1001 Dark Nights: Bundle Nine

by Carrie Ann Ryan

  She also hadn’t been to Sloane’s that often, so it was nice to see where he lived, be among his things. It wasn’t a large place, and frankly a little stark, but it smelled of him. And except for the construction work in the bathroom where it looked like he was redoing tiles, everything seemed to be in order.

  And if she thought about tiling a bathroom, she wouldn’t have to think about the fact that they were about to outline her chest so she could get the tattoo she’d wanted for years.

  Sloane moved his hands to cup her face. “Hails.”

  She blinked at him.

  “We don’t have to do this now. We don’t have to do this ever. The ink you get is for you. Yeah, I might see it when your shirt is off, but anything we do from here on out is for you.”

  The way he said that made her pause. Might? Did that mean he might not see her once it was done?

  She forced those thoughts from her head and focused on him. “I want to. It’s just a lot. You know?”

  He brushed her cheek with his thumb. “I know. And we don’t have to do anything today. We can just make out.”

  She winked, some of the tension going out of her shoulders. “Can we make out after?”

  “It’s a deal.” He kissed her softly then turned her around so she sat in his lap. She could feel his erection under her, but neither of them said anything about it. Not yet.

  “So you already did some sketches?” she asked. She didn’t reach out and trace the leather-bound book in front of her, but she wanted to. This was his, so she would restrain herself.

  He fisted his hand in her hair and she melted on his lap. When he pushed her hair to the side and kissed behind her ear, she melted more, causing both of them to moan.

  “Hails, baby, don’t squirm or I’m going to fuck you right here and we’re never going to get your ink done.”

  “You’re the one fisting my hair and kissing my neck.”

  He pulled on her hair, and she moaned.

  She didn’t move, but she did bite into her lip. “So.” She cleared her throat. “Sketches.”

  He let her hair down and kissed her temple. “I didn’t know what you wanted since we hadn’t gotten that far. I don’t know if you want flowers or symbols or anything. But I was up late and had an idea. You don’t have to use this. In fact, I suggest you don’t. And though I know your body quite well now that my hands and mouth have been on every inch of you, I don’t know it to the detail I’d need for a tattoo. So things would have to change anyway depending on angles and shit. But, if you like it as a base, then sure. I just couldn’t get it out of my head. You know?”

  “I know.” She leaned into him. The fact that he’d thought of something for her, as if he couldn’t stop from sketching it, brought a warmth to her chest she didn’t want to think about just then. “Show me.”

  Sloane reached around her and opened the book, his hands steady, but she could feel the tension in his body. This was important to him. Not just the ink he would eventually place on her skin, but what he was going to show her. It was important to her, as well.

  She sucked in a breath at the first drawing. “Sloane.”

  He didn’t say anything, but she let her shaky hand reach out and trace the edge of the paper. “How…how did you know?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It’s…it’s almost exactly what I had in my head. How…how did you know?”

  He swallowed hard; she could feel it. “I guess I know you better than I thought I did.”

  She let the tears fall then and studied the drawing. She loved this man, loved everything about him. He knew her. She may not know everything about him yet, but she’d find out.

  She had to.

  Her hand shook once more as she put her finger on the edge of the paper and pressed her lips together. He’d captured almost exactly what she wanted, at least most of it, without even having to ask. Long branches reached out from her right side and across her chest. The trunk of the leafless tree would go down her side, with the roots wrapping around her hips. The bark wouldn’t be brown, but a mix of Gaelic symbols in dark black with shadows in between. She might ask him to add splashes of reds and pink in the white parts if it would look good. She wasn’t sure. As for the branches, they would tangle together over her breasts with a single hot pink ribbon wrapping itself around them, the edge dangling off the end of a branch. Cherry blossom petals fell down from the tree and added a splash of color to the imagery. At the base of the tree, a rose bush lay with vivid red roses wrapping up her belly and over her scar.

