Mad Love (Guns & Ink Book 1)

by Shana Vanterpool

  “No! I want to. I so want to.”

  She so wanted to. “What else can I do to make you comfortable?”

  “Stop when I say stop.”

  “Done.” My heart broke. There was a reason she wanted it that way. My lust started to bend around my sadness. “Mad—”

  “I also want you to use your tongue ring. A lot.” I watched her throat bob. “That’s all I want.”

  I didn’t have the heart to tell her that my lust had lost the battle. With the fog gone, clarity came with it. She didn’t need to be doing this. Sensing my reluctance, she came closer, her thighs on either side of mine. She didn’t know what to do next; her confusion was clear. My guess was her perfect Leigh didn’t take care of her the way she deserved. I would make it only about her.

  I sat up, putting me at eye level with her stomach. She was trembling, and her thighs were quivering. I could sense a war within her, a struggle to prove to herself that her pleasure was as much hers as kissing still was.

  “Tell me when it gets too much.” I put my chin on her stomach, looking up at her. Her lips parted, eyes electric. She gave me a small nod, giving me permission to have her. A feeling warmed me. It was her trusting me, her letting me touch her, kiss her, giving me the chance to make her feel something good. It knocked into me like her fist, making my blood fire once more.

  All I could think about was how much I wanted her, and that it had little to do with what we were about to do. Trust had never been such a fucking turn on.

  I kissed her stomach, right above her belly button. Her stomach muscles clenched. Her fingers twisted in my hair; I was glad I hadn’t cut it. I wanted to give her something to grab on to, to hold. I kissed her navel, tracing the small circle with my tongue. Above me, she whimpered.

  I kissed lower. As I did, I slid my hand up her leg to her inner thigh. I lifted it, so her foot was on the bed, giving me a better glimpse of her pussy. She must’ve waxed at one point in her life; the hair was thicker on her vulva than it was around the rest of her. Her pubic hair was the same dark honey mixture as her hair. As I stared, her glistening pussy clenched, igniting an overwhelming desire to feel it with my cock.

  I could smell her want, her musk. My tongue begged for a taste. Her fingers had a hard, painful grip on my hair. The muscles in her thighs quivered. I looked up as my piercing found her clit.

  Gone was my sweet, shy girl. In her place was a dark mermaid. Her eyes were electric, her hair was a mess of gold and honey. She looked like she’d been dunked in lust. She dunked me in it too.

  I felt her orgasm before it happened. One second I was looking into her eyes with my piercing barely on her clit, and the next she was shaking, and her heavy breaths had turned into sexy, husky moans. I wanted it to last—I gave up eye contact for her orgasm, closing my lips around her hard clit and sucking on it deeply. She gasped and her fingers tugged my hair; her moans were wild and unhinged. I’d never heard anything as sexy as Mad letting herself go.

  Or finding herself.

  Her body grew weak, but I slid my hand under her other thigh, and supported her weight, releasing her clit to massage it with my tongue. Her body seized again. Her head was tossed back. Her moaning was husk and heat, and the taste of her was enough to send me into a haze. I milked her clit, getting as much pleasure out of her as I could until she could no longer stand. She fell forward blindly. I caught her and settled her on my lap, trying to blink the lust away.

  Suddenly, the sound of soft snoring came from her. I chuckled to myself, moving her body to cradle her in my arms on our sides. My hard cock was nearing painful, but I pushed the desire from my mind. Instead, I held her, kissed her shoulder, hands wrapped around her thighs. That hadn’t lasted long.

  Grinning in her hair, I chuckled again. I had to admit it was an ego booster. I didn’t typically go the extra mile for anyone. And it definitely didn’t make me as horny as that had. I let her sleep for a bit before my stomach growled, and I was reminded of sushi.

  But the second I let her go, she protested, rolling over and grumbling, “Klay,” under her breath. She wrapped her arm around my waist and wedged her other between us, holding me in place.

  “I’m hungry,” I whispered. “You were just an appetizer.”

