by Lane Hart
And just like that, I’m able to forgive him for everything.
“See, if you would just talk to me, then I’d know why someone as beautiful and perfect as you would want to end your life, instead of making assumptions about shit I don’t know,” he tells me, softening me up to him even more.
I kiss him because he does make me want to talk to him, to tell him everything, about how I lost my mother too, and how it all happened. But I can’t. So I wrap my arms around his neck and lock my legs around his waist to kiss him, making sure I don’t say things I shouldn’t. Brede’s hands grip my ass, grinding me against his growing erection, making our kiss go from sweet to obscene. I like the obscene more than I want to admit to him or myself. It’s so new and…exhilarating. I love the way my body instantly reacts to him, turning feverish and sensitive. Oh and needy, so freaking desperate for him to touch me again with his fingers or tongue, eventually his cock. His cock that is so long and hard that it feels like he’s penetrating my pussy through both our layers of clothing. Can you lose your virginity through denim? I never thought it was possible, but now I’m not so sure, as Brede tries his best to do just that.
Our obscene kiss soon turns frantic. I climb him, and he tries to impale me further. Teeth clash, tongues are bitten, but that only seems to make it hotter. No longer cold, it feels like my skin and lower belly are on fire. The warm pressure builds until I can’t take any more. My body tenses and I tear my mouth away from the kiss to cry out when my body shakes, possessed, overtaken again by a euphoria that only Brede can give me. Last night when I gave myself an orgasm with a stranger’s help it wasn’t nearly as good. And nothing compares to the ones he gave earlier today with his tongue.
“Did you just come dry humping me?” Brede asks against my lips. He chuckles when I nod in the affirmative. “Your clit’s still sensitive from my tongue, so it won’t take much to make you come over and over again for the rest of the day.”
My thighs clench around his waist just thinking about how amazing his mouth was. God, I want him to do it again. Right now. He has me craving his tongue. I lean forward and kiss him again just to feel that wonderful tongue against my own.
“Take my cock out and stroke it. Now,” he orders with a growl that does weird things to me. His words alone cause shock waves to vibrate through my pussy. Ever since he shoved his fingers inside me yesterday, and then removed them, I’ve felt empty. Empty and deprived of something I didn’t know I was missing.
Letting go of his neck with one hand, I reach down between our bodies and undo his pants to free his erection into the water. His excited cock bobs straight up before I wrap my hand around it and squeeze.
Brede closes his eyes and groans deep in the back of his throat, sounding so relieved by my touch that I can’t help but smile. His strong hand covers mine to speed me along, applying more pressure than I would’ve thought would feel nice. While I’m distracted, he leans forward and sucks on my hard nipple through the soaked cotton of my shirt, making me gasp. I even shriek when he gives it a tug with his teeth. But then his cock swells and jerks in my hand like it does before he comes in my mouth. I can’t see through the murky water, but I feel the warmth of Brede’s hot cum spilling out. His hand that’s still on my ass grips me harder as he curses through his release.
“Are you trying to drive me out of my goddamn mind?” he barks so harsh and so suddenly that I startle. But then his teeth nip playfully on my shoulder, and I know he’s not really upset. I nod in response to what I’m pretty sure was a rhetorical question. “I knew it,” he responds. “Ever since you sat your fine ass down on the seat of my bike and wouldn’t get off.”
I smile thinking about the memory of how annoyed he was when I didn’t listen to him. Lifting his head to look at me, Brede’s thumb brushes my top lip and then he pushes it inside my mouth for me to suck on it, which I do, keeping my eyes locked on his. The water doesn’t taste as bad as it looks, and I’m so thirsty. And really hungry now that I think about it. I want another burger with fries. Maybe a milkshake too.
“I’ll tell you one damn thing for sure,” he says softly. “I had no idea you would be so fucking sexy.”
I tug on a chunk of his beard to convey my thanks for his sentiments and just to aggravate him a little. He doesn’t even make a single grumble. I’ve noticed that he’s usually nicer when his cock’s not hard.