  “It’s…”

  “Your strength and beauty in one. If you don’t like the ribbon, we can take it away. Or we can put an octopus or a cake or something on your side.”

  She snorted. “Really? An octopus? A cake?”

  “You’re a baker. And people like putting octopuses on their bodies these days. No idea why. Probably because of all the legs.”

  She wiggled so she sat sideways on his lap. “It’s…perfect. I mean, we could add things to it or something, but it’s what I wanted. I wanted a tree, I wanted symbols, I wanted pink and red. You got me, Sloane. You get me.”

  He tugged her close and kissed her jaw. “I like to think I get you, Hails. I’ll have to sketch your body to make sure I can do this, but you have just the right curves that it won’t look like a hunk of bark on your side, you know?”

  She grinned. “I trust you, Sloane.”

  He met her gaze, and something passed over his eyes she couldn’t read. “You honor me, Hailey. Fucking honor me.”

  “I don’t think I’d be able to trust anyone else to do this.” She hadn’t meant to say that, though she’d stated something similar in the past. She felt so raw right now, so open. She trusted him with her ink, but for some reason, she was scared to trust him fully with her heart.

  But it was far too late for that fear.

  She’d already given it to him.

  She had to pray he wouldn’t break it.

  “I’m selfish enough not to want anyone else to do this,” he said, his voice low and gruff. He cleared his throat then, breaking the moment. She didn’t blame him. It was so serious, and yet, if she didn’t remember to breathe, she’d forget.

  “Let’s get that trace done,” he said after a moment of almost-awkward silence. He helped her off his lap then got the paper ready while she stripped off her shirt and bra. She felt bare, exposed. She’d been far more naked than this, but for some reason, the way he traced her body multiple times reminded her of the hospital. Maybe it was the clinical way he was working with her. While she appreciated it, she wanted her Sloane back.

  He paused and frowned. “I’m fucking up.”

  She shook her head, her eyes clear of tears. She was pulling herself in so there wouldn’t be tears. No emotion. Just a raw ache that would never go away.

  “You’re not.”

  He let out a sigh and placed the paper and pencil on his table before bringing her into his arms. Her bare chest pressed against his clothed one and she sank into his hold.

  “I wanted to keep it professional and not scare you, yet I didn’t think about why you wanted me to do your ink.”

  “I wanted you to do my tattoo because I trust you.”

  “Yeah, to know what you want, to do what you want, but I didn’t do what you need. You needed me to be a mix of the artist and the boyfriend. And I fucked it up.”

  She shrugged. “I didn’t know that’s what I needed.”

  “Well, I won’t fuck it up again.” He mumbled something else under his breath, but she didn’t quite catch it. “Let’s finish up, and I want you standing between my legs as I do it. You feel scared at all, you just touch me.” He licked his lips. “Or you could just touch anyway.” He leaned back and stripped off his shirt, the sight of his tanned skin, ink, and scars almost too much for her.

  She placed her hands on his chest. “Will this hurt with the angle?”

  He shook his head. “Nope. If I need you to move
a certain way, I’ll ask.”

  He kissed her softly then got to work, this time not clinical at all. It helped her body relax and keep her mind focused on him rather than the odd scenario of being traced for a tattoo that would take multiple sessions and be painful as hell. But she’d made it through the worst pain of her life; she could make it through this.

  When he finished, he put his hands on her butt again and brought her closer to him. His lips brushed hers, and she sighed into him, loving his taste. It was a mix of the coffee they’d shared earlier and that unique flavor that was all Sloane.

  The kiss started slow, sweet, and oh-so-perfect for what she needed. Then she made a sound in the back of her throat that always seemed to push Sloane right to the edge, and he growled right back.

  Perfect.

  His hands on her ass tightened and he deepened the kiss, his tongue taking control of hers. He set the pace and she didn’t mind it. Not when the outcome was him inside her and her nails raking down his back.

  When he pushed her back slightly and stood in front of her, she let her hands run down his chest and hooked them into his belt loops.

