Canvas (The Program Book 1) Read online

  CANVAS

  By N.M. CATALANO

  CANVAS

  Copyright © 2017 N.M. Catalano

  Published by N.M. Catalano

  All rights reserved.

  No portion of this work may be copied or reproduced or transmitted in any form, including electronic or mechanical, without the express consent of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, are purely coincidental, except in actual circumstances.

  Purely for entertainment purposes for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return it to the seller and purchase your own copy.

  Thank you for respecting the author’s work.

  DEDICATION

  This one’s for you, dad. <3

  STRANGER, Book 1 Stranger Series

  SWITCH, Book 2 Stranger Series

  KINK, Book 3 Stranger Series

  PERFECT, Book 4 Stranger Series

  HIDING, Book 5 Stranger Series

  THE ROOSTER CLUB, The Best Cocks in Town

  BLACK INK, Part I, The Black Ink Series

  BLACK INK, Part II, The Black Ink Series

  BLACK INK, Part III, The Black Ink Series

  BLACK INK, The Complete Trilogy

  CANVAS

  CONTENTS

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Books

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  A Note From Me

  Acknowledgements

  About The Author

  Other Works

  ROCK

  CHAPTER 1

  Do you ever wake up and just want to fuck?

  Ever since she showed up.

  There’s no way I’m going anywhere near her.

  Lately, life’s been a little frustrating.

  Don’t get me wrong, I love my life, it’s my past I could do without. I don’t dwell on it, like they say, live today like it’s your last, don’t worry about tomorrow, it’ll take care of itself. Everything happens for a reason, it made me who I am, and brought me to where I’m at. I’ve got no one to answer to, I love my job, I’ve got great friends, and I have no shortage of female companionship.

  If I choose.

  It was a long, tough road to get here, but now that I’m here, I’m not planning on changing a thing.

  But we’ve all got that one secret that no one knows, that one strange thing that really gets you hard, or if you prefer to refer to yourself as politely reserved (uptight), makes you feel alive.

  Our kink.

  Hold on, I don’t get off with torture, no fucking way. I’m not sick and deranged. But to see me, a tough looking guy, tattoo artist, and yeah, I’ve got my piercings, (chicks love those too), the guys in the shop would never let me live it down, and some broads might think I’m gay. Except for the few I’ve indulged with. They keep coming back.

  Ever since the sweet little thing opened her coffee shop next door to my tattoo parlor, my mind has envisioned all the different ways of getting my kink on with Tinkerbell, the owner.

  Fuck!

  To be honest, I’ve been a miserable son-of-a-bitch since I first laid eyes on her.

  My balls have suffered the worst, they’ve stayed a constant shade of blue.

  There she is now.

  I watch her through the plate glass window. I don’t know where she came from. One day she was just there. I was drawn to her immediately and have watched her ever since.

  It’s not a conscious thing, my eyes automatically move in her direction, pulled to her whenever she’s in my line of vision. I’ve caught myself more times than I can count and by the time I realize I’m staring, every detail about her has been burned into my mind. Right now she’s outside cleaning the tables. My jaw clenches and that familiar tightening grips me as the wind whips up a little and blows her loose top around her body, baring her creamy pale stomach. It’s not tight from a hundred crunches, but looks soft and feminine. My mind doesn’t see her flesh white, but what I’d do to it. My fingertips tingle with the need to stroke her skin. The wispy fringes of bronze, gold, and brown hair around her face that fell from the messy bun tickle her lips. Those pouty fucking pink lips. Lips that make my mouth water. They’re moving.

  Is she singing?

  She bops her head up and down and wiggles her hips a little. Just a little bit. It makes me smile. It wouldn’t have been noticeable to anyone glancing at her, but I’m not glancing. I’m staring. Studying her. Like I always do. And I don’t even realize it. I can’t help it, it just happens. Then she smiles. It’s a ray of fucking sunshine burning down on me, heating me right to my crotch.

  “Dude, why don’t you just go out there and fuck her already before you come all over yourself.”

  I stiffen.

  Bull.

  Busted.

  “Yeah, because you sure as hell wouldn’t get twenty feet next to her before she screamed from your ugly-ass face,” I throw back at him as I pull my attention from the window. And Tinkerbell.

  I’m not giving shit away.

  Bull, one of the tattoo artists in my shop, and a brother from another mother, is at his station checking and restocking his supplies. It’s Monday, the day after the usual busy weekend. Everyone comes in shit-faced after the bars Friday and Saturday nights wanting some ink. If you’re legal and got the cash, we don’t give a shit.

  We’ve got it good. Life’s pretty sweet. At least since we’ve been here in Riverbend, a small town with three stop lights where no one locks their doors. Well, they probably started when we pulled into town on our motorcycles, all inked and kind of scary looking. Good, it’s good to keep people guessing, keep them leery of you. We’ve always had to, especially in our line of work, what we did before we came here, what we haven’t been called back for since arriving.

  We all know eventually that call’s gonna come sometime.