“Do you want me to take you home?” he asks, and I shrug. “Then where do you want to go?”
My eyes drop to the work of art that can be seen underneath his wet shirt and running down his arms. I trail my fingers across his chest, over the beautiful ink.
“What?” he asks and then huffs. “Just use words, baby.”
I yank the collar of his shirt down and point a finger directly at the eagle.
“My tattoo? What about it?” he asks with a raised wet eyebrow.
I lift the side of my shirt and gesture to the naked skin on my ribs.
“You want a tattoo!?!” he exclaims. When I nod, he throws his head back and laughs. I tug on his beard to make him look at me again with my face blank, telling him I’m serious.
“I don’t know if I want you inking up your beautiful, flawless skin,” he says, causing me to tilt my head, trying to convey how hypocritical that statement is from him of all people. “Fine,” he mutters. “If you want a tattoo…I don’t know how the hell they’re gonna know what you want if you don’t fucking tell them, and it’s gonna hurt like a motherfucker on your ribs, but fine. Let’s go to your house and change out of these wet clothes first.”
Smiling, I nod in excitement that he’s really gonna take me to get a tattoo. One I’ve thought about for a long time and I’m finally gonna get. It’s a way for me to speak out about the two of them, permanently, and there’s nothing my father or anyone else can do about it. It won’t be obvious, but I’ll know, and so will Brede. Maybe not the whole story, but a piece, until I can fill in the whole puzzle.
Chapter Thirteen
Brede
She wants to get a fucking tattoo of all things.
And I’m covered in ink; but for some reason, my first instinct was to try and talk her out of it. Her body is beautiful, unblemished, and I can’t help but feel guilty like I’m the one who’s influenced her to defile it. Ironic, yet there it is. The only reason I’m going along with taking her to the local tattoo parlor is that her face lit up like she was intent on doing this. And if she’s determined to do this, it means she’s not trying to buy a gun to off herself, which is a good thing. I still don’t know what to do about that sort of scary shit.
But I have to admit, there’s also a small part of me that thinks a tattoo over her side will be sexy as fuck. Okay, it’s a large part of me now that I think about it more, her naked body laid out before me, with ink along the side. Yeah, I think I could handle that.
While she sits next to me on the red, leather sofa in Carolina Tattoo’s lobby, sketching her tattoo, I’m doing the same. This new one I have in mind I want to put where I can see it every day, and so can everyone else. There’s enough space on my right forearm, the same arm as my weeping angel, so that’s where I’m gonna put it. Another sad angel I’m responsible for hurting, so the reminder belongs on my skin permanently.
After I finish the shading, I stand up, ready to give it to Seth, the big, burly, sumo wrestler looking dude that said he’d do my ink.
“You good?” I ask Blair. She glances up from her sketch that’s a thin, swirling vine with a few flowers and two small butterflies at either end. Nodding, she flashes me a smile, and waves me off, so I go on and tell Seth I’m ready.
“She’s beautiful,” he says when he looks over the drawing. “Come have a seat and I’ll be right back with the transparency.”
He leads me over to his tattoo chair, where I sit and wait for him to put the image on transfer paper, my knee bouncing and fingernails tapping on my thighs. I’m not nervous, never nervous anymore about getting inked. No, I’m in a hurr
y to finish my tattoo tonight because I want to go sit with Blair while she’s under the needle for the first time. There’s no doubt I think she’s tough, but a needle on the ribs is no joke. I cussed like a motherfucker getting the Army sniper snake done, and it only comes up to the lowest rib.
“Ready,” Seth says when he returns. I plop my forearm face up on the cushioned armrest so he can start cleaning the area. “This is her, right?” he asks, nodding to Blair when she comes to the back room with the only female tattoo artist in the building. I sort of insisted the girl with pink hair do her tattoo because I didn’t wanna see any other fucker’s hands all over her.
“Yeah,” I reply, my gaze locking with hers from across the room. “Don’t want to forget the moment I broke her.”
“She seems pretty damn happy now,” he says as he places the transfer on my arm and lifts the paper. “Look good?”
