by Jaci J
Hands on either side of her, I lean in, inches from her lips. “It’s going good. But I think she’s just looking for some dick tonight.”
Shay cocks her head, chuckling. “She sounds like your kind of girl then. Someone just looking for fun.”
I know that’s what this is all about. My words are coming back to bite me in the goddamn ass, and if I know Shay, then she’s going to use that shit to her full advantage and make me pay for even saying it.
“She’s not who I want to have fun with,” I tell her, kissing her soft, pink lips. But Shay doesn’t let me linger. She turns her head, pulling away.
“I think she looks like the type of fun you’re looking for.”
“Nah, baby, you’re who I want to have fun with.”
We’re in the alley, between the restaurant and another business. She’s on a date, but it’s not with me. Yet all I can think about is getting her naked, and getting my hands and mouth on her body.
She’s wearing a dress again, long and flowy. She looks fucking good. Better than good. Gorgeous.
Grabbing some of the material in my hands, I start to pull it up, slowly exposing inches of skin. She doesn’t stop me or tell me no. Like every time before this, she just closes her eyes and chews on her plump bottom lip.
I get her dress around her hips and smirk down at your panties. “Those are cute.” They’re plain white cotton. They’re still sexy, but they’re definitely not like the other ones she wears. The ones she wears for me.
“I wasn’t expecting anyone to see them tonight,” she whispers, her eyes on mine.
Jesus. Hearing her say that shit makes me happy, happier than I wish it did. She had no plans of having sex with her date. She wasn’t even planning on letting him see her in anything other than her dress. “Good.”
“Good? Why? It’s none of your business who sees my panties.”
“Because as long as I’m fucking you, no one else is fucking you.”
“What about you?”
“What about me?”
“Are you going to have sex with your date tonight?”
Fuck no. “Nah, not getting my dick wet tonight. Not unless it’s you gettin’ it wet,” I tease, running my finger under the waistband of her panties.
Shay shivers, but shakes her head. “I can’t.”
“You can’t?”
“I’m too sore.”
Shit. A little bit of guilt hits me in the chest. I was mad at her, mad that she was going on a date, and I took that shit out on her, even though in the end it was my goddamn fault. I told her to have fun. She might have been agreeing to date and have fun just to spite me, but it was my goddamn words that started it all.
I pull my hand from her panties and let her dress fall back down around her legs. “You okay?” I ask, pushing her hair out of her face.
She nods, a smile on her lips. “Other than having a hard time sitting, I’m fine.”
“Did I hurt you too bad?”
“I liked it.” She shrugs. “If that’s what you’re asking.”
I feel like shit suddenly. “I’m asking whether I was too rough with you?”
“No. You know I like it.”
“Come home with me.” The words leave my mouth without much thought. I don’t know what the fuck I want, but what I do know is that I don’t want her here with that guy. Even in her granny panties, a sore cunt, and no intentions of fucking him, I still want her at home with me.
She sighs, pushing off the wall. “I can’t.”
“You fucking can.”
“Niko—” she starts, but stops when the back door opens and her date’s head pops out. He looks at her, frowning. “Shay? Are you okay?”
She nods, pushing around me. “I’m fine,” she tells him. I don’t let her get far, catching her wrist.
“Come home with me.”
Shay pulls free from my hold, frowning. “You told me to have fun, and that’s exactly what I’m doing.”
I want to haul off and hit her date, break his fucking neck. I want to snatch her up, chuck her over my shoulder and take her home, and tell her we’re not doing this shit anymore, that she’s done dating losers and assholes. But I don’t say a goddamn thing because she stops at the door, looking back at me. “Don’t.”
“Don’t?” I growl, stalking toward her.
She puts her hand up, stopping me. “Don’t do crazy shit. Don’t hit my date or drag me back to the shop. You set the rules, so you need to follow them.”
Fuck. “Shay.”
“I’ll see you later, Niko.”
