Tattoo Lust: A Tattoo Romance Collection

by Skyla Madi

  “There have been a couple of murders, possibly the same perp did both.” Harry breathed deeply, then Grace heard him to take a sip of coffee. Her father drank java juice like he used to guzzle alcohol—daily and sometimes two-fisted.

  “I know. I watch the news.” Grace tapped her fingers on her desk.

  “The other reason I called was because your mother's birthday is coming up. How do you want to celebrate it this year? I was thinking—”

  “Dad, I think I'm going to sit this year out. I don't think it's a good—”

  “I didn't hear that, did I, Gracie? Your mother should be remembered. She loved her birthday.”

  Grace was always amused by how her father spoke about her mother; the emotion filled words contradicted his gravelly voice.

  Grace groaned. “I know, but I don't think she would want us—you to live like she's still here. It's been ten years, Dad. Eleven.”

  “It's what we do every year.”

  “Yeah, and at Christmas, Thanksgiving, Easter, Flag Day.” Grace looked up in annoyance.

  “What am I supposed to tell Mrs. McGregor? She always joins us. She looks forward to your mother's birthday.”

  Grace laughed humorlessly. “Why don't the two of you go to dinner or something?”

  “It won't be the same without you.”

  “I'm sure Natalie won't mind.”

  Her father couldn't see the real reason his neighbor came over all the time, and it wasn't to talk about her late mother. Mrs. McGregor hadn't been a Mrs. in years. Her husband had left her right about the time Grace’s mother passed away.

  “I think you're wrong about that.”

  “Dad, do you hear yourself? She's over all time. Coming around for how long now? Never remarried. She’s attractive, don't you think?”

  Harry chuckled. “I don't think…” The denial lost its power and he went quiet. He swallowed another sip of coffee.

  Grace stared at the wall in front of her. She really didn't want to celebrate this year. She hated the sad look her father always had on his face. After leaving, she always pictured him sitting on the edge of his bed, the same way she'd found him crying the morning of the funeral.

  “If you really want me to be there, I will. But this has to be the last time. Promise me.”

  His voice brightened, “Okay. Last time. I promise.”

  Grace paced around her office after the emotionally exhausting phone call. She ignored the pile of papers. The mound sat there like a prognostication. Her life would forever be boring. Stagnant. She’d had a glimpse of a new beginning on the back of that motorcycle. After her date with Mikey she'd had second thoughts about moving forward with the man. Sure, he was big-hearted, fun, and a bit wild, but also had a ten-year-old son. A contradiction to his job as a tattoo artist. Grace never considered herself parent material and kids didn't seem to like her. However, Mikey was everything she wasn't, which wasn't a bad thing. She reached for the phone.

  While the phone rang in her ear, the contents of her stomach swirled. She could hear her father words inside her brain, ‘You should never call a man, let them call you. If they're interested, they'll call’.

  “Hello?” Mikey answered.

  “Hi, this is Grace. Do you remember me?”

  He chuckled in a quick burst. “We only went out two nights ago. I remember you well.”

  “Okay. Well, I was wondering if you were doing anything this weekend?”

  “Um, I have my son this weekend, but I'm free tonight. I was about to order some pizza. Why don't you come over…watch a movie…or something?”

  “I can probably do that.” She already knew his address because she'd insisted on him giving her the information before she’d agreed to their first date. A cop’s daughter was well-trained.

  “Cool. Come over whenever, I'll be here.”

  “’Kay. Bye.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Mikey

  Mikey surveyed his house for signs he might be a slob. Finding none, he wandered into his bedroom to shower and change. He had plans to show Grace some of his tattoo collection so he put on a muscle shirt. Fortunately, he could to pull off the look. When he wasn't working or spending time with his son or Brad, he hit the gym.

  The doorbell rang right as he sat on the couch and he jumped up to get it. When he opened the door, Grace stood with her back to him. “Hey darlin’,” he said.

  She spun around. “Hi.” Her hand came up in a wave.

