Punk Rock Resurrection

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Punk Rock Resurrection Page 16

by Jenna Galicki

  He was still teasing her. “We don’t do anything nice and slow. We do it hard and fast.”

  A spark ignited in his eyes, and he slammed his hips into her with a force that literally moved them both higher on the bed. “Is that the way you want it?” He thrust his hips again. “Like that? Is that hard enough?”


  “All you had to do was ask.” He grabbed a chunk of her hair at the base of her neck and yanked her head back. He covered her mouth with a brutal kiss. Their lips pressed together with a bone crushing force, and Damien’s tongue infiltrated Alyssa’s mouth with possession.

  She needed to break the hold in order to breathe and abruptly turned her head to the side, sucking in a gust of oxygen.

  “I thought you wanted it rough?” His hips bumped into her and the cock ring gave her another thunderbolt of vibration.

  “I do,” she gasped. “I just needed air.” She bucked underneath him, encouraging him to thrust harder. There was only so much she could do from the bottom, which is why she always preferred the top.

  He sat back on his knees and took hold of her hips. His hands covered the circumference of her pelvis on both sides of her body. He held her in place as he slammed himself into her. Their skin slapped together with an erotic thwack, thwack, thwack.

  The cock ring hit its target every single time Damien pummeled into her. He was relentless. Faster and harder, with each thrust of his hips, he drove himself deeper into her body. His balls careened off her butt cheeks, and she could feel his lorum. The metal piercing at the juncture of his cock and his sac was warm from the heat that transpired between them. It hit the base of her opening every time he thrust inside her. His fingers dug into her waist, and his hands gripped her so tightly she knew it would leave a mark. The bed shook and her body jerked erratically. She tried to hold onto his neck, but they were both bouncing on top of the mattress, and she couldn’t clasp her fingers together. She finally latched onto his wrists and braced herself against the full throttle attack on her G-spot.

  Damien’s mohawk bobbed in front of her in a blur of magnificent blues. She lost focus, but she didn’t need to see. She concentrated on the growing need between her legs and the crazy static electricity that was reverberating throughout her body – all from Damien’s incredible cock and the ring that was attached to it. Her body shook and trembled as she climaxed. Heavy breaths stole the air from her lungs, and she let out a silent cry of ecstasy.

  Damien’s grip remained tight on her hips, and he thrust himself harder. He pummeled into her one last time, and his body stiffened and twitched before he fell on top of her with a loud grunt.

  His face was stuck in the crook of her neck, and she could feel his legs trembling with fatigue. He wrapped his arms around her and squeezed her in a tight embrace.

  She sighed with content and bliss and languished in the arms of the man she loved.

  Chapter Eighteen

  With the stencil on his back, Damien was ready to get his long-awaited gargoyle tattoo. It was symbolic. It was a talisman, and he hoped it would be the crutch he needed to finally rid his dependence on the pills.

  Damien waited on the tattoo table, flat on his stomach with his hands folded under his chin, while Spyder set up his gun.

  “Ready, Dam?” Spyder gave the gun a test buzz.

  “Been ready.”

  The needle hit his skin about three inches below the back of his neck. Those first strokes always made his dick hard, which was pretty damn uncomfortable since he was lying face down on the table. He loved the whir of the tattoo gun. It was as soothing as the waves of the ocean and always cleared his head. All background noise was overshadowed by the shrill vibration of the needle that was tearing through his skin. It held his attention, and he concentrated on the hiss of the machine.

  Four hours into the tattoo outline, Alyssa came to check on him. She leaned over and fanned the top of his Mohawk. “How’s my baby holding up?”

  “A little stiff from lying here in the same position, but I zoned out.”

  Spyder let off the tattoo gun. “Sorry, Dam. You were so quiet I lost track of time. Do you need a break?”

  Damien stretched his arms and legs. “Maybe in another hour. I’m cool for now.” Once Spyder started tattooing, he never looked up. He didn’t take breaks or phone calls and only stopped if the customer needed to, which is why he was able to knock out massive tattoos in record time. Damien was eager to see the progress of the tattoo, but he didn’t want to stop. “How’s it look?”