Her date looks at me smugly, and I want nothing more than to rip his face off his skull, but I know better. I know that if I want any chance with Shay, any more of her time and body, then I have to bite my fucking tongue and take my aggression out on some asshole in the ring.
“You need me, you call me.”
She smiles, nodding once, before walking back inside, the door shutting behind her.
I don’t go back inside to my date. I can’t watch Shay a second longer with that douchebag.
I turn and head out of the alley and toward the gym, looking for a fucking outlet for this rage.
26
Shay
My date ended badly. It went up in flames. Down the shitter. Like all my past dates, this one ended horribly.
As soon as that back door slammed shut on Niko, my date turned to me, his nice, kind face twisted up in anger and disgust. He shoved me against the wall, my head hitting the drywall with a hard and painful thud. He got in my face and called me a dirty slut before trying to get under my dress, the same dress Niko’s hands were just under. He kept asking if I was playing him, if I was fucking him over, as if he was my man. If anyone was anything to me other than an acquaintance, it was Niko.
I spent all of two minutes, stunned and confused, until it hit me. He was jealous. Possessive and bitter.
“Excuse me?” I growled, pushing at his hands grabbing at me. “You have no right to be mad or jealous. We just fucking met.”
I wish I had been scared or worried in that moment, but I’d been there before a time or two, and instead of being nervous, I was mad. Mad that the asshole thought he had a right to be annoyed about Niko, and mad at Niko for putting me in the situation to begin with.
My date didn’t get the hint, or he didn’t care. He grabbed my jaw, and unlike Niko’s rough but careful touch, the asshole squeezed, his fingers digging into my skin. He leaned in, trying to kiss me, but I bit his lip, and he reared back and hit me.
He busted my lip.
I walked back to the bar, lip bloody and dress ripped, in search of my safe place—Niko.
Sitting in the bar, in the dark, and drinking tequila from the bottle, I nurse my bruised pride and aching lip.
The door to the bar flies open, hitting the wall with a loud thud. Flinching, I wipe at my cheeks, brushing away the stray tears lingering on my skin.
Jesus, I shouldn’t even fucking be here. Why didn’t I just go home and drown my sorrows there? Coming here was a huge mistake.
Niko walks into the bar, his eyes scanning the room before they find me, and I watch as they darken, hardening into something scary.
He’s shirtless and sweaty. He must have been at the gym.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, his voice sliding into a deep growl when he gets closer to me, his eyes looking over every inch of my body. “What the fuck happened?”
He crouches down, coming eye level with me sitting in a chair. Putting one hand on my thigh, he uses the other to pull the cigarette from between my lips. “You don’t fucking smoke.” I don’t smoke, not usually. But tonight, I really needed one. “Jesus, Shay, you’re smoking? What the fuck happened.”
“I’m okay,” I assure him, my voice fading.
“No, you’re not. But that’s not what I fucking asked you, baby. What happened?”
Looking up and away from him, I spot Alek standing in the doorway. He doesn’t look sorry for doing exactly what I asked him not to. I
n fact, he looks relieved.
He called Niko.
“Nothing.”
Niko touches my cheek, his thumb brushing the small cut on the corner of my top lip. “You got about ten seconds to tell me the truth before I go apeshit and tear every motherfucker apart in this city looking for answers.”
Embarrassment crawls across my face, replacing the shame. “I should have listened to you,” I whisper, looking down at his boots. “I should have went home with you.”
Hands on either side of my face, Niko looks at me. “No, Shay, that’s not how this shit works. This isn’t your fault. Tell me what happened so I can fix it.”
“You can’t fix it.”
“The fuck I can’t. Tell me.”
“That asshole got handsy. I bit him when he tried to kiss me, and he hit me in return.”
Niko lets me go and stands up, his face twisted up in rage. “He’s fucking dead,” he declares, turning to walk out of the bar.
Up and out of my seat, I reach for him, needing him, and hating myself for it. “Niko, don’t.”
