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Disclaimer–I don't own anyone you might recognize from this story. They're their own property. Most of the characters are based on real characters, just the names have been changed to protect the guilty. I also don' t own any song lyrics or anything else I may quote.

Note–This Chapter gets a little sexually graphic…just a little teaser. Don't say I didn't warn you.

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He was looking at me with an expectant expression on that beautiful face, confused by my reaction. My nerve endings were still humming from the pain of the needles and the pleasure of his hands on my skin. Taking a deep breath, I tried to think of the easiest way to explain it as I looked down my body at him.

"You can keep going" I said, and he nodded and began on my tattoo again. I knew he was curious about my reaction but was too polite to press me about it. When I finally spoke again, my voice was huskier than normal, and I had to pitch it to carry over the buzz of the tattoo gun. How could I clarify this and not seem crazy? Oh well, here goes nothing, I thought.

"I didn't mean to startle you with my reaction."

He glanced up at me as he refreshed the ink.

"It's just that I…enjoy this. You may think I'm totally insane, but this clears my head. It's just enough pain that I can concentrate all my focus on just going with it. It's one of the very few things that can clear my mind enough that I can relax. The only things that even come close are a really hard workout and really great sex. I can't tell you why I feel the way I feel, maybe just bad wiring."

I shrugged, carefully keeping my torso still. Those green eyes were back on mine.

"That actually makes perfect sense to me. So I guess we got the same kind of crazy."

I couldn't help smile at that, and he smiled back, making my stomach do this strange little flutter thing.

"Me, sugar, I'm one of a kind. I'm always interested in unusual viewpoints, and that has to be one of the more fascinating ones I've heard."

This relaxed me again, and we settled into a companionable silence for a while. I couldn't help watching him as he worked. His face was focused and intent and his hands sure, but be was also bobbing his head a little as he softly sang along with the music playing, his voice clear and melodic. After a while, I just lay back and let my mind go, drifting in a sensual haze of pain, pleasure, and sound. I don't know exactly how much time passed before his voice recalled me to the present.

"Since your girl said that this was your vacation, I bet you're wishing you were back at work by now, especially since I've been torturing you for a few hours now."

I snorted.

"Not hardly. Believe me, babe, compared to a normal day at my job, this is like a day at the spa. This is my first official vacation in over two years. I've got a ridiculous amount of time saved up. I'm sure hell on sick days, though. Sometimes I swear I should get hazard pay. God knows, I end up hurt enough."

"Jesus, girl, what the hell is it you do?" he asked as I took the advantage of his pause to pour more ink to stretch.

"I'm a victim's advocate, head of my department actually. We cover three counties. Our main purpose is to make sure victims of violent crimes get the treatment they need, convince them to testify in court, that type of thing."

He sat back down next to me, preparing to start again. I glanced around the shop. Everyone else had left for the day, it seemed. We were alone.

"I still don't see how you could get hurt very much, that doesn't really seem that dangerous."

"It shouldn't be for most people, but I'm technically a detective, and I'm the only one in the department with the training to be in the field and carry a firearm. Makes it easier to tack on some more charges when some perp decides they want a piece of me."

I saw him getting ready to glove back up and thought of a good way to prove my point.

"Hold on a second, and let me see your hand." I said, taking his bare hand in mine. It was large, strong, and calloused in my grip.

Slowly, I guided it down the left, un-tattooed side of my ribcage, enjoying the heat of his skin on mine. Finally, I stopped mid-way down and ran his fingertips over the lumps under my skin. I removed my hand, and his stayed, exploring the old wound.

"I caught three 9mm rounds at close range. The body armor I was wearing barely stopped them, and the impact still shattered three ribs, one of which missed puncturing my lung by a few millimeters. That took me out for over a month. That's just one of the serious ones, though."

His eyes were a little wider when he looked back up at me, his hand still resting hot on my side.

"Just about six weeks ago, we were on a domestic call, a repeat. I had finally gotten the wife to let me take her into protective custody, and the husband objected, strongly. I'd just got her in a cruiser when dude tried to grab me, so the uniforms tackled him and took me down with them. Bounced the back of my head off a concrete curb and landed under about five hundred pounds of struggling men. I think I was out for a bout twenty minutes or so, pretty severe concussion. I'm still having a little trouble from that one, and that's one of the reasons I'm here."

Now there was respect in his gaze. He whistled low.

"And here people think what I do is dangerous. That how busted your hand up?" he asked, motioning to my injured hand.

"Nope, it seems to be alcohol related. I, ah… celebrated my birthday a little too much this past weekend and have yet to remember what happened. Man, I haven't drank like that in years. I ought to know better by now than to do things like that." I said, as I examined my hand. It was scabbing over nicely, and would probably scar. It would have plenty of company.

"I almost feel bad for whoever it was you decked. Looks like you cleaned their clock." he said, studying the injury.