  Alyssa leaned over to inspect Spyder’s work. “It looks like Goliath.” He could hear the smile in her voice. She rolled a chair next to him, turned it around backwards and straddled it. “Are you really going to get the whole thing done in one sitting?”

  “Yeah. I waited a long time for this piece. I want it done. Today is Spyder’s day off. He has the rest of the night to finish it.”

  Spyder sprayed the unfinished tattoo with an antiseptic and wiped it with a paper towel. “There’s probably another eight hours worth of work here. You can’t sit for that long.”

  “Sure I can.”

  “I know you sit like a rock. We’ll see how it goes, but as soon as your skin gets angry, you’re done.”

  Damien was about to protest, but Spyder was right. His skin could scar and then the tattoo wouldn’t heal properly.

  Spyder let off the gun again. “When are you gonna let me tattoo your body, Alyssa?”

  Damien shot Spyder an irate glance over his shoulder. It was the your body part that pissed him off.

  Alyssa reacted with a tiny curl to her mouth. “Me?” She held her arms straight out in front of her and inspected them. “I still have some room. I’ve been thinking about getting some roses and barbed wire.”

  “Whenever you’re ready, just let me know. I’d love to put my gun to that beautiful fair skin.”

  Spyder’s choice of words irked Damien. “Watch what you say. That’s my girl.”

  The buzz of the tattoo gun fell silent.

  Damien raised himself up on his elbow and glared back at Spyder with narrowed eyes and his jaw cocked to the side. He didn’t care that Spyder was his boss. He was out of line.

  Spyder held Damien’s stare for a brief second, then nodded and motioned for Damien to lie back down on the table. The gun came back to life, and Spyder returned to his work.

  Eight and half hours later, Damien’s protector was etched into his back for all eternity. He used a handheld mirror to inspect the tattoo in the full-length mirror behind him. Having only seen a glimpse of the tattoo when it was halfway done, with blood and ink smeared across it, he was unprepared for the artistry and detail of the completed piece. Red, orange, and yellow fire blew out of the gargoyle’s mouth while the black and grays of its scales contrasted with the sharp colors. It was a masterpiece. “That’s fuckin’ awesome. Better than I ever expected.”

  Alyssa stood behind him to examine Spyder’s rendition of her statue. “It’s my Goliath, but he looks different. He’s been transformed into your very own warrior. It’s gorgeous, Damien.”

  Spyder layered a generous amount of antibiotic ointment on the tattoo and wrapped it. “When that’s healed, a picture is going up on my wall. That’s a show piece.”

  They took a taxi to Alyssa’s apartment. The car ride was uncomfortable because Damien couldn’t sit back against the seat and was forced to lean forward. By the time the car pulled up in front of Alyssa’s apartment building, his bones ached, and there was a small fire burning from the back of his neck down to the waistband of his jeans. He couldn’t stand fully erect and walked with his back hunched over. Alyssa held onto his forearm and escorted him through the lobby and into her apartment.

  “Are you sure you wouldn’t be more comfortable in your own bed tonight? We don’t have to stay here.”

  “This is where I’m most comfortable.” He looped his fingers through the top of her studded belt and pulled her towards him, even though the movem
ent tugged at the raw flesh on his back. “Everything I need is right here. My bass and amp are in the living room, and my girl is in my arms.” He forgot about Elvira. He felt guilty that she was alone all day, and now he was spending the night at Alyssa’s apartment. Elvira had a big cage attached to one of those Habitrail things, plenty of food, and a water bottle. She was fine. She was just alone. He thought about leaving her at Alyssa’s apartment, but they never talked about moving in together. Even though Alyssa loved Elvira, bringing his pet to live at his girl’s place was a little too intrusive.

  Alyssa helped him off with his shirt. It was an oversized button down garage shirt, but he still winced every time he moved, and he was starting to regret getting the tattoo in one twelve-hour sitting.

  Alyssa knew what he was thinking. “I’m impressed, Damien, with both you and Spyder. I’ve spent a lot of time in tattoo shops, and I’ve never seen anyone take on a piece that big in one shot.”