I tilt my forearm back and forth and hold it up closer to my face to check the placement. “Perfect,” I tell him, and a moment later the familiar buzz of the tattoo gun roars to life.
“Who usually does your ink?” he asks. “Haven’t seen you around here before.”
“Just rolled back into town a few days ago,” I tell him. “Frank Johns over in Louisville is my usual guy.”
“Does good work,” he says as he starts inking the outline.
“Yeah, he does.”
“So what brings you to Lexington?” he asks, wiping away the blood and ink with his rag.
“Work.”
Not saying anything more, I watch as the image comes together, looking even better and more realistic than my drawing. I lucked up with this guy because he knows his shit. It can be a dice roll with tattoo artists, which is why I usually stick with my man Frank.
“Done,” Seth says about an hour and a half later when he turns off the tattoo gun and starts cleaning my skin.
“Thank you, she looks amazing,” I tell him.
“Glad to do it,” he replies.
Once he tapes the bandage over the raw skin, I hurry over to Blair’s chair. She’s been facing the wall, her back to me the whole time so I couldn’t tell how she’s doing.
“How are you holding up?” I ask when I’m standing in front of her. The woman tattooing her pauses to wipe her skin and Blair’s eyes that were closed blink open. She gives a quick nod before her eyes close again at the sound of the gun turning on.
“She’s a trooper,” the pink-haired girl says. “Almost done, and she hasn’t twitched or made a sound.”
“Not surprised,” I say, brushing Blair’s hair from her face. I lean over to take a look at the design, and the room starts to spin when I see the vine actually spell out a word. “What the fuck does that say?” I exclaim, causing the girl to stop the tattoo gun.
“Valerie,” the woman answers. “See, there’s the I and the E.”
“No, the other side,” I say, pointing it out, although the name Valerie is also triggering some sort of fuzzy memory.
“Ben,” she says softly. “Is that your name?”
I’m stunned beyond belief because I do recognize that name, all too well. Not only has my past managed to catch up with me, but it looks like this whole time Blair’s been a key part of it too.
Chapter Fourteen
Blair
“What’s his problem?” Sara, the woman doing my tattoo asks, and I shake my head in response after Brede storms off without a word. I’m not sure what’s with his reaction. Of course, I haven’t told him who Valerie and Ben are yet, but I was going to, or at least I was gonna write down a partial explanation.
When the tattoo gun starts up again, I grit my teeth in anticipation of the sting. The pain reverberates through my rib cage, and it hurts so damn bad. But as soon as she pulls the needle away, the pain also fades to only a slight burn. Closing my eyes, I drift off, shutting my mind down to stop thinking about the constant stabbing sensation until it’s finally over.
“Finished, and it looks awesome,” Sara says to me, and my entire body relaxes when she sprays something cool onto the burning flesh. “Keep the bandage on for two or three hours, then use your fingers to wash the area with soap and pat it dry. I’ll give you some ointment to rub on it a few times a day until it heals.”
I nod my agreement and sit up from the chair, somewhat dizzy when I look around the parlor for Brede, who never came back. Ready to go and starving, I sit in the lobby and wait at least half an hour for him, but he’s still nowhere to be found. Thankfully Sara offers to drive me home when she leaves for the night. I write down my address and hand it to her for her to put in her GPS so I can zone out on the short ride.
After the crazy day with Brede and the three hours of pain, I’m exhausted. I just want to curl up in bed and sleep for a few days. But I really don’t want to be alone.
Somehow I manage to stay awake for two hours, snacking on whatever I can find in the kitchen, and watching Sex in the City in the living room until it’s time to take off my bandage and wash my tattoo. The old sitcom was somewhat educational about men and sex, but mostly it made me miss Brede. I wish he were here so I could curl up in the comfort of his strong arms, but he’s not that type of guy.
My house seems even lonelier tonight than all the others since I’ve been back. I’m angry at Brede for keeping me company all day, doing things to me that make my body feel wonderful and alive, and then abandoning me tonight at the tattoo parlor.
