Ink My Heart lj-2

by Jean Haus

  “Hey, you don’t have to be the world’s most responsible adult to be a great parent. Hell, most people act like idiots regardless of age.” I get what she’s trying to tell me, but even my dumb ass knows having a child doesn’t have to stop you from living. “None of those things are wrong to want, even now. You can be a sexy mom who goes out once in a while, especially since you had to grow up so fast.”

  She shrugs. “Those things lost importance over time.”

  Leaning back on an elbow next to her, I snag a truck from the sand. “I’m not trying to argue my own case, but the truth is you’ve got to live a little.” I run the small vehicle along her thigh.

  She lifts an eyebrow at the toy. “You saying I’m uptight?”

  I roll the truck across her knee. “Too driven?”

  Giggling, she swats at the toy. “Stop it—that tickles.” I roll it over her other knee and she snatches it out of my hand. “I have to be driven. I have a child to take care of. My job keeps the roof over his head.” She tosses the car back into the pile and glances down the beach to where Ben and Holly are digging in the sand with sticks. “I’m always amazed he came from two underage, partying tattoo artists.”

  “Hey, I’ve met some sharp inkers. There’s one in particular I know. She’s not only smart but damn sexy too.”

  The breeze blows a lock of hair loose from her hat as her lips curl seductively. “The smart reference should be what gets my attention, but I do like that you find me sexy.”

  Staring at the ring in her mouth, I say, “Oh, I do, trust me. I find you the epitome of sexy.”

  “If we’re admitting things,” she murmurs, “then I must say you’re quite sexy too.” I warm from the inside out at her words. After she glances at the specks of Holly and Ben running together far down the beach, she suddenly leans forward and kisses me. It’s quick and hot, especially when she sucks on my lower lip.

  She breaks it off and sits back, wrapping her arms around her knees. “So you’re cooking me breakfast tomorrow.”

  Oh, hell yes. “Quiche,” I say, pushing up from the blanket toward her luscious lips.

  She shoves at my chest and jumps up. “They’re coming back.”

  Fuck. I like the kid. Shit. I even like Holly. But I like Allie and that ring curling around her bottom lip a whole lot more. I reluctantly stand and help her fold the blanket, then toss the sand-encrusted cars into her backpack. She wears a soft smile that I want to kiss from her mouth, but now that Holly and Ben stand mere feet from us, tossing rocks in the lake, it’s not going to happen.

  All four of us walk back along the beach, and we take turns skipping rocks into the lake. Luckily for my male ego, I’m the only one to skip a rock four times. Growing up on Lake Michigan, I spent a lot of time skipping rocks by myself as a kid. When we finally get back to the parking lot, Ben makes a beeline for the small play structure off to one side. Allie pushes him on a swing while Holly and I sit on top of a picnic table.

  “You’d better not hurt her,” Holly says. Her expression is light but there is a threat in her voice. “She’s not a one-night-stand kind of girl.”

  “You think I’d come out here for a walk through nature and a peanut butter lunch if a quick hookup was all that was on my mind?”

  “No. But guys like you have a hard time changing.”

  I pull back and give her an assessing look. “Guys like me?”

  “Come on, J-dog. It’s common knowledge you’re a user.”

  My teeth grind because it is and I am. “She’s different and I’m different with her. Shit, Holly, I haven’t dated since high school. I haven’t wanted to until now.”

  “Okay,” she says, tilting her head. “I’m just warning you. I’ll round up every biker who comes to the shop to ass-whip you to the highest degree if you cause even one tear to fall out of that girl’s eyes. Trevor’s caused enough for a lifetime, and I never want to see her like that again. She doesn’t deserve it.”

  My entire body tightens at the thought of Allie’s ex. “What’s with Trevor anyway? Are they talking? Is he still here?”

  Her lip curls as she nods. “Not sure why, but yeah, he’s still in town.”

  “Allie has feelings for him?”

  She taps her foot on the picnic-table bench. “You’re going to have to ask her about Trevor if he’s got you worried. I can’t say for sure, but even if I could, that’s her business to share.”

  Remembering Allie’s response to Trevor, first at the shop and then at the art show, my teeth grind again and my chest becomes strangely heavy. If it weren’