  “I want my mouth on you, Hails. Think you can stand when I do that?”

  She shook her head. “No. The last time you put one of my legs on your shoulder while you had your mouth on my pussy, my knees gave out. Remember?” Her knees about buckled then just thinking about it.

  Sloane ran a hand over his beard. “You’re right. Okay. I have an idea.” He quickly gathered her up, eliciting a squeak from her throat, and moved to the kitchen where he set her down on the island in the middle of his kitchen. It wasn’t that big of a kitchen, but the island fit. Barely.

  And now her ass was on it.

  Nice.

  “Isn’t this where you cook?” she asked, tilting her head to the side so he could nibble at her neck.

  “I’ve never put food on this. I don’t cook all that often. Now stop thinking and let me love you.”

  She squeezed her eyes shut at his words but let him kiss her, then let him take off her pants. Hailey leaned back on her arms as he knelt in front of her, placing her legs on his shoulders. At the first lick of his tongue on her cunt, she let her head fall back, his name a whisper on her lips.

  He devoured her. There wasn’t another word for it. The feel of his beard scraping the inside of her thighs made her even wetter—something she hadn’t thought possible before Sloane. He hummed along her clit and her legs shook as she came, his name that much louder from her lips.

  “Sloane. I need you inside me.”

  She looked up and he already had his pants off and the condom on his cock. Without a word, he gripped her hips and tugged her to the edge of the island. She sat up to put her hands on his shoulders as he sank into her. He was so freaking big that he stretched her, but it was a good stretch, the kind that led to orgasms and fucking rainbows and unicorns.

  When he started to move, she let her head fall back once more. She couldn’t breathe, not when her heart raced and her body felt warm, tingly, and on fire all at once. He put his hand on her back and she looked at him.

  “I need a better angle,” he growled. “Can’t feel all of you. Need you to be able to move with me.”

  With that, he pulled out and carried her over to the living room, one hand fucking her with his fingers, the other keeping her steady. She gripped him tightly, loving this side of him. When he sat on the couch and placed her on top of him, she slid right back on his cock and they both froze. At this angle, he was deep. So deep. She had to breathe a moment so she could accommodate all of him.

  “You okay, Hails? This good for you?” His voice was low, his eyes dark.

  “Yeah,” she gasped as she started to rock her hips. “Better than okay. Fuck me, Sloane.”

  “Then move, darling. Move.” He gripped her hips and lifted her up before slamming her back down on his cock. She dug her nails into his shoulders and rode him, their bodies sweat-slick and her pussy clenching him as she neared the edge.

  “Come for me, Hails. Come on my cock.”

  She met his eyes and came, his voice so low it vibrated deep within her. He crushed his mouth to hers as he came with her, his seed hot inside the condom. Her body shook, but she kept moving, not wanting this moment, any moment with him to end.

  Because she may have just had another bout of the best sex of her life, but she knew something was still off. There was something wrong with her Sloane.

  Something that told her if she didn’t figure out what it was, he wouldn’t be her Sloane for much longer.

  Chapter Seven

  Sloane stood in the office of Montgomery Ink and tried to figure out what he was going to do next. His back hurt from bending over too long with the last client, on top of not being able to sleep that much the night before.

  He hadn’t let Hailey spend the night, making sure he took her out to dinner before dropping her off at her place. But he knew she’d caught on that she hadn’t woken up in his arms. He’d never woken up with her pressed against him.

  There was something wrong with him and he knew it. He had to talk with someone because not doing so would only make things worse. For Hailey.

  There wasn’t much he could do about how he felt about himself at this point. As soon as he finished her ink, he’d find a way to let her go so she wouldn’t end up hurt because of him. Once she knew how he’d come to be, how he’d ended up in Montgomery Ink, she’d see. It wasn’t fair to keep at it, to keep having her in his arms. He’d already told himself that he wouldn’t sleep with her again—even if his body ached for it. It made him an asshole to keep having her with him, knowing he couldn’t keep her. Yes, it was better for Hailey in the long run not to be with a man such as him, but it didn’t make it any easier.

