Tattoo Lust: A Tattoo Romance Collection

by Skyla Madi

  Grace gasped when the tips of his fingers ran under the top of her panties. “Can I take these off?” he breathed into her neck.

  “Please.”

  He kissed his way down to her flat stomach and planted a raspberry next to her belly button. She quivered with laughter; he yanked off her thong.

  “Oh God.” Her sudden and complete nakedness spurred her arousal on more. Once again she put her hands over her head and spread her legs.

  Mikey’s pupils flared. “Grace,” he said hoarsely, “you're beautiful.”

  She smiled with heavy lids. “Thank you. So are you. But you have too many clothes on.” She sat up and went for the fly of his jeans. He cupped her cheek with one hand, running a thumb over her bottom lip. The pants easily slipped down his hips. The tip of him peeked out of the waistband of his purple boxer briefs. There was so much to see.

  “Holy crap.”

  “You want that?” he asked with a lopsided smile.

  “Oh God, yes.”

  His cock jerked with a surge of blood. He stood to rid himself of the rest of his clothing. He struggled with his socks and shoes.

  “You need help?”

  Mikey let out a short bursting laugh. “Nope…I can handle it…I think…yeah…got it.”

  When he didn't come back to her and wandered down the hallway, she called after him, “Where are you going?”

  “Getting a rubber.”

  “Great idea. Sorry, I should've thought about that.” She burst out laughing.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Grace

  Mikey had come back into the living room already wearing a condom. But not any condom; a hot pink one. Grace threw her hands up to her mouth when he strutted into the room, his hands on his hips like a comic strip superhero.

  “Ta da!”

  “You're insane. Get over here.”

  She lay back on the sofa and sighed softly. However, instead of lying on top of her, he gently guided her legs over so her feet touched the floor. He sat down next to her and patted his upper thighs. It took her a moment to understand; he wanted her to straddle his hips. She was a quick learner and got into position. He held himself more upright so she could ease down onto his erection. Sucking in a breath, his eyes closed.

  She moved her hips until they were both panting. Mikey helped her by wrapping his hands around her bottom cheeks and supporting her gyrating hips. She threw her head back and cried out. “Mikey! Oh God! Mikey!”

  Her inner walls milked him over and over as she came. He shifted her off to the side, making sure the condom stayed on him while he pulled out. Surprise washed over her face, she didn't think he’d finished.

  “Don’t worry, I’m not done with you.” He led her over to the end of the overstuffed couch and asked her to bend over the puffy armrest.

  He nudged her legs further apart with a knee, angled his hips, and thrust deeply, past her pink folds. Grace grabbed hold of the seat cushions while he pounded her from behind. He fondled the tight beads of her breasts. Her breath sawed in and out of her. Her heart banged behind her sternum, beating so rapidly she was afraid it would thump right out of her chest.

  He ran his wide palms over and around her hips to the front, finding her sweet spot. His nimble fingers massaged the bundle of nerves.

  “Oh God!” she screamed and prayed ecstasy didn’t kill her. Although, what a way to go. Death by orgasm. She nearly passed out as another slammed through her body.

  Mikey gasped faster and faster. His hot hands retreated and strong fingers dug into her hips. She didn’t care.

  ***

  Mikey

  “Oh, God!” he shouted. His gasps came short and quick. A steamroller of an orgasm almost leveled him. His weakened lower limbs were no help as he was racked from the inside out. Grace stuck with him as the waves rolled through his body. They stayed joined while he loomed over her with his arms supporting his weight. He panted, every third breath getting caught in the back of his throat.

  Grace rested her forehead on the cushion, a smile plastered on her face. “Where’s my phone?”

  “What? Why?”

  “Because that was like the best sex. Ever. I need to call the paper. Everyone needs to know about this.”

  Mikey tilted his head back and laughed. “Are you pimping me out?”