  A drunken giggle sounded from her, and then her soft snores restarted. I tapped my fingers on her ass impatiently. Then I gave up. I bundled her in my arms and carried her with me to the living room, settling on the couch with two containers of sushi. As she snored in my arms, I ate. Spotting her beer, I grabbed it up, chugging a mouthful. She had to want me more than the beer. She had to.

  “Are you using my lap as a plate?” her groggy voice asked.

  I picked up a piece of sushi with my hand and brought it to her lips. She took it all, licking the sauce on her lips. She ate it tiredly with her head on my chest. I wondered if that’s what falling felt like. It if were holding a woman who weeks before wouldn’t let me touch her, after making her come or getting high on someone else’s trust. If it were eating sushi off her lap as she dozed in my arms, I had done so. Fallen right over the edge of the madness. The insanity was addictive.

  “I’m bleeding,” she whispered.

  I grinned. “Show me.”

  “Klay. No.”

  I set the plate on the table and grabbed her thigh, lifting it so I could see her pussy. I didn’t see any blood. I figured she was almost done, counting the days in my head. She hid her face in my chest, but I knew she liked it. Her thighs trembled in my touch. I brought my hand between her thighs. I stroked her wet slit, earning a mewling moan from her. I found her hole and slipped my finger inside, feeling her wet heat tighten around the intrusion. She was tight as hell and completely unprepared.

  “Madison,” I growled, feeling her come on my finger. “You seriously have to work on your control.” But I didn’t stop. My fingers were slightly red from her wetness, and my dick wanted to know what it would be like with the same cocktail dripping down my shaft. I brought a second finger inside. She started to move on my hand, humping my fingers as she came undone on my lap. I pumped my hand with her, letting her set her perfect speed. I fisted her hair with my other hand and pulled her head back, smashing my lips down on hers. I wanted to taste her moans.

  She moaned deeply into my mouth, trying to unscrew my piercing with her tongue. Her fingers were in my hair, on my face; she orgasmed until her lips were too tired to kiss me back.

  “You have got to be kidding me.” I let my head sag back when she fell asleep again. Giving up, I managed to leave her for a few minutes, long enough to wash my hands and put the food away. She started mewling on the couch. I picked her up, and carried her to bed, falling asleep with her tucked safely in my arms.

  I woke up to the faint bass of rock music. A glance at my alarm clock showed it was two in the afternoon. The hours in bed had done wonders to my eye. It ached, but not nearly as much as it had yesterday morning.

  “Finally,” a soft voice said.

  Madi was watching me, her naked body tucked under the blanket. Her eyes were unguarded and tender at the same time like she was letting me look right into her soul. I leaned over to cup her cheek, bringing my mouth on hers. All I wanted to do was stay in bed and hear her moaning, but I had to get some work done before my shop got used to running without me.

  Her hand cradled my face as her other dug into my back. There was something missing. The doubt in her lips had turned into truth. She kissed me so hard I was the one moaning. She pulled back, giving me hungry sincere eyes. “Thank you, Klay.” The tenderness and gratitude she exuded made it hard to breathe.

  I pressed my forehead to hers. “For what?”

  “For making me feel like a normal human being again. Even for one night.” Her lips kissed mine. “Thank you.”

  Our eyes were so close, I saw where the gray ended, and the blue and her pupil began. There was so much life trapped between those two colors, desperate to be set free again. I’d seen it last night; her li
ps parted, her eyes dripping lust and confidence. Shit, I’m still turned on. I wasn’t used to going without gratification.

  “Thank you for trusting me.” But I’d have to get used to it.

  That made her blush. I didn’t understand why, but I didn’t mind either. The color in her cheeks was worth the confusion.

  “I should probably go down and get some work done. I think we’ll give up on the idea of you working for me for the time being.”

  She leaned away, a spark of irritation entering her eyes. “I want to work. I won’t puke again,” she added quietly, and the mention of her breakdown stripped the electricity from her eyes. “I want to try option one.”

  I tried to keep the relief from my eyes. Option one meant more time with me. It meant putting off her going home. Which she’d do. Eventually, she’d leave me and my shop for her old life.