  “I didn’t want to go through the healing process all over again. And Spyder’s the only one I trust to pull off something this size.” He wished his back wasn’t still taped up. He wanted to admire the tattoo again.

  “Lie down in bed, and I’ll make you something to eat.”

  She took his arm to lead him to the bedroom, but he stopped and turned to her in surprise. “You’re gonna cook for me?”

  “I’m . . . gonna heat up leftovers.”

  He had never seen her flustered before and he was amused. “It still requires turning on the oven. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you do that. Are you sure it works?”

  “Very funny.” She let go of his arm and faced him with her hands on her hips and an ominous smile. She dug the heel of her boot into the floor and twirled her foot. “You’re in a very vulnerable state. It’s not a good idea to fuck with me right now.”

  “Really? Are you going to punish me if I tease you about your cooking skills?” He tried to stand up straight and challenge her with his height, but his shoulders refused to cooperate. He didn’t know how the hell he was supposed to work tomorrow, and he wouldn’t be using his guitar strap for two weeks.

  She lifted his chin with her index finger. “I might just be in the mood to walk all over your back with my new boots.”

  A nervous laugh escaped him. “I take it back.” He put his hand over his heart. “I swear, I’ll never make fun of your cooking skills again.”

  “That’s better.”

  He didn’t need assistance walking, but he enjoyed the attention and let her guide him to the bedroom.

  She plumped up the pillows and helped him lie face down on the bed, then pulled off his boots. She ran her hand over his mohawk. “I could make you a grilled cheese sandwich. Is that OK?”

  “Grilled cheese sounds wonderful.”

  “OK. I’ll be in the kitchen. Call me if you need anything.”

  He smiled into his pillow. “Try not to burn the place down.”

  He heard her pause and vaguely saw her hair fly as she turned back to look at him, then kept walking.

  He chuckled softly. He loved to tease her. Whether it was the accumulation of the hours sitting under the tattoo gun, or the comfort of Alyssa’s soft bed, he was suddenly drained of energy and couldn’t keep his eyes open any longer. He drifted off and sleep descended upon him.

  The leather strap across his back stung like a hot iron. He thought he could outrun his mother in her drunken state, but she lashed out with the belt, and it struck his bare skin.

  “I told you not to leave your clothes in my living room!”

  He ran as fast as he could, rounded the stairs and raced up to the safety of his room. She was too drunk to follow him up the stairs, and he knew it would be his escape. He threw himself face down on the bed and cried into his pillow. His back was searing. It was burning with intense heat. It felt like hot tar had been poured from the back of his neck to his waist.

  He was jarred awake and brought himself up on the palms of his hands. Alyssa was sitting next to him on the bed, staring closely at him and stroking his arm. Her brow was creased with worry, and a grilled cheese sandwich sat on the nightstand. Relief washed over him when he realized it was only a dream, and he reached for her hand. The flash of pain across his back made him flinch.

  “Are you all right? Was it a bad dream or is it your back?”

  He was still shaken by the dream and the memory it triggered. Oblivious to the pain in his back, he jumped up and sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the floor.

  Alyssa immediately sat next to him, so close that their thighs were touching. She brushed the back of her hand across his cheek. “You’re crying, Damien.” Her voice held so much worry and concern that it tugged at his heart.

  “It’s . . . just my back. It’s sore.” It wasn’t the memory of the physical pain that haunted Damien, it was the emotional one. The dream was exaggerated and distorted. He had never run upstairs to his room and cried when his mother hit him with the belt. He had stopped and faced her. The anger in his belly had been steadily festering, and he was tired of the abuse. He had challenged his mother. “Come on. Hit me,” he had said. “I’m not gonna run away. I’m right here. If you want to hit me, go right ahead.”