Niko twists around, his face screwed up in disgust and rage. “Don’t? Some piece of shit hit you, Shay. Someone put their fucking hands on you.”
“I know, but—”
“Stop. There isn’t a ‘but.’ No goddamn reason a man put his hands on you.”
He’s pacing. Ranting. Angry.
“Niko,” I say softly, wrapping my arms around his middle, my face in his chest. He doesn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around me too, holding me tight.
My lip stings, but not nearly as bad as my pride and confidence. This date was not one of my finest. I might have hit an all-time low, actually. This wasn’t what I wanted in the least.
He looks down at me, his face serious and deadly, but calm and resolute. “I’m not doing this shit with you anymore, Shay.”
As soon as the words leave his mouth, I start to feel an overwhelming sense of grief. This is it. All the back and forth, all the games, all the ups and downs. It’s over.
“Okay,” I agree, because what else can I fucking say? I let him go and step back.
“Okay?” He cocks his head, studying me. “Just okay?”
Lifting a defeated shoulder, I rub at my warm cheek, my fingers brushing the split in my lip, making it sting. “What do you want me to say? It’s done.”
Stalking toward me, he growls, pointing right at me. “I’m done, Shay. I’m done doing this shit where you go on dates and talk to other guys. Done letting you leave my bed, leave me. Done with you not answering my calls. Done sharing you.”
I’m taken aback by his words. I stare at him, shocked, until he gets within touching distance and grabs me, crushing his lips to mine.
“I’m done, yeah? You fucking hear me?” he murmurs against my lips, sucking on my tongue, tasting me, devouring me.
“What does that mean?”
“I don’t fucking know, baby. It just means we’re not doing what we were doing before this fucking moment.”
“Okay.”
I smile, then hiss when my lip stings.
Niko frowns. “Fuck, baby, you need some ice.”
Taking my hand, I let him walk to the door that leads to his apartment upstairs.
Niko
SITTING ON MY COUCH, watching TV, I’ve got Shay on my lap, between my legs. Her back is pressed against my chest, her arms on top of mine as she surfs through the channels.
“You gonna pick something?”
She snorts. “You gonna let me pick, or are you gonna keep making comments about everything I stop on?” she fires back, twisting her head around to look up at me.
Looking at the little split on her lip makes me want to tear someone’s head clean off their body, but I hold it in. I hold it in for her.
“I’m just waiting for you to pick something that doesn’t suck.”
She laughs. “You suck.”
“Not as well as you do.”
Throwing her head back, she laughs. It’s infectious.
We’re already doing this shit. Already falling into that comfortable relationship banter that seems so goddamn weird to have between us, but so fucking normal and right at the same time.
I’m not sharing her anymore. Not watching her go out and date these clowns anymore. Not doing the back and forth. Not sleeping alone. Not playing fucking phone tag. Not letting her go again.
“Pick something, baby, or I’m taking the fucking remote back.”
Shay hands me the remote, frowning. “I’m bored.”
“You’re bored? Didn’t I just wear your ass out?” I ask, sticking my hand down her top and grabbing a handful of tit, giving it a squeeze.
Yelping, she grabs my hand, pulling it out of her tiny tank top, laughing.
Hand on mine, she looks at it, at my tats. “These hurt?” she asks, fingers brushing against the faded black and white skull on the top of my hand.
“Nah.” Honestly, I was probably high when I got them done. I was in high school, and into weed and coke, shit to numb all that teen angst bullshit.
“Really?”
“Want me to show you?” I ask, half joking.
Shay considers my words for a moment before she nods. “Yeah. Show me.”
“Okay?” That shocks the shit out of me. She’s gonna let me tattoo her? “No shit?”
She laughs softly, crawling off me and to the end of the couch, getting on her knees. “No shit, but I have one condition.”
Of course she does. “What’s that, baby?”
“You gotta let me tattoo you first.”
Done. “Cool.”
“Cool? Just like that? I get to pick the tattoo and where it goes?”