"Yeah, someone would have to provoke me really bad for me to hit them. I can usually control myself better than that." I shrugged again. "I'll figure it all out when I get home."

"Lots of scars you got on your knuckles, babe." was his next observation.

"Well, I've always been a little clumsy, and I've never backed down from a fight in my life, so it comes with the territory."

"I hear that." he said and he went back to work on my side. He was getting closer to my hip, and the sensations were getting more intense.

"It gives me an advantage, though, especially at work. Domestic abuse cases are the worst, and the most dangerous. Believe me, men who will beat the shit out of their wives, the mothers of their children have absolutely no problem at all swinging on a lady cop. I've learned that people only see what they want to see. Most people look at me and see small, feminine and non-threatening, and so they let their guard down. I'm not going to hesitate to use that to my advantage when I need to." I smiled, and I know it was fierce.

"I can't blame you there, and you're right, people definitely will judge you on your appearance only. I know that firsthand." he said.

We settled back into silence, except for the rock music playing softly in the background, and I relaxed back into my peaceful daze.

Shannon glanced up at the woman as he worked. When her cousin had contacted him about doing her tattoo, he just thought he was doing something nice for a fan, and hell, he had the time to spare, so why not?

He hadn't expected her to be so intriguing. Or so beautiful. Oh, she was definitely hot with that curvy body and gorgeous face, but it was more than that. Much more. He sensed a kindred spirit in her.

There was just something about her that was completely indefinable. He couldn't think of another female he'd ever met that had the kind of confidence she had. She seemed utterly comfortable in her own skin.

He would bet money on the fact that she could handle just about any situation that life could possibly throw at her. She just had that tough, capable air about her.

Obviously, she was physically tough. He'd been tattooing her ribcage, an ultra-sensitive area, for going on six hours now and she hadn't once complained. Hell, she'd cracked jokes and told him funny stories for much of the time.

Then there was her mind, which was obviously razor-sharp and open to new ideas, like her amazing take on the experience of getting tattooed.

God, those eyes tugged at something deep inside him. They were large and liquid dark, so clear he thought he could almost see the future in their depths. He'd questioned her about the intricate leg band encircling her left ankle, which was a beautiful piece that he guessed was a memorial tattoo of some sort, reading, "Only death delays true love." The words were surrounded by intricate scrollwork and brightly colored, exquisitely shaded primitive stars. She'd simply looked him dead in the eyes and said she'd lost someone she'd loved very much, her tone making it clear that the subject wasn't open for discussion. And just for a second or two, incredible grief and pain and been written on her face.

And then there was that throaty little sound she'd made when he first put the needles to her skin. Sweet Jesus, he couldn't help but wonder if she'd make a noise like that in bed. His bed.

It sure as hell wasn't helping that right now he was tattooing the sweet, golden-skinned curve of her hipbone. Her skin and been so velvety soft and inviting under his hand when she'd guided it to those old, broke ribs.

Also, very, very close to his hands crimson and black panties peeked out of her un-buttoned and unzipped pants, only fueling the erotic movie playing in the back of his mind. He wanted to fist his hands in that tumbling mass of midnight hair and devour those crimson lips.

She took a deep breath and he glanced up again. She lay there with her eyes closed, her long black lashes laying like sooty lace against her cheek. The breath caused lush, large breasts to strain against the confining black satin of her bra. He felt muscles tense under his hands.

He also sensed such contained passion in her and wanted to be the one to unleash it. He saw himself cupping those incredible tits in his hands, tasting that sweet flesh as he traced her tattoos with his tongue. He wanted her wild for him, kissing, clawing, and biting, overwhelmed by the sensations he'd give her.

She stretched slightly under his hands, almost as if she was feeling what he was feeling.

The picture in his mind switched yet again, this time the image of being buried deep inside her and loosing himself in those drowning-pool eyes even as he lost himself in her body. The visual was so strong, so intense and real he couldn't help but feel his body starting to respond.

Taking a deep breath, he tried to clear the sensuous images from his brain so he could concentrate. He'd hate to have to explain that he'd fucked her tattoo up because he was too busy thinking about making her come her brains out.

Turning away to pour some more ink that he didn't really need, he tried to compose himself and subtly shift in his chair to alleviate the uncomfortable tightness in his groin. He turned back to her, and focused intently on the almost-complete tattoo. After only a few minutes of shading, her voice penetrated his concentration.

"Shannon."

Dear god, her voice had gone even rougher, just like in his fantasy. He looked up. Her eyes were almost totally black, her chest flushed and heaving, and one hand had a white-knuckled death grip on the edge of the table.

Oh yeah, she was feeling what he was feeling. She cleared her throat.

"You don't realize what you're doing to me, do you? Honey, look where you other hand is." she said.

He looked down at the almost-completed tattoo and sure enough, his black-gloved left hand was idly stroking and caressing her lower stomach.