  I had to be okay with that. I had to learn to prepare myself for the day she healed and wanted more than I could give her. “Well, let’s start by working. Go shower. I’ll meet you in the kitchen for breakfast.”

  She nodded, throwing me one last glance as she went into the bathroom. I had to learn how to accept that the best place for her would never be with me.

  Chapter Twelve

  Madison

  In the shower, I closed my eyes and relived last night.

  I leaned my head back and let the water cascade down my face. Heat pooled between my legs where Klayton had touched, licked … loved.

  I’d never felt so free and comfortable, and after being tied down and attacked, it rocked me to my soul to know that I could still maintain power during sex and still feel something good.

  But good didn’t even begin to describe it. That had been incredible. My only other sexual experiences had been with Leigh, and they had been normal, sweet—what I wanted at the time.

  Leigh was perfect. He was sweet; he fit into all the prerequisites that perfect boyfriends must fill. That had been the problem. Inside, I knew I wasn’t perfect. That perfection didn’t exist. That in order to be a Hart I had to pretend to be as flawless as my parents wanted me to be. Leigh was one more perfect notch on their list. I was so imperfect now, I could never show my face to them again. But I could feel somewhat free in this house, in this space, with Klayton.

  I’d never been in love. I felt strongly for Leigh, but that was only because it made no sense not to. He was everything I should have wanted. And I did until his perfections started to show all my inadequacies. So I’d never been in love, but I knew the burning in my soul could catch flame, and in no time I’d be madly in love with Klayton. It would be so easy to fall for him. Even the old me was worried, and she’d always understood the need to hide her imperfections.

  Not only that, but I’d been able to go hours without my present and past colliding.

  Suddenly, I was too alone. I got dressed in black jeans and a blue Guns & Ink shirt. I toweled my hair and then put it into a tight bun. I dried my face off until it was smooth, and then put on a light layer of makeup. My bruises were almost gone. I had begun to look like me again. It brought a rush of sadness and hope inside of me. Sadness that no matter what, I’d never forget those dirty, bloody sheets, and hope that I could at least carve out some time where it was the last thing on my mind.

  Klayton had showered too, dressed in ripped jeans and a plain white shirt. His sleeves were rolled up, showing off his tattooed biceps and arms. With his messy mop of hair and growing beard, he looked like one of those gangsters from The Outsiders. Bad and handsome—a dangerous temptation. I wondered briefly if the old me would have had the courage to give him her body. That I had done so, made me feel … stronger. I made a choice, and it hadn’t hurt me.

  He was in the middle of setting the table with sushi.

  With heated cheeks, I joined him, eating silently beside him. The iced orange juice tasted amazing, and the sushi was so good I felt good. I peeked at him, watching his jaw work as he ate my poke salad. When I could take no more, I set my chopsticks down and groaned.

  The door opened. I turned around to find Cat coming in. “Morning, love birds,” she greeted. She leaned over the table, plucking up a roll. “Lunch time. Gotta hurry and eat and then get back to my client. Freaking guy wants an entire back piece done today in all black. Black shading, black outline. I’m charging him fifteen-hundred. One hundred percent profit too, ain’t that right, Klay?” She pressed a kiss to his hair and ruffled it. She grabbed the dragon roll container, and then gave me a bump, leaving us as quickly as she’d come in.

  Klay looked at me, rolling his eyes. “Prick. I was going to eat that next.”

  But I smiled because he hadn’t sounded mad. “Do you normally take a cut of the jobs? How does it work?”

  He nodded, drinking his juice. “Sixty-forty. I get forty.”

  “Is that standard?” It didn’t seem like a lot of money. On Cat’s job, he’d only get six hundred.

  “I think so. I used to work for tattoo shops who only gave me a ten percent cut. I could barely feed myself. I’m more lenient. I’ve been on the other side, you know? I’m not as hard on them. Plus, Wayne and Corey are talented. If they took off for another shop, I’d get hit hard. I always have Cat, though. She’s the best I’ve ever had.”

  Out of everything, all I heard was I could barely feed myself. “How long have you had this shop?”

  “Almost seven years. I opened it right before I went to prison. Cat kept it alive while I was gone,” he added begrudgingly.