It’s cute she thinks I’m fucking with her. I couldn’t give a shit less if she tattoos me or where she puts it. I’m covered in ink already, so it doesn’t fucking matter.
“Got a condition myself.”
Quirking a sculpted brow, Shay looks at me quizzically. “Fine. What it is?”
“I get to pick your tattoo and where it goes.”
Hopping off my couch, she walks toward the door, holding it open. “Cool. Now, let’s do this.”
Pushing off the couch, I stand up. “You sure?” I’m expecting her to back out, but she squares her shoulders.
“Fuck yeah.”
“YOU DON’T HAVE A WHOLE lot of empty skin left,” Shay comments, sitting between my legs on my stool. I’m sitting on the tattoo chair in my room, Shay rubbing alcohol on my chest, cleaning my skin.
She’s damn near naked, in nothing but white panties, a band shirt around her waist, and a matching tank on her top half. I’m not much better, being shirtless and wearing nothing but sweatpants. No one’s even here, so we’re doing this shit casually.
“Happens when you’ve been tattooing since fifteen.”
“Damn, you’ve been doing this since you were fifteen?”
“Yeah, not always legally,” I chuckle, thinking back to the days when I’d tattooed my friends out of my garage after school with a crude homemade gun I learned to make out of some book I found at a damn garage sale. “Started at a little local shop, watching, learning, and cleaning up for about two years after I turned eighteen and opened my own business.”
“You love it,” she says. It’s not a question, but more of an observation.
“I fucking love it, baby.”
She looks up at me, the tattoo gun in her hand inches from my chest. “You sure?”
Laughing, I jerk my chin up, telling her to go ahead. I have more than a few homemade garage tattoos. Hers won’t be the first or the last. “Do your worst.”
I gave her a quick rundown, showed her how to use the gun and ink. Shay’s smart, artistic, and I have no doubt she’ll get the hang of it.
Shay’s got her long locks piled on top of her head in a messy nest, and my glasses on her face. “Do I look like a proper tattoo artist?” she asks, looking at me from over the rim.
“Can you even see outta them
?”
“No. I guess I figured they were just for looks.”
“You think I wear fake glasses just for shits and giggles?”
She lifts a bare shoulder, batting her long lashes. “Maybe they make you feel pretty.”
“You’re a savage, baby. Mean as fuck.”
She laughs, hard. “And on that note, I’m gonna start tattooing you before you change your mind.”
“Good idea,” I deadpan. Not that I’d change my mind. I want her mark on me, for the rest of my fucking life.
One hand on my chest, and the other holding the gun, she starts. Needle hits skin, and she’s the one hissing. “Does it hurt?” she asks, slowly tatting a line on my skin.
“Does it look like it hurts?” She looks unsure and nervous.
I won’t be one of those lying assholes that tells you a tattoo feels amazing. Won’t fill your head with bullshit like it’s euphoric or a high, but I also won’t tell you I don’t fucking love it. They hurt, but not bad enough not to get them. The pain is always fucking worth it. Just like Shay. The pleasure always outweighs the pain.
“This is crazy,” she tells me, peeking up at me. I can see a mischievous smile in her eyes. She’s enjoying this, probably more than she should. Whether it’s causing me pain that she’s enjoying, or the actual process is up for debate. But either way, she’s having a good time. “I can’t believe you’re letting me tattoo you.”
“I can’t believe you thought I wouldn’t.”
“We went from you hating me to letting me tattoo you.”
“Never hated you.”
She rolls her eyes. “I don’t believe that shit for a second.”
“I just wasn’t looking for anything more than a quick fuck,” I tell her, and it’s the truth. “I was married once, and wasn’t looking for a repeat.”
“Who said I would even consider marrying you?”
I give her a look, one that says more than I’m willing to say out loud. Would I marry Shay? Yeah, I fucking would. If I ever get married again, the next time will be the fucking last. The next time will be for a fucking lifetime.
She laughs. “Don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you think I’m over here plannin’ our big wedding and future kids.”