  “Oh God no. I want you all to myself.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Mikey

  With his jaw clenched, Mikey walked up the steps of Cynthia’s house. He wasn't in the mood to see her. Thankfully, Brayden opened the door with a backpack slung over his shoulders.

  “Ready?” he asked his son.

  “Yeah, let's go,” Brayden said and padded down the porch steps.

  “Wait, aren't you going to say bye to your mother?”

  Cynthia had appeared at the doorway when he turned back around. She slammed the door shut, cutting off any thoughts of him speaking to her. Good. He didn't have anything to say anyway. Mikey left the porch to find Brayden already buckled into the front seat of his car. The backpack sat on the floorboards at his feet.

  “Why are you in such a hurry?” Mikey asked after he started the engine.

  “Can we just go?” Brayden sat with his arms crossed and his head hung forward.

  “You wanna to tell me what’s going on?”

  “Uh uh,” Brayden shook his head. “Let's go, Dad.”

  Mikey knew his son was shutting him out. He sighed, put the car into gear and started driving. “I was thinking about going to the zoo today.”

  “Really? I love the zoo!”

  “I know, kid. I'm glad this meets with your approval.”

  During the ride, they chatted about what exhibits they didn't want to miss. Brayden seemed to forget about his mad rush out of his mother’s house. Mikey did not. At the zoo, he tried to put his concerns out of his mind. Whatever was bugging his son could wait. And he should probably discuss any issues with Cynthia rather than their child.

  They walked along the route that took them past the animal enclosures. In the amphibian house, Brayden decided to have a competition. At each of the glass fronted cages of the different frogs, lizards and snakes, he kept score for each animal one of them spotted first. They weren't always easy to find. Mikey chuckled each time Brayden scored himself a point.

  “I see him, Dad. He’s right there, at the top of the branch,” he said and pointed at the chameleon habitat.

  “Oh yeah. There he is.” Mikey pulled at the center of his white Hanes and let it snap back into place a couple of times. “It’s hot in here,” he said, hoping that would encourage Brayden to move along more quickly. Beads of perspiration rolled down Mikey’s temples.

  His son looked up at him. “Yeah, I'm dying too.”

  Leaving the humid building, Brayden spotted the aardvarks across the path and grabbed his dad's hand. Three of the species of animal played follow the leader in an oval pattern around and around.

  “I wanna be an anteater,” Brayden said, putting his fists up to his nose creating a long snout.

  “Yeah, okay, but you’d have to eat ants the rest of your life.”

  “How do you know ants aren't good? If I were an anteater, ants would taste fine to me.”

  Mikey laughed. “Well, I can't argue with that.” The logical mind of his son always made him smile.

  After the penguin house and a visit to the gift shop, they were both ready to leave.

  “Where are we going now?” Brayden asked once they were in the car.

  “I figured you might be hungry. Cocoa?” Mikey asked.

  Brayden grinned. “Can I get dessert?”

  “Yep.”

  Mikey and his son took a seat at the bar tended by Brad's wife, Andrea. Her face brightened when she looked up and saw them sitting at the corner of the counter. Brayden waved at her and she came over.

  Her short brown hair was highlighted with blonde. The pixie cut was new since the last time his son had seen her. Brayden gaped at her. “What
did you do to your hair?”

  “Bray,” Mikey warned. “Sorry, Andrea. That wasn't a very nice thing to say,” he said, looking at his son.

  Andrea put a hand up and shook her head. “It’s okay. I don't like it either. I let the stylist talk me into it.”

  Mikey eyed the new do. “I like it. Looks good on you. Not many women can pull off short hair, but you can.”

  She chortled. “Thanks for trying, but you're such a liar, Hardin.” She looked at Brayden and mouthed liar. He grinned back.

  “I wasn't lying.”

  “Uh hmm. What can I get you two devastatingly handsome gentlemen?”

  “Crab cakes,” the gentlemen said at the same time.

  Andrea giggled. “He’s your son all right.” She walked away to punch in their order at the touch screen point-of-sale computer.