  I gasped quietly. “What did you go to prison for?”

  His mood had gone from normal to cold. “Aggravated assault.”

  “How long were you in prison for?”

  “Two years.”

  My heart dropped. “Who did you assault?”

  “Think about it, Mad? Who would I go to prison for?” He looked at me, eyes furious, but not at me. “Besides you, who else do I care about?”

  “Cat?” I whispered. “Her attacker?”

  “She knew him. But she waited too long to do anything about it, so when she finally did say something, the cops didn’t care. No one cared anyway, though. She was like me, a homeless nobody. No one gave a shit about us, or people like us. We were out one night getting shitfaced, and she saw him. I followed him. Let’s just say he got what he deserved.” And then he shoved a roll into his mouth.

  It made sense suddenly. Who Klayton was, why he was the way he was, why he worked so hard and hardly left his house. He wouldn’t have anything if he didn’t have his shop. Cat either. His tattoo parlor kept him and Cat fed and employed. With a felony, he probably couldn’t get another job anyway. And I’d broken his eye, taken him out of work, made it so his income was dwindling. The guilt I felt at that moment was insurmountable.

  “Does that bother you?” he asked, tone resigned.

  “What?” Everything bothered me. Klay was so much more than the man I first met. That man had been cold, solid, impenetrable. But that wasn’t true at all. He was protective, loyal, giving, and patient.

  “That I have a record? I used to sell dope as a teenager too. I did eight months in juvie. I did six months in jail at eighteen before I met Cat.” He was defending himself, something I thought he had probably never done. “But those two years in prison killed me, Mad. All day, all night, the same thing, the same nothing. The emptiness. The fear. I forced myself to feel nothing, and it worked. It worked being empty. I kept doing it once I got out. I think that’s what Cat’s been on my ass about. I wasn’t the same when I got out, and I think she wants to fix it. Like it’s her fault. But it wasn’t. I’d do another two years for her.” Then he looked at me, eyes empty, like he was going back to prison. “When I find the fucker who did this to you, I’m probably never getting out.”

  The horror at his words didn’t resonate. I understood the pieces. Klay. Prison. Him. But they didn’t go together the way they were supposed to.

  “Don’t think too hard about it,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to
my lips. “He’ll never hurt you, or another woman again. Let’s go downstairs. I’ve got to finish unpacking the shipment.” When I sat there, he stood behind me, hands on my shoulders. “Don’t give me that look.”

  I leaned back, aghast. “You know where he is?”

  “No. But it’s not far away. Or you wouldn’t mind leaving. You wouldn’t keep looking out for him when we do.”

  Everything went cold. “Klay, you can’t look for him.” I pushed away from the table, knocking into him. How could I run from my past when the only person holding me together was trying to pull it forward? I grabbed his arms. “Please don’t do that. I don’t want you near him. I don’t want him near us, me. I don’t want to risk you. You’re all I have. You’re probably all I’ll ever have. You can’t do that.”

  He shushed me, but I wouldn’t stop, a string of pleas leaving my lips at the idea of the unspeakable collision. To shut me up, his lips came down on mine. I didn’t forget my fears, but I kissed him back harder, begging him with my lips, my tongue, with the tiny bit of strength I learned I still had last night. “Please don’t bring him into my life again.” I held on to his hair and looked into his midnight eyes.

  In response, he closed his eyes and nodded like it killed him. “Whatever’s good for you, Mad.”

  “You’re good for me.” I held his neck, in that same consuming bubble we’d been in last night. He blocked out everything around me, even my hurt. It was only Klayton. And I was willing to keep it that way.

  He nodded once more, and then pulled out of my hold gently, blowing up our bubble. “Let’s go downstairs before we have a repeat of last night.”

  I bit my lip and followed him down, my mind in a million different places. On the past, on last night, on the idea of Klayton in prison, or the idea of him being gone forever because of me. That last thought had me reaching for him. I held the back of his shirt as we headed down and into the back of the parlor. We came into the breakroom, which was thankfully empty, even though rock music played, and that meant there were people in the parlor. Probably men. Bad men. Him.