan knelt behind her in the chair, his hand laid on the back of her neck as if holding her steady. His hardened cock pressing against her ass, one knee between both of hers. His bare leg teasing her wet core. She heard rather than saw him open the bottle of ink, dipping the brush into it and holding it for an endless moment before her skin. Breath tickling her, her heart pounding. Doing nothing but letting her get wetter and wetter and tighter with lust for him-

And then she felt it, that first touch of ink against her skin.

It was unlike anything she’d ever experienced before. The brush felt heavy, slick. The ink pooling against her flushed body. She gasped at the sudden feeling of coldness- The ink didn’t warm to her body temperature quickly but retained the room’s chill- and then she felt it beginning to dry. The sensation of it against her sticky and heavy like honey. Silky like water or maybe wine. Her eyes fluttered closed, another sigh escaping. The brush dancing over her skin, tickling her, caressing her. Teasing her with the suggestion of touch. She couldn’t see what Logan was writing, but she could feel the whisper and slide of it on her body. Hear him mutter words she didn’t know, one hand steadying her at her hip, the other writing across her flesh. Making her into a story only they could tell. Marie smiled, relaxing into the sensation, so unlike any she’d felt before. She heard his pleased chuckle at it, felt the brush slide upwards, tickling against the nape of her neck and behind her ear. The hand he’d been holding her steady with travelling down to squeeze her breast, thumb flicking over the nipple even as the brush continued writing their story on her skin. She was amazed: She and Logan fucked and screwed and nailed one another, they devoured one another and tore one another’s clothes off. They sucked and bit and hollered and Jesus but they did not do this… They’d never done anything quite like this. Because this was quietness and sensation. This was discovery and trust. Gentler rhythm, a teasing release-

And release was coming now, she could feel in building in her belly.

She whimpered at the thought.

Because Logan started blowing gently against the ink then, drying it. The thrill of that sensation forcing her body into overload. Edging her closer to the edge of the abyss. She gave a hoarse moan as he reached out for something beside the ink bottle and then- His palms were smoothing over her skin. Pinching her. Grains of hard salt bracing against her flesh, rough where he rubbed them. Setting the ink, drying it out. The feel of it too much to bear on top of everything else. Marie gasped, arching her back like a cat, and he reacted instantly, his wet mouth travelling along her spine, tongue darting out to trace around the patterns he’d made. Teeth scraping against the sensitized flesh- It felt like heaven- and Marie threw her head back, his free arm wrapping around her, the embrace stealing her breath it was so tight. His stubble-covered cheek against hers, his chin on her shoulder as one salt-roughened hand pinched her breast. Kneaded it harder now. Marie’s hips began rolling in rhythm, seeking their release mindlessly. Legs tightening together in the desperate need to come. She was beyond thinking, beyond planning. Beyond anything but her flesh and his. The world had narrowed to his breath against her skin and that tingling, teasing sensation of drying ink. She must have gasped, her ass rocking against his cock now because for he first time his breath stuttered, his hand tightened against her hip. Face buried in her shoulder, her hair. Forcing her neck sideways, baring it and then- He bit her. The flash of pain soothed seconds later by his laving tongue. She tried to turn but he wouldn’t let her, his hand tangling in her hair and forcing her into stillness. His nails raking against her scalp and it felt so fucking good. The velvety head of his cock was brushing teasingly against the cheeks of her ass, reminding her of pleasures to come and Marie couldn’t help herself, she was giving way, bucking and grinding and letting go against him. The weight of his hand heavy and hot against her mound now, nestling into her dark curls now-

And then his fingers were inside her. Thumb circling her clit, teasing it. Pumping in and out of her, and he was whispering her name, saying it over and over in her ear. “Please,” she whimpered, “Please-” He pushed into her from behind, slowly, wetly, achingly slowly working his length into her cunt. Filling her up so much she thought she’d burst. His hand at her clit as he rocked her back against him. Pumping his hips in time with hers, still holding her closer than thought or air. Their moans mingled together, reaching a crescendo and as she came she clawed at the chair, her harsh cries turning triumphant. Joyous and fierce. Her limbs jerked, finally knocking the inkpot over and spraying the floor with its contents though she didn’t fucking care. They were melded together, moving in time, all rhythm and sensation and she’d never felt anything like it, this closeness, this trust. Ink and salt and him against her skin, beneath it- He gasped and came even as she dug her nails more tightly into his arms-

And they both collapsed forward, resting against the chair’s back.

Breathless and content. Sated and happy she was home. The ink was everywhere, smeared on the chair, the floor, even Logan’s body but neither of them cared about it. All they cared about was her being there. That she had come back to him. He kissed her gently, contented. Growling deep in his chest and she smiled as the familiar sensation buzzed through her bones and rocked her to rest. He said it quietly she barely heard it. “Welcome home, Marie.”

And as she stared at their ink-covered, intertwined bodies she knew, he was right. She was home. It just wasn’t the Mansion that made it so.

It was lying in this place with him.

She fell asleep smiling at the thought.