  Bull swivels his stool around and leans back against his client chair, stretches out the tree trunks he has for legs, crosses his thick arms across his chest, and grins at me.

  Ah, shit!

  “Would you like to make a bet, Rock?”

  Rock, short for Rocco. And I must be dumb as a damn rock because I just flashed a huge red flag with that woman’s face all over it in front of Bull.

  Shit’s about to get real.

  Bull’s an addict. It’s not drugs or booze, but betting. He lost his ass and everything he owned to it, but now he satisfies that need with tormenting us with these kinds of wagers. He bets on everything, and will stop at nothing to win.

  “No I don’t want to make a bet. Leave her the fuck alone.”

  Or I’ll kick your ass.

  The thought of Bull touching Tinkerbell in any way, shape, or form, makes my blood boil. Unless I say so.

  He laughs at me. That sadistic sound he always makes when he’s ready
to throw down.

  Shit!

  “Why should I leave her alone? I’ll win, Rock, I guarantee it. And you can’t stand that idea. It’ll be a win/win, dude. I can give Sugar Tits the opportunity to ride the Bull. They always come back for more once they climb on. You know things really get good then, Rock. Everyone wins.”

  They do. And it does.

  Which is exactly why I don’t want him, or any of the other guys, going anywhere near her. Not until I do.

  Trying to distract him, I quirk an eyebrow and ask, “Sugar Tits?”

  “Yeah,” he drags his fat tongue, (everything about Bull is big), across his lips, “because I’m sure they’re going to be sweet and melt in my mouth when I suck on them.”

  A roar explodes in my brain. This girl, this fantasy that’s somehow consumed me, I don’t even know her damn name, nor have I had any intention of finding out, is messing with me.

  “No, they’re fucking not, Bull, because you’re not going anywhere near them. Or her. She’s not our kind,” I grit out between clenched teeth.

  He throws his head back laughing again. Then he rubs his dick.

  Don’t even think of her like that!

  “How do you know?” he asks, still laughing at me, palming himself.

  He knows exactly which buttons to push to irritate the piss out of me, like they’re tattooed on me in bright red. Push here for ‘horny’ (the redhead he brought around worked really well for that), here for goddamn ‘rage.’ Once he starts, he never stops. I’ve learned how to avoid his aggravating harassment. He’s like a leech, once he’s latched on, he keeps going until he sucks you dry. This time, I was the one who shoved his bloody fangs into me, walked right into it, and there’s not a damn thing I can do about it now. It’s going to be hell when the rest of the guys get here.

  “I just know.” It’s the best answer I can come up with, a fucking lame and pitiful one.

  There’s a gleam in his eyes. A goddamn glimmer.

  “Take the bet, dude, if you’re so sure.”

  “No bet, Bull.”

  He’s pulling me in, dammit!

  “’Cause you know I’ll win. I’m a persistent bastard, you know it. Remember the redhead, Rock? Wore her down, ‘til she was begging…” that glimmer’s a fucking spotlight now!

  “Tinkerbell’s nothing like that redhead, Bull. NOTHING.” It’s taking every damn thing for me to keep my cool.

  “HAH! Tinkerbell, huh? Already gave Sugar Tits a nickname. I bet that fairy dust is going to feel pretty sweet all over my cock.”

  SHITSHITSHIT.

  “Drop it, Bull,” I grit out tightly.

  He continues, practically salivating at the prospect, (I’m not sure which entices him more, betting or the girl), “Take the bet, dude. Broads love bad boys, especially the good girls. I think they love the thrill of being bad, maybe they even get off on being used, taken, you know? Rough and hard and dirty.” His smirk is wicked and sleazy.

  Hooked! Damn him!

  I shove to my feet, fists clenched at my sides. “Yeah, but they don’t like dogs, which is exactly what you are.”

  “Why don’t we find out? I’ll let you know what she says,” he smirks as he starts to stand.

  “Sit the fuck down,” I growl with a hand at his chest, stopping him. “If anyone’s going to find out, it’s me. No. Fucking. Body. Else. I’ll prove she’s not our type.”

  He’s still chuckling as I pull open the front door to walk next door to Tinkerbell’s coffee shop, The Magic Bean. I have entertained myself often visualizing her flicking her sweet little bean while I watched, imagining her moans and whimpers and the look on her face when she makes herself come.

  “What are you going to do if she is, Rock? Bring her over and we’ll take good care of her. You get one shot, dude, then I’m going in,” fucking Bull doesn’t stop as the door shuts behind me.

  God help the woman if she is.

  I fume the few steps to the coffee shop’s door and yank it open. In the doorway, I rake my eyes over the inviting space before I walk in, pumped from Bull’s bullshit.

  I hesitate. I’m impressed.

  She did a really nice job in here.