  “Sloane?” Callie came up to him, her hand on the barely noticeable bump at her center. “There’s a man outside asking for you.” She bit her lip. “I don’t think he wants to come inside, but I was out there trying to get some fresh air and saw him.”

  Sloane’s senses went on alert. “Who was it? Are you okay? Should you be going outside alone in your condition?”

  Callie shook her head, a smile tugging at her lips. “You sound like Morgan. I’m fine going outside in the daylight. I promise. But I don’t know his name. He only said he wanted to talk to you.” She took a deep breath. “He’s wearing a uniform, Sloane. But it’s old and dirty. He also looks strung out, but I don’t exactly know. It could be that he’s homeless and tired, but it seemed a bit more than that.”

  Sloane froze at her description then cursed. “Don’t go outside, Callie. Stay here with Austin and Maya. Okay?”

  She frowned at him. “Who is it, Sloane? What has you so worried?”

  He lowered his head and kissed her temple. “Just be safe, Callie. I’ll go outside and see what it is. If it’s a drugged-out guy, though, I don’t want you anywhere near him.” Nor did he want Hailey anywhere near him, but he couldn’t say that without drawing attention to the issue. If Callie were worried about him, she’d bring Hailey over and then he wouldn’t be able to hide his past anymore.

  And he needed to in order to keep Hailey untainted.

  He left a confused Callie in the office and made his way to the front of the store, aware that Maya and Austin were watching him. He ignored them and walked outside in just his Henley, picking up his leather jacket from the hook at the front of the store on his way.

  The hauntingly slender man in front of him was a blast from the past. The guy was a few years younger than Sloane, but looked at least fifteen years older. It didn’t look like he’d shaved in over a year, nor did it appear as if he’d cut his hair. Normally a buzz cut, it brushed the top of his shoulders and hadn’t been washed in far too long.

  He wore an old uniform, as well as a threadbare jacket that hadn’t belonged to him in the past. He shifted from foot to foot, his attention on the sky above them.

  “Jason.” Sloane’s voice was gruff, but
firm. He didn’t know why the man was here today, but damn it, it tore at him that Jason was like this.

  If it weren’t for luck and some determination, he’d be right by Jason’s side, living on the street, strung out and in pain.

  “Ever wonder what it feels like to fly?” Jason asked, his eyes still on the clouds.

  Dread filled Sloane’s belly and he did his best to keep his voice calm. “I used to, but I found I like my feet firmly planted on the ground.”

  Jason met his gaze and Sloane wanted to break down. The man wasn’t high, far from it. Instead, his old friend, the man he would have died for, the man he’d almost died for, felt everything. There weren’t enough drugs in the world to hide the pain of what Jason was feeling—of what Sloane felt every day. Callie had been right in thinking it could be a lack of sleep that led to the look of him, and now Sloane knew that was true. Jason may have used in the past, but it had never been something he constantly did.

  “If my feet are on the ground, then I know theirs aren’t.”

  Sloane held back a curse as bile rose in his throat. “They might not have boots on the ground, but we’re here, Jason.”

  “And they aren’t. You still dream of them? Still dream of the burning. Because I do. That’s why I don’t sleep, you see. Because if I sleep, they’re louder. Now they’re just whispers, telling me I should move on. Telling me I should stay. It doesn’t make sense, Sloane. Why doesn’t it make any sense?”

  Sloane moved forward and slid his leather jacket over Jason’s shoulders. It was old enough that Jason might be able to keep it for a bit before it was stolen by someone else on the street. He didn’t dare give him something better in case someone thought it was worth Jason’s life. He’d done that before and hated seeing the cuts on Jason’s lip from the fight. He also could take Jason in or force him off the streets. He’d tried that and had only ended up watching Jason walk away again. His friend needed to stay where he was and Sloane could only help so much.