“Simon, inside me.”
He shook his head.
“God, I can’t—” She flexed her thighs around his waist and tried to drag him in.
He held onto her lower back and leveraged off the smooth, water-worn wood behind her, holding his hips back. Sweat popped along his brow and slaked down his back.
“Your cock.” The words were raw from her. “I need your cock inside me.”
As if it was the magic word, he snapped his hips forward and drove into her. Slick and wet weren’t even the words for her.
He froze—no condom. He looked down at them joined, not a single thing between them, not even latex.
Her fingers gentled on his cheek. “If you can’t get a clean bill of health from a surgical procedure, I don’t know where you can get one.”
He dropped his forehead against her neck.
“I trust you.” She raked her fingers into his hair. “I trust you with me.”
The salt of the water had to have misted into his eyes. Her skin wavered in his vision when he buried his mouth in her neck and then slid over to her mouth. He pulsed inside her with short strokes.
Bliss.
This is what bliss had to feel like. Soft and hot, strong and supple, her walls closed around his shaft and pulled him forward greedily. Her ankles followed suit at his back.
“More,” she whispered.
There, in the salty spray of starlight and the rising moon, he lost the last of the pieces of his heart he’d been keeping to himself. They were hers now. In this perfect moment at his place. Now a piece of her was there. A memory of them added to the beach that had been his home for more years than he could remember.
Nails nipped higher on his shoulders and her breath went shallow. She was close and he was too wrapped up in himself, when he should be focusing on her. He rotated his hips so their pelvises met and he heard that purr in her throat that made him crazy.
This.
Now.
Her.
He drove into her with the water swirling around his calves and his woman wrapping around him like seaweed. The kind he never wanted to untangle from. He wasn’t sure if it was the roar of the tide moving back in or the one in his head, but in the end it just didn’t matter.
He buried his face in her neck and came hard enough that a sky of stars formed behind his eyelids. When he came back around, he felt her shuddering around him, her breath a hiccupping pant ending in his name.
Fuck, yes.
He met her mouth with his, dragging in her taste and her breath. The salty rasp of sand and salt had chapped their lips. She laughed and held him tighter. The sheer delight in her voice undid him.
She dropped a foot into the surf and hissed. “That’s cold.”
Only because she was so hot. That’s what he wanted to say. It was something he’d say anytime.
And now he couldn’t.
He looked down into the surf, absently tucking himself back into the netting of his suit.
She swore as she tried to pull the strings of her bikini back together. He pushed her hands away and crouched at her side, drawing it together and tying a double knot.
No way was he going to let anyone else see just how amazing she looked under that piece of nothing bikini bottom. He dragged his nose up the tight lines of her belly and ribcage to her top. He tucked his fingers under the strings and slowly rolled it down.
She giggled and cupped his face with a sigh as he sucked her still tight nipples through the material. Then he pulled her tank down and stepped back from her.
“That was amazing.”
Was it the darkness that let her talk? Or was she filling in the silence that lived between them now?
He mouthed the word, “amazing,” against her skin and hoped she understood. She seemed to because she dragged his mouth against hers and the kiss spun out until it was hot and heavy, both of them twined around the other.
A shriek of laughter and a scream from down the beach had him drawing her out from under the pier. The moonlight was strong enough to guide their way back up to the lockers area. He pulled out his duffel and her belongings.
A light illuminated the area and she ducked further into the shadows. When her bikini bottoms came sailing for his head, he snatched them out of the air. He tipped his head, hoping for a show but she already had her pants up over that spectacular ass of hers and she was dragging the zipper up.
Damn.
And double damn because he knew that she was walking around commando. How the hell was he supposed to concentrate?
She hopped on one foot, dragging her Chucks over sandy feet.
“Can we go walk around?”
He nodded. He didn’t have any interest going back to the house. He wasn’t sure he really wanted to go back at all. And that wasn’t something he wanted to really examine.
The idea of all of them staring at him, and whispering behind closed doors, was just too much.
He held his hand out to her and she took it. Right then, that was more than he could ask for.
Chapter Seven
Margo dragged Simon behind her as she headed up the incline and around the skate park. Spotlights were on high and the tick and scrape of wheels over concrete competed with the posturing of boys and girls from early teens to twenties.
The jumps were intricate, the video equipment extensive. She’d never seen so many tripods set up around the perimeter of the park. But it was a whole new world. Even skateboarders were only as good as the next YouTube.
She slid under Simon’s arm and let his warmth seep into her as they watched for a few minutes before moving on into the foot traffic on the boardwalk. Frying onions and grease and butter made her belly growl. It wasn’t exactly her preferred cuisine, but signs for a dozen different ethnic foods lured her deeper into the crowds.
It was too loud to talk, and that seemed to suit them. He pointed and she laughed, he watched and she let him. There was nothing quite as alive as the carnival tones to the nightlife on Venice Beach.
The ate hotdogs as they walked and split a soft pretzel the size of her head. And instead of a beer in Simon’s hand, there was a perpetual bottle of water. Whenever they passed a food place, he bought another.
