LOGINNewly married and over the moon, Sienna inks her husband’s name on her lower back. A permanent gesture for a forever union, right? Wrong. Five years later, in the throes of a messy divorce, she is back to the tattoo shop to get a coverup tattoo. But she doesn’t expect to find that her tattoo artist is the hottest man alive — and he has been waiting for her. He is Gavin Kessler, the Tattoo Master. Tough on the outside, tougher on the inside. With an ugly past casting a long shadow on his present and future. What starts out as a crazy contract between them spirals into something far more dangerous. Sienna soon realizes she wants more than a tattoo from the Tattoo Master. She wants his díck, his protection, and if the differences between them will allow, his heart. Which of these is Gavin willing to give? ⚠️ WARNING: This book is exclusively for adult audiences (18+). It explores explicit sexual language, morally complex characters, toxic family dynamics and occasional violence.
View More~ SIENNA ~ All my joints still hurt from my workout at the gym earlier but you would never guess that with how good I looked. And yes, that was coming from me. I’d found not one but two Fernady dresses in my wardrobe and literally had to choose — a good problem, finally. In the end, I’d gone with a sleek, midnight-blue gown that skimmed my figure before falling into a soft, fluid skirt. The neckline was simple but elegant, with delicate ruching at the waist and just enough shimmer woven into the fabric to catch the light whenever I moved. Beside me, Margo looked equally stunning in a… well, it was one of those colours that were a blend of all the secondary colours, but it was a lovely dress — knee-length and hugging her figure. It looked quite tight but clearly it wasn't, else she wouldn't have been comfortable enough to be gushing non-stop about her new camera as she drove us to the fundraiser in her car. Margo's car wasn’t as pretty as mine but we couldn’t exactly take mine.
~ GAVIN ~“Oh that,” he said casually. “Yes, that, Edward. Got any news for me?”I remembered the lady who had walked up to Sienna at the wedding congratulating her on her new job with a conglomerate — one that Sienna did not have. I'd decided to pin it on drunkenness or petty mischief, but the encounter reminded me that Edward hadn't kept to his end of our bargain and I'd been waiting since then to call him out on it. “We’ll have to wait a little longer for feedback on that. My contacts have not gotten back to me yet.” He carried the arm with a wound at an unnatural angle while he continued to salvage his appearance with his other hand. “Things don't work in the corporate world like they do in— say, a tattoo shop. Processes have to be followed. It's not a paint-and-dry situation.”I wondered if all the jabs I picked up in his response were intentional or just in my head. Whatever they were, I ignored them.“Well, fucking speed things up. I know processes can be sped up anywhere b
~ GAVIN ~He managed to maneuver the bike into a U-turn — as I knew he would because the only other option was the road, riding back and beginning to drive in a wide circle beside me, shouting and cussing and pleading."Fuck—" He coughed through the dust that had gathered. "Wait. You know. You know, don't you? Is that what this is?" A sob tore through the last word. "I'm sorry, Gavin — I swear to God, whatever it is, we can talk about it, just — please, get me off this thing—"What was he talking about? Obviously, the paranoia of this moment was making him talk shit. Still, I said and did nothing. I simply waited, listening to the fear and confusion in his voice rise as he realized with each passing second that I really wasn't going to do anything to help him. Finally, I decided that he'd learnt a lesson and called out, my voice carrying flat and even across the distance between us. "Jump.""What?!""Jump off the bike, Edward.""Are you insane?! I'll break every bone—""You'll break
~ GAVIN ~“Fernady is raising money for disaster relief for the hurricanes in Florida. Got an invite so I'm going. Only problem is my outfit.” He pulled out his phone and opened his photo gallery. “Here are the two options I have from my stylist.”He swiped between two Fernady outfits for me to compare. “Easy choice,” I said. “The first one is too branded. You’re going to end up looking like Lennon; a free advertisement billboard.”Edward laughed. “I think you're right. I'll go with the second then.”The second option was a classic English man’s outfit. The model wore a grey three-piece suit, a white shirt and a dark silk tie tucked neatly beneath the waistcoat. A wool overcoat fell almost to his knees and a black Homburg sat on his head, lending the whole ensemble an unmistakably British elegance.“It's like a tribute to your time spent in England. I know you'll pull it off neatly.” I walked to my black motorcycle a few feet from the red one I'd brought along for Edward, retrieved a












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