  It’s inviting with just enough of a feminine touch to be warm and welcoming, in brick terracotta and deep dark blue colors. There are several customer tables and all of them are occupied, with more people sitting on the stools at the bar running the length of a wall. There are shelves with unique coffee mugs, t-shirts, gift baskets, coffee and teas for home, a refrigerator filled with juices and water, and a display case with pastries. As I approach the counter, the original artwork she’s used around the space as décor catches my eye. The Beatles is piped in from hidden speakers as background music. I grin. Everyone smiles when imagining living in a yellow submarine.

  Really nice.

  Not for the first time I wonder where this girl came from and what her deal is. One day she was just here from out of nowhere, working on the shop all by herself, cleaning, painting, doing everything on her own she could, leaving the big stuff to the professionals.

  Yeah, I’ve been watching her.

  All her hard work paid off.

  I step up to the counter and wait as Tinkerbell talks to the customer she’s taking care of. As I stand behind the guy who’s taking his sweet ass time, I look over the unsuspecting woman’s head at the chalkboard menu on the wall behind her.

  What the fuck is all that? Frappe’s, Latte’s, Americano’s, Skinny fucking Black Velvet? What the fuck? Where the hell is the coffee?

  The thing reads like a gourmet menu I’ve never ordered from before.

  Still pissed about Bull and his stupid bet, frustration head-butts me with the sound of the object of that frustration just a few feet away.

  “Is that it for this morning, Steve?” Tinkerbell asks the douche in the bad suit in front of me.

  She even sounds innocent, why am I here, this is insane.

  “You to go, Summer,” comes his typical pansy come on.

  Possession flares through me. It’s all I can do to keep from grabbing him by the neck and throwing his ass out of her shop.

  What the hell is wrong with me? She’s just a girl. A nice girl, I remind myself.

  “You’re sweet,” she replies with a polite smile. “Four fifty-nine, please,” she ignores him.

  Mr. Douche makes a production of pulling out a Louis Vuitton wallet. Yeah, I know something about fashion and designer labels, enough to know that pretentious assholes like him use it to get in a broad’s pants. It’s obvious this little dick can’t get a woman on his own.

  “One of these days, Summer, you’re going to let me take you out somewhere,” the guy looks around the room, “nice.”

  Oh, hell no!

  I might be a lot of things, but asshole is not one of them. This douchebag is an asshole.

  “Summer,” I say, assuming her name is Summer because that’s what he called her. It feels like honey on my tongue and it’s perfect for her, bright, warm, with the promise of a heat that would burn you if you let it. “Your place is great. Creating something on your own as beautiful as this from nothing, instead of jumping on the corporate ladder and kissing whatever ass is put in front of you. That’s accomplishment. You must be proud.”

  I know her eyes are now on me, wide and surprised. But I don’t look at her, I’m burning a hole in the back of the pussy’s head with my glare, daring him to turn around and say something to me.

  He does.

  Looming over his shorter frame, his eyes have to travel up to meet my gaze. When he does, he sneers at me with condescension. And caution.

  Bring it, pussy boy.

  “I agree,” he states tightly. “It’s beautiful, just like she is.”

  “There’s more to beauty than meets the eye. It’s too bad not many people see it.” I look at the coffee sitting on the counter. “You’d better get that before you leave.”

  The douchebag turns and snatches the cup off the counter.


  “See you tomorrow, Summer,” he grunts before he storms off.

  “Pussy,” I mutter under my breath.

  I take the step closer to the counter with my arms still crossed in front of my chest. It was either that or grab him by his stiff white shirt to make sure he got the point.

  “Thank you, but you didn’t have to do that,” she says to me.

  My eyes meet hers for the first time. They’re a turbulent mixture of colors, I can see them clearly across the small barrier between us. Green and honey, with a touch of grey/blue. Even though her cheeks are flushed pink, she does not look very happy with me.

  I wonder if she’s pissed-off, embarrassed, or excited.

  “I didn’t have to do what? Tell him he’s a dick? He is, and I said it nicely.”

  “Most guys are,” she looks me up and down, She thinks she’s got me figured out with that sizing up, “but I don’t need saving.” She takes a breath, probably to pull back that temper of hers I have a feeling she has. “Thank you, though. What can I get for you?”

  She immediately becomes professional and puts that polite mask back on complete with a sweet smile. I can’t tell if what the dick said bothered her, It must have, if she appreciated me sticking up for her, or if she actually resents it.

  “I couldn’t stand here and listen to that pretentious little dipshit insult you. I just came over for some coffee, I own the shop next door, I’m…”

  “I know who you are, Mr….,” she cuts me off but her words trail off and pink tinges her cheeks again.

  I quirk an eyebrow at her and grin.

  Number one, I’m surprised she knows who I am, that she even noticed me. Number two, I also can’t help notice, although she said she knows me, she doesn’t know my name.

  Does she want to?

  I smirk at her, knowing she’s kicking herself by the fresh flush on her pretty face.

  “I thought you said you know who I am.”

  She folds her arms tightly across her chest attempting to look defiant.

  “I’ve seen you,” I can hear the unsaid okay at the end of that sentence.

  I’ve seen you, too, baby doll, in many different ways, and without that apron on.