That’s why, a few hours later, I welcome my midnight visitor when I awake to the squeak of my window being raised. Even though I’m so sleepy I can barely hold my eyes open, I’m relieved to no longer be alone.
Rolling over to face him, he’s dressed in the same head to toe black, with the ski mask over his face as far as I can tell in the darkness.
“Hey, baby girl,” he says, his voice deep and growling. In his hands, I see a flash of color before he’s on me. His knees straddle my hips, but he keeps his weight off of me while he lifts the bottom of his mask. “I missed you today,” he tells me before he leans down, pressing his lips to mine a few times softly until I impatiently swipe my tongue over his, silently begging for more. His chuckle is muffled as our tongues dance around each other, sending tingles down to my toes but mostly gathering in my lower belly. When he breaks our kiss, I nearly whine in disappointment, but he only pauses long enough to reach over and turn on the bedside lamp. Now illuminated, his dark mask isn’t nearly as scary.
“You’ve got to leave,” he says suddenly. Taking off one glove at a time, he runs his bare fingers down my jaw to my neck and shoulder before he starts teasing my nipple through my top with small circles. Goosebumps rise along my arms, yet I remain still. It’s not the kind of touch from an evil, cruel man who carelessly breaks into houses. It’s gentle and kind, comforting.
“The police are gonna show up here looking for you soon,” he warns.
That all-consuming fear has me gasping in worry that I’ll have to go back. After tasting freedom, I don’t think I can. This man, this stranger, somehow knows all my secrets about what I’ve done and what I’m now running from.
“Don’t worry,” he tells me, leaning down to brush his lips gently over mine again. “I’ve got a plan; and if you agree to help me, I’ll make sure they don’t take you back there.”
He’s gonna help me? But he doesn’t even know me.
“Now, don’t agree right away,” he says with a smile. “I want to take my time…convincing you tonight and maybe tomorrow night....”
I hold completely still, waiting to see what he’s gonna do. I’m excited. Nervous. But definitely not scared.
“God, you have beautiful tits, Blair,” he says brusquely, looking down at my hard nipples poking through my thin top, and running a finger down between the two slopes. “You gonna show them to me?” he asks.
I nod my agreement, but then he says, “Yes or no? Use words, baby girl. I don’t want any misunderstandings here.”
Words. He wants words. And I want him
to look at me and touch me, so much so that it hurts to go without.
“Y-yes.” I force the word past my lips.
“Good girl,” he says. When he grabs the hem of my top and tugs it up, I don’t resist. Instead, I lift my arms for him to remove it. “Mmm-mm,” he mutters once it’s out of the way, and then he slides back and lowers the weight of his warm, heavy body down to my stomach. The press of his erection against my thigh has me burning even hotter in need. One palm is next to my head to hold himself up, and the other is wrapped around my uninked ribs, his thumb rubbing just inches away from the bottom of my breast.
“Do you want me to touch them, to lick and suck on them as much I want to?” he asks, his damp lips and cotton mask brushing against my ear.
“Yes,” I say, the word coming out easier this time. I reach for the bottom of the mask, wanting to push it up and off to see his face, but his hand shoots out, grabbing my wrist and pinning it above my head.
“Nuh-uh,” he replies with a chuckle, one that’s definitely familiar even though I’ve only heard it a few times before.
“Brede?” I ask.
He goes still, and his hand clamps down harder around my wrist that’s pressed into the mattress above my head.
“No,” he answers in almost a growl when he sits back on his knees. He reaches up and pulls his shirt over his head, revealing his sculpted upper body in the dark room, I assume to show me that he doesn’t have a single tattoo. Still, his chest and abs are beautiful. “And, Blair, you need to stay the fuck away from him.”
“Why?” I ask, my voice sounding weak. I’m unable to help the disappointment I instantly feel, knowing that this is not Brede and that he doesn’t think I should be around him. I wanted him to be Brede, as strange as that is. But there’s something about this man’s voice, that I know despite the mask, that he’s actually concerned about me.
“Brede is dangerous. He’ll use you, Blair. Take what he wants…and then hurt you.”