  When she neared him, he leaned toward her and planted a kiss on her lips. He'd meant the kiss to be a quick greeting but it turned into a promise of more later. Or maybe more right now. He pulled her against him and with their mouths still fused, walked them back into the house. Blindly, he felt the air for the door. Once he found the panel, it took a couple tries before he got it shut all the way. He turned the lock and returned his full attention to her.

  Grace broke the contact first. “Sorry,” she said.

  He furrowed his brow. “For what? That was a hell of a greeting. Besides, I kissed you.”

  “Oh yeah. I guess you did. I must’ve been thinking about it.” She brought a hand up to her mouth and ran her fingers over her lips, her face red.

  Mikey took her hand and led her into the living room. “Have a seat. I'm going to try to be a good host. Can I get you something to drink before I order some pizza?”

  She followed him into the kitchen. “What do you have?”

  After he opened the fridge, he remembered he hadn't gone to the grocery store yet. “Shit.”

  She peered over his shoulder and snort-giggled. “It’s empty.”

  “The pizza place can bring us something cold to drink.”

  “That or water’s fine.”

  God, she was so cool. He was glad he’d met her.

  After the food was ordered they settled on the couch. “What kind of movies do you like?” he asked, directing the remote at the TV.

  “I should probably tell you romantic comedies, although I prefer action comedy. But I don’t care. It’s up to you.”

  “Hmm, all right. How does Bruce Willis sound to you?”

  “Perfect. He’s the king.”

  Mikey grinned. “I knew I liked you.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Harry

  BEEP! BEEEEEP!

  “Yeah, I'm going.” Harry planted his hands on his steering wheel. The light had turned green while he'd been thinking about the two unsolved murders in South Webby. He moved his foot to the gas pedal and sped through the intersection. The town wasn't all that large, but big enough. Locating one person who you didn't have any idea what they looked like or where they lived or even a first name, was nearly impossible.

  He wrestled with his evaluation of Mikey Hardin. There were indicators of his guilt, though nothing definitively pointed to him as a viable suspect. Harry had done some digging into his past. There were extensive family court records regarding custody changes and motions, won and lost on both sides, but mostly involved their lawyers trying to keep them out of court rooms. Nothing he'd read indicated Hardin was doing anything illegal or even slightly deviant anymore. He was a regular volunteer at the Botanical Garden Park every year to help with the spring clean-up.

  Harry wound through his subdivision, two lefts and then a right onto his street. When he pulled into his driveway, the only part of the trek he remembered was the stoplight he'd been honked at. The rest was a blur of automatic turns and stops.

  Coming home was something he had to do, not something he loved to do. Before his wife had passed away, he'd always wanted to come home. Annie had greeted him with a smile every day, even if hers hadn’t been so great. They had a house rule never to bring work home with them. You left it on the front porch if you had to, but never was it allowed in the sanctuary of their home.

  After he parked his car in the garage, he went inside. “Hi, Honey, I'm home,” he said as he passed by the family pictures which covered the wall of the hallway leading to the kitchen. Hung
in the middle was a photograph of the two of them Gracie had made them take a year before her mother died. He imagined Annie standing in the lee of the kitchen with an apron tied around her waist. She'd never worn one, but he enjoyed the idea of it. A good cook, she was not. He hadn't married her for her cooking.

  Harry turned his head to the right at a noise. He reached under his jacket, unsnapping the holster. The living room was dark. A lamp came on. He squinted at the bright light with his Glock drawn. The bark of a familiar laugh shot through the room.

  “Jesus Christ! You scared the shit out of me.” Harry said, putting his gun away.

  “I know, wasn't it funny?” Cedric laughed.

  “Hilarious. You wouldn’t be laughing if I had put a bullet in your chest. What are you doing lurking in my living room? In the dark, I might add.”

  “When I heard you pull in I cut the lights. Thought it'd be funny to spook ya.”

  “Doesn't explain why you're in my house.” Harry sat on the floral sofa across from his friend.