  “Is everything all right at home with your mother?” Mikey asked casually. “You usually don't run out of the house like that.” He wasn't sure if that were always true. When he'd picked up his car last week, he'd run out to greet him like the house was full of monsters.

  “Yeah.” Brayden shrugged.

  “You sure?”

  “Yeah. Everything’s fine.” Brayden studied the top of the bar.

  “You know you can tell me anything. I won't be mad.”

  “I know.”

  Andrea returned and set two glasses of ice water in front of them. “Just the way you like. Mostly ice.”

  “Thank you,” Mikey winked hoping she would understand they were having a private discussion. “Bray, you'd tell me if something were wrong, right?”

  His kid slumped on the stool. “Yeah.” He sat mutely for a moment, then said, “It’s just that you and Mom—I don't want you to fight. I love Mom and you did too. Once.”

  “I did, you're right. I know you won't understand this, but that was a long time ago for me.”

  “I wish you wouldn't fight so much. I don't like it because I love you both the same. It makes me feel bad. Makes my stomach hurt.” Brayden put a hand over his belly and pitched his head forward with his tongue out and made gagging noises.

  “All right, enough. I get it. Thanks for telling me.”

  Andrea served two plates of crab cakes. Brayden easily turned his focus onto the task of devouring food.

  “Dad, your phone made a noise.”

  Mikey picked up his phone from the top of the bar. He had no idea how Brayden could've heard the message alert with all the noise of the restaurant.

  Cynthia.

  “Fuck,” he muttered under his breath.

  What the hell did she want? The screen only showed part of the message. He swiped a finger across the glass, typed in his password, and went straight to his texts.

  The message read:

  Going back to 1 wknd/month per agreement.

  Mikey: What?

  Cynthia: Our agreement says u get 1 wknd/month.

  Mikey: What agreement?

  Cynthia: Written agreement.

  Mikey: Why?

  Cynthia: Since ur arrest, I've decided it's in our son's best interest to limit his time w/ u.

  Mikey: Did you ask him how he feels?

  Cynthia: I'm his mother

  Mikey: I'm his father

  Cynthia: Sure about that?

  Mikey glanced at his son, who looked exactly like him. He swore under his breath. Brayden was his, he had no doubt. What a psychotic bitch. He face-palmed then rubbed his forehead.

  “What's wrong?” Brayden asked. His face crinkled up, like he had a terrible taste in his mouth.

  “Nothing.”

  “That was Mom,” Brayden announced, wiping his hand on his pants.

  “Yep. Use your napkin.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “How'd you know it was your mother?”

  Brayden shrugged then took another bite of crab cake.

  “She says we can only see each other once a month now. But listen, I don't want—”

  “Dad, don't fight. I hate it when you fight.” He put his fork down.

  “We're not fighting, but I don't want to wait a month to see you again.”

  “It'll be all right. I'll be okay.”

  Yeah right.

  So much for finishing his dinner. Mikey wanted to throw up for real.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Grace

  Grace’s father pointed out the front windshield of her car. “Eyes on the road, honey.”

  “Oh my God, how old am I? I know how to drive.”

  She worked her jaw, her father’s passenger-seat driving only adding to her irritation. Harry had shamed her, not only into celebrating her deceased mother’s birthday again, but now they were on their way to pick up the damn cake.

  “Dad?” Grace had meant to ask him to promise her again that this would be the last time they marked this day, but lost the energy.

  “Did you have a question? Because it sounded like you had a question.”

  “No. Never mind.” Grace glanced over at her father. He contorted and twisted his body at the flow of traffic as if he were bracing for impact, his feet pushing imaginary pedals into the floor. Rolling her eyes, she continued gripping the wheel with one hand on the bottom to annoy him. “Please stop doing that.”

  “What?” he asked, pressing his foot down on his invisible brake. The light up ahead turned red.