Was he dehydrated?
The urge to care for him, to take him home and hide him away was as alive as the boardwalk, but she was taking her cues from him. If he appeared a little tired around the eyes, she ignored it in favor of the smiles that had transformed him into a bit of the carefree guy she’d been trying to ignore for the last few months.
She didn’t want to feel something for him. He wasn’t her type—or in her mother’s eyes, her class—but he fit her. That night on the bus had opened a whole new side of him, and in turn, it had unlocked a piece of her that had been missing for a long time.
Maybe even forever.
A flash of neon and a pop of fire from the top of one of the boards made her gasp. Simon nodded to the crest of the roof of a T-shirt place and a svelte woman with an endless wealth of lean muscles slowly bent back until her body was bowed into a perfect arch. She slowly lifted one foot up in one long stretch and between her toes was a thin metal rod with what looked like a flaming marshmallow on the end.
She slowly lowered herself onto her forearms and brought her two feet lower until they were in front of her face. Again and again she passed off the rod until she’d waved the fire into the sky half a dozen times. Below her was a tattoo place with a wide, winged beast in neon. In the center of a chest plate was the name Resurrection Tattoo.
Simon stopped in front of it and gave her a look.
“Oh, no.”
He nodded his head toward the door.
“No way.”
He drew her hands together and took two steps backward, off the path of people and into the buzzing neon space. He cuffed her wrists with one long-fingered hand and pressed his hand against his chest.
Just him?
Or her too?
She shook her h
ead and he stuck out his lower lip. She snorted. “Do you really think that’s going to work?”
His pout split into a sly smile and she shook her head. “Haven’t you been stuck enough?”
He mouthed, “have you?” and she shut up. Because no. That was a definite no, on her end.
“You think I’m going to stand here and watch you get a tattoo?”
He nodded.
She rolled her eyes and let him drag her inside. The place was deceptively large with art popping off the walls. Not the things she expected. Oh, there was a table full of books in the corner, but the walls were huge sweeping tapestries of high end prints. Some were of bodies with the art on them, and some were obviously hand-drawn pieces.
“Christ, is Talia on the roof again? I have a full roster of clients tonight. Didn’t you see the damn sign on the front door?”
Simon stopped in front of her and she peeked over his shoulder. A girl…well, woman—she wasn’t quite sure how old she was. Flame red hair was plaited on either side of her head in braids tight enough to squeak. She was maybe five feet and wore jeans with more holes than Margo had ever seen and a black racing back tank that said I Inked Nikki Sixx in bold white letters.
Margo figured that was quite the feat and wondered if it was true. And if inked was a euphemism.
A girl popped off the leather chair in the waiting room. “Holy crap, that’s Simon Kagan.”
“I don’t give two fucks.”
Margo slid her fingers around Simon’s hand and tugged him back toward the door. He didn’t budge. In fact, he dropped his duffel bag and pulled out his marker board.
“Haven’t you heard? He just had that…” The girl twisted her fingers together and trailed off.
Simon’s marker squeaked across the board.
I went splat on stage.
Margo rolled her eyes. “Simon. What he means to say is he wasn’t feeling well and now he is.”
Simon’s eyebrow rose. He swiped his hand across the board.
What’s the wait?
The redhead folded her arms over her chest. “Two weeks.”
Simon’s jaw clenched. He nodded and tossed his board and marker into his bag.
“Wait, he can have my spot.” The girl in the waiting room came forward.
Braids swung around. “You’ve been waiting four weeks to come in, Sabina.”
The girl shrugged. “It’s Simon Kagan.”
“He’s no Nikki Sixx,” Braids said.
Margo pressed her lips together. And nearly lost it when Simon staggered back with his hand over his chest.
Sabina pulled her phone out of her purse and went to the sound bar that was playing a muted Motley Crue song from the eighties. She pulled the iPod off the docking station and “Lit” blasted through the speakers.
“See. That’s Simon. Isn’t he amazing? God, I love this song.” The girl happily chirped on and grooved to the song.
Simon went from sweet and teasing to absolutely still. Margo felt the change and turned to him. He completely shut off. His teasing blue eyes were blank and desolate. He dropped her hand and walked to the speakers and snatched the girl’s phone off the docking station, her cell clattering to the table.
He pressed his palms to the table, his back to them, but it was obvious he was upset. Margo crossed to him. His jaw was stony and his eyes were closed as he swallowed hard. She opened the small Coke cooler and grabbed a bottle of water.
Margo wasn’t quite sure what to do. She could feel the pain coming off him in fractured waves. Anger seemed to be the most immediate emotion. But the longer the silence stretched on, the more his shoulders relaxed. She covered his hand, relieved when he gripped her fingers after a moment.
She slid the water to him and he uncapped it, drinking deeply.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” Sabina’s voice cracked. “I just wanted to show Penny what you sounded like.” Her huge dark eyes shimmered with tears. She practically gnawed her lower lip off while twisting her fingers together. She reacted as if she’d actually kicked Simon in the face.
Margo held out the girl’s phone. “It’s okay. You didn’t know.”