  His mother had been startled by his defiance and had lowered the belt to her side. They had stared at each other, assessing one another, before she turned and walked away. That’s when he had marched up to his bedroom, slammed the door shut and threw himself face down on the bed. He had been 13. It had been a life changing year for him. He had realized that his mother was unjust. She was sadistic and cruel. Up until then, he had thought he did something wrong, and that’s why she had been punishing him. When he turned 13, he realized that she was at fault, and her actions weren’t the way a mother was supposed to treat her child. Still, he had longed for her affection. The lack of compassion and the absence of the warmth and kindness a mother was supposed to show her child had wreaked havoc on Damien’s insides. It still did. That stupid dream crippled him.

  “Damien . . . answer me.”

  He hadn’t heard Alyssa calling his name. The memory had blocked everything else out of his head. “I’m sorry. My back hurts. That’s all.”

  “I’ve never seen you react like this to physical pain before. It’s more than just your back. You had a bad dream, didn’t you?”

  He slowly nodded his head.

  She clasped her fingers around his hand and let out an exasperated sigh. “Tell me about the dream.”

  “There’s nothing to tell.”

  “Damien, come on. I see you’re upset. And pain never bothered you before. Except when it was your heart.”

  “I’m . . . just hungry.” He needed to distract her from the truth and bring her focus elsewhere. “Is that my sandwich?”

  She knew that he was changing the subject but handed him the plate without pressuring him. “I hope it’s still warm.”

  He nibbled at the corner of the grilled cheese sandwich, even though his gut was twisted and threatened to reject it. “It’s perfect.” He ate in silence, forcing himself to methodically chew and swallow without thinking.

  Alyssa never took her eyes off him. She stroked his cheek and the side of his neck, careful to steer clear of his back.

  The massive tattoo didn’t bother him anymore. It was his head and his gut that were mangled with painful memories. The harsh words and insensitive nature of his mother hurt more than any needle could inflict. Why couldn’t he just let go and forget about the past? Why couldn’t it just go away?

  “Take this.” Alyssa was standing in front him, holding a glass of water and two Advil in her outstretched hand.

  He was too lost in thought to realize she had left his side – or that he finished the sandwich. He swallowed the pain reliever and gulped the entire glass of water, unaware that he was so thirsty.

  Alyssa took the plate from his lap, along with the glass, and put them on the nightstand. “That’ll help with the pain.”

  No it wo
n’t. There’s only one thing that would make the pain disappear . . .

  “Do you want to lie down and rest or try to watch TV?”

  He wanted the horrid memories of his childhood to stop banging against the inside of his head. “Will you lie down with me?”

  “Of course, I will. I won’t leave your side again.”

  Her words offered a tiny bit of comfort. “OK. I’m gonna use the can. I’ll be right back.”

  She started to follow him. “Do you need help?”

  “I can handle it.” He gave her hand a squeeze of appreciation and trudged his way to the bathroom. Every step made the bandages scrape against his new tattoo. He closed the bathroom door and twisted to look at his back in the mirror. Blood and fluid had soaked through most of the bandages and colored them with a mixture of bright reds. It was going to be a bitch to heal.

  He faced the mirror and looked into his eyes. He saw himself as the 13-year-old boy who stood up to his mother for the first time and dared her to strike him. In a way, he was grateful she threw him out. Living on the street was rough, but it forced him to take control of his life. He would be fine if it weren’t for the fucking nightmares that brought everything back to him. Why wouldn’t they stay away?

  He pressed his knuckles to his temples and leaned his head against the cold tile wall. “Stop,” he whispered. “Just stop. Go away, and leave me alone.” The thoughts and images flashing inside his head wouldn’t listen. He pulled his wallet from his back pocket so fast and hard that it unclipped from his belt loop and fell to the floor. He sunk to his knees and scrambled to retrieve it. Behind the bits of folded paper, which he had thrown to the floor in his haste, he found the small plastic bag that contained his only salvation. He silently cursed the pill as he swallowed it.

  Three days. It had been three days since he last took one of his pills. His goal was to make a week without medication, but that damn, stupid dream knocked him off his tower of strength. Alcohol was easier to relinquish. It was the pills that were proving to be his biggest obstacle. It gave him another reason to resent his mother. Angry and frustrated that he fell victim to the hold that the medication had over him, he drew his foot back to kick the waste basket. A knock on the door stopped him before he could extend his leg and connect with the basket.


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