  “That.” Grace gestured in the direction of his feet. “My foot is on the brake. You’re making me crazy. Gawd. This is the absolute last time I’m driving with you anywhere. And this is the last time I’m celebrating Mom’s birthday with you. I’m so sick of this.” The words flew out of her mouth. She couldn’t even stop them. Pacifying him all these years not only kept him in the past, but her too. She was done.

  “I’m sorry.”

  A car horn drowned him out. The beep wasn’t for her but the noise got her eyes back on the road. A bright red sports car whipped in between her and the car ahead of them. Grace laid on the horn while she slammed on her brakes, the vibration and grinding sound of the anti-locks kicked in. Harry’s coffee went flying.

  “Aw, dammit!” Harry brushed at his pants.

  “Oh, what are you so upset about? Your bad habit is going to stain the carpet,” she breathed.

  “No it’s not…it’s black.” He set his Styrofoam cup into the center console holder.

  “It’s going to stink up my Lincoln.”

  “It’s not going to…well, maybe.”

  “Dad,” she groaned.

  “It’s not my fault. You should pay attention.”

  “I was. I can’t help it if someone pulls out in front of me. Don’t you have some napkins or something to mop this up with?”

  Her father reached into his pocket and pulled out a wad. Using the sole of his loafer he pressed the napkins into the carpet and soaked up the spill the best he could. However, what they needed was a wet vac.

  Grace turned into the strip mall parking lot where the bakery was located. When her dad started to get out of the car, she stopped him, consumed with guilt. “I’ll get the cake, Dad.”

  Harry looked at her like he was about to protest, but kept his mouth shut and closed his door.

  After paying for the cake, she placed it on the floor of the back seat. The buttercream frosting aroma filled the car. It smelled delicious. The confection was the only thing she enjoyed about this day. Her mouth watered as she started the engine.

  Silence hung like smog in the car. Grace knew her father would eventually choke on the silence between them. She was right. He ran a finger along the inside of his collar and buzzed the window down even though the A/C blasted cold air.

  One. Two. Three…

  “So, are you getting out much?”

  I knew it.

  “Getting out?”

  “Yeah, you know? Dating anyone?”

  Grace grinned. “Really? Do you really want to hear about my sex lif—?”

  “Grace.” Harry grimaced and sliced a hand through the space between
them. “Ehhh.”

  She stifled a giggle.

  “I don’t want to know about that. I’m only curious how you spend your time away from work. That’s all.”

  “Hmmm…well, since you brought it up, actually, I have met someone. He seems pretty cool and kind of the opposite of me. Which isn’t bad. I like it, I guess.”

  Her father exhaled loudly. “He isn’t a weirdo is he?”

  “What? What do ya mean, weirdo?”

  “I mean is he normal?”

  “Harry, I told you he’s not. I mean, he is normal.” She sighed. “He’s free-spirited.”

  “Okay fine. I’ll trust your judgment, and don’t call me Harry.”

  Grace thought the investigation was over. She relaxed into her seat for a few minutes. When they turned into her father's subdivision he spoke again.

  “Did you run a background check on—?”

  “Dad.”

  “What?”

  “You know what. This subject is closed. Discussion over.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Mikey

  With her arms folded across her chest, Cynthia stood in the frame of her front door. Brayden leaped from the car as soon as Mikey could put his Escape into park.

  “Wait! You forgot your…”

  Bag.

  Mikey needed to speak with Cynthia anyway. He glanced at the time on his phone. Collecting his son's belongings from the back seat, he started for her porch. Brayden slipped inside. The door swung shut as he hit the steps.

  “Cynthia!” he shouted louder than necessary and winced. The neighbor across the street was a busybody. His ex-wife yanked the door open and came outside.

  “What?!” she said, narrowing her stare on him with her hands on her hips.

  “What’s with the bullshit you texted me Friday night?”

  “You’ve been arrested as a murder suspect,” she spat. “What did you expect me to do? I have a responsibility to protect my son.”