Her fingers shook. “Is he okay?” she whispered.
“He will be. He’s Simon Kagan, right?”
The girl gave her a watery smile. “Yes. Yes, he is.” She went over to Simon and gently touched his back. “Tattoos have to mean something. It’s a good time to get one.”
He turned around and cupped her face, pressing a kiss to each cheek. He mouthed, “thank you,” and let the girl go.
He didn’t see that he’d just made her millennium, or the hero worship that blazed in the girl’s eyes. He’d simply wanted her to feel better.
Simon was already moving on to Lucy. He flipped off his shirt and stood in front of her then turned around to show himself off from the back. Lean muscles and the lightest smattering of chest hair along his pecs and just above his bathing suit made Margo’s heart bump.
He was stunning. It was easy to forget that sometimes when she saw him at his worst. Ratty T-shirts and gym shorts that needed more laundering than he bothered to do. Then there were his appalling eating habits, and of course the drinking that left him drawn and hungover.
Here, he was clear-eyed and windswept. She fed off that insane connection they had when they got into each other’s space, but she rarely took the time to just look at him. A truly fine male specimen with strong arms from his penchant for climbing on anything and everything. He was lean, but not gaunt with it and not overly muscled like Deacon.
He was built to be touched and to be twined around. She’d learned that in one night on the bus. A lifetime of enjoying her space had been shattered with one night, skin on skin with this man.
And now she was going to take him away for four weeks.
With her.
In a house that barely cleared a thousand square feet. And she had a feeling that she’d be wrapped around him for most of those days.
Lucy stepped forward. “I can do what I want?”
Simon chewed on the corner of his lip for a moment before he nodded.
“A full sleeve?”
He winced, and Margo bit back a laugh. He was getting himself into trouble, but he nodded.
Lucy gave a disgusted sound and lifted his arm. She smoothed her hand down Simon’s ribcage to his hip bone and Margo found herself across the room and next to him without noticing her intention.
She didn’t like this Lucy chick touching him.
At all.
Simon’s eyebrow rose and a knowing smile spread across his face.
“Shut up,” Margo said. She crossed her arms and took a large step back. She wasn’t jealous. Couldn’t be. But her knuckles cracked with the tight clench of her fists as Lucy dragged him deeper into her shop.
She followed and Sabina yelled her name. She turned to the girl.
“She doesn’t like people in her space when she’s working.”
“Too fucking bad,” Margo muttered and followed them down the hall. The room was wide and decorated with more of the artwork from outside. Only this was actually airbrushed right on the walls. An entire underwater fantasyland was airbrushed over black walls, leaving it with an ethereal feel because of the gold and blue colors with watery shafts of light burning through from above the water.
“Sit.”
Simon was already laying down, so she figured the artist meant her.
“Can’t let him out of your sight? Shows you don’t trust him.”
Margo swallowed down a bit of acid, and simply stared her down. She trusted that Simon wouldn’t do anything with a woman while she was right there. He wasn’t callous in that way.
But she wasn’t exactly sure of her place in his world. He’d told her he loved her, but that word held little meaning to some people. Certainly not her father. He’d had a mistress for as long as she could remember.
They came and went, but she always knew when her father had a new love interest. Especi
ally when he had a lot more conferences. As a semi-retired surgeon, he kept up with the changes in his field, but certainly not to the level he often portrayed.
Her mother knew.
Just turned a blind eye.
They all did.
The Reece name held forgiveness for the males. It was still very much an old world of combined family pedigrees and outward appearances. Infidelities were as common as red wine at a party.
She shook off that thought and lowered herself into a stool on coasters in the corner.
Lucy simply shrugged and snapped a rubber band around her braids to keep them over her shoulder. “All right, mute boy, I think you and your girlfriend will have to do this as a joint venture.”
“What?” She had no intention of doing a tattoo.
“You walked into my shop, and wanted work done, this is how it’s going to go. I only do work that has meaning. You’re not going to get a cute little butterfly on your ankle when you come in here.”
“And you’re on the boardwalk? Isn’t that a standard tattoo?”
Lucy snapped on black gloves. “We can collaborate on something with meaning or you get what I give you. You don’t like it, I’m not holding you down.” She looked down at Simon with one hand resting on his ribs. “Well, I won’t keep holding you down.”
Simon crossed his arms behind his head. He smiled toward Margo.
Margo sighed. “Like what?”
Lucy swiped her hand down his ribs to just beside the vee peeking above his board shorts. She turned on her stool and rolled over to Margo and curled her fingers inside her elbow, dragging Margo and the stool to Simon’s side. She flipped her wrist up. “It doesn’t need to be big. I like the idea of an incongruous tat on people who aren’t the type.” She looked into Margo’s eyes. “Sometimes all it takes is one tattoo and suddenly you have a sleeve a year later.”
“Doubtful.”
“We’ll see.” Lucy grabbed a sharpie off her tray. She made a sweeping mark just above Margo’s inner wrist up into her forearm. Less than a minute later there were light lines for a feather that was less than two inches long. It was small and elegant.
Consumed Page 8