  “You called me, remember? You didn't say why in your message but I figured it was about those murders.” Cedric was sitting on the matching pattern chair fiddling with his cane, grinding the end into the carpet. The chronic habit required him to replace the rubber on the bottom often. Harry eyed him and he stopped.

  Harry hated to admit it, but he was having trouble with the recent killings because the evidence didn't make a lot of sense. Mikey Hardin’s alibi had checked out for the second murder. As far as the first murder, there was no physical evidence linking him to it, only a call from his ex-wife pointing her finger. After checking and finding court records of a nasty divorce, he was back at square one. Then there was Mikey's reaction to the crime scene photos. Harry shook his head.

  “Why are you shaking your head?” Cedric asked.

  “The evidence doesn't make sense. There were tips regarding the suspect, but one was from his ex-wife and, well…I think the second one was too.”

  Cedric leaned his head back. “Second one?”

  “Yeah. I dunno. The guy is a good guy as far as I can tell. His reaction to the photos and his alibi were solid. At least on the second.”

  “And the first?”

  “He was at work. By himself. Stayed late to work on some designs. Tattoo artist.”

  “Ah.”

  “Hey, you want some coffee?” Harry asked, motioning toward the kitchen.

  Cedric stabbed his cane into the floor and rose to his feet. “After you.”

  Harry prepared the coffeemaker, his forehead creased too deeply for brewing coffee. With one brow raised, Cedric watched him from his chair at the table. They'd known each other for about thirty years, ever since Harry had been a rookie cop. The circumstances surrounding their eventual friendship always weighed on Harry's mind. As a new police officer, his testimony had helped put Cedric in prison, falsely accused and tried without the use of DNA testing. Admittedly, Cedric was not a stellar citizen, but a murdering rapist he wasn’t.

  “What the hell you concentrating so hard on?”

  “What?”

  “Yeah, what?” Cedric's voice was low and deep. “And don't bullshit me. I’ve known you too long for that.”

  Harry sighed as he poured a cup of coffee. He leaned against the counter. “I know him.”

  The handle of Cedric’s cane slipped off the edge of the table. He leaned over and picked it up with a groan. “Know who?”

  “The suspect. Who else? What the hell have we been talking about?”

  “We was talking? I just asked what you was thinking about.”

  Harry stared at his coffee. “This case. I don't like it, Ced.”

  “How you know this suspect of yours?” Cedric looked up at Harry.

  “AA.”

  “As in A-A?”

  “You know of another AA I don't know about? Yeah, fucking AA.”

  “Damn, man. I know those twelve steps work for some folks but I could never get past all the Jesus and God stuff.”

  “He only comes every once in a while, and not for over a year. He’s shared some. Hey, listen it's anonymous, all right? So don't—”

  “Who would I tell? But isn't that a conflict of interest?”

  Harry shrugged. “Probably. But I still have a job to do and it doesn't matter whether I know him or not. We're not friends.”

  “But you're not sure if knowing him has messed with you.”

  Harry didn't respond, merely looked out the window above the sink into the dark night and took a swig of coffee.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Grace

  “I'm stuffed,” Mikey said, rubbing his stomach. Grace craned her neck over the top of the table with her mouth hanging open, curious about what was underneath his shirt. They both sat back in their chairs at his kitchen table. “Did you get enough to eat?”

  “Uh huh. Full,” Grace said, looking at the clock on the microwave.

  Noticing this, Mikey asked, “Do you have to go or…?”

  “No. I was just wondering what time it was.”

  He stared at her mouth, the line of her neck, her breasts.

  “So, you promised to show me some of your tattoos. I see the ones on your arms.” Grace looked up through her lashes.

  “I wore this shirt for the occasion,” he chuckled. “This one here is a bird. Raven, actually.”

  She admired the work for a few minutes, turning his arm back and forth. The black ink tattoo depicted a solid raven with its wings, made up of smaller birds, stretched out behind it. “It’s beautiful. Tell me about some of the others.”

  He showed her the skin art on his other arm. A black and gray owl nestled between branches with red flowers curled around his whole bicep up to his shoulder and down to the elbow.

  “I'm surprised you don't have more on your arms, or…what do they call it when the entire arm is covered?”

  “A sleeve. I don't like those. I do a lot of them but I’d rather not cover my forearms. I believe you can have too much.”

  “Hmm, I see a pattern here.”

  “Birds represent freedom to me. Individuality, in a way. I don't like to be caged in or labeled. I'm just me. I can only be who I am.” He stood up. “Do you wanna see what’s on my back?” Without waiting for her response he shucked his shirt. He turned around and dropped to his knees beside her so she could get a better look.

  Grace gasped. “That’s breathtaking.” The first thing Grace noticed was the all the colors; different shades of red, yellow, orange, lilac and pale teal. Then she recognized the image, a phoenix with detailed feathers and flowing, swirling tail plumes. She touched Mikey, and what she felt surprised her. His skin was smooth where she'd thought it might be raised because of the ink. She moved her palm over the expense of his back and he tensed. Her hand met his rib cage along his side. He arched his spine and she giggled. “Are you ticklish?”

  “Yes, very.” He laughed when she lightly touched his side.

  “Mmm. I'll have to remember that.”

  He gasped. “Please don't. Oh my God…stop.” He jumped to his feet to escape the torture. “Come on. Let’s watch another movie.”

  “Do we have to? I was having so much fun,” she mock-whined, but trailed him back to the living room couch, where they sat down.

  “You know, there are other ways to have fun that don't include teasing me.” A smile rose and lit up eyes.

  Grace licked her lips. “Is that what I was doing? Teasing you?”

  “Yep. That’s what I would call it.” His lids dropped to half-mast.

  Grace appreciated the respect he showed her by not making the first move. He was letting her control the pace. But God, she wanted him to kiss her again.

  “Can I interest you in another flick or do you need to get going?” he asked.

  “Why? Are you kicking me out or do you really want to watch another movie?” She smiled.

  “Ah no, and no.”

  A soft giggle pushed past her lips and she grabbed his
side, causing him to grunt. She wouldn't let go and continued to squeeze him. Mikey threw his head back and howled with laughter. “Not fair.”

  He caught hold of her wrists and held them over her head. Their eyes met. Heat rolled off their bodies. Breaths caught in their throats. She pressed her lips to his. They were soft like velvet but firm as he kissed her back. When she licked at the crease of his mouth, he opened for her, taking her tongue inside as he pushed his into her. He followed her while she eased back onto the cushion.

  They maneuvered their tangle of legs until he was lying between hers. He released her mouth to take a breath. It was then she noticed he still had her hands pinned above her head and what do you know? She liked this. Mikey released her hands but she kept them right where they were.

  She arched into him as he ground himself against her core, the hard length of him pressing through his jeans. Reaching between them, he adjusted himself. Grace giggled against his mouth when he groaned from his own touch.

  “Sorry, I was uncomfortable.”

  “Poor guy,” she said breathlessly. “I know what you mean. My jeans are…sticking…uh…can you…uh…help me?”

  Snaking his hand between them again, he unfastened the button of her pants and pulled down the zipper. She reached down and shimmied them out from under her bottom. He helped her get them the rest of the way off. After tossing them aside, he leaned down and pushed the hem of her shirt up past her navel. Along the top of her lacy thong and the hollow between her hips, he kissed her. His hot breath skated over her skin. Grace moaned and drove her hands into his thick hair.

  Crawling up her body, Mikey ran a hand over her breasts, giving each side equal attention. She closed her eyes and soaked up the attention. Over the bra and cotton t-shirt wasn’t enough. Needing closer contact, she stripped off her shirt. He was adept at unhooking her bra at the front clasp. Slowly he slid the cups to the sides to reveal her full breasts. He suckled each one, circling his tongue around the tight little buds. She moaned when she angled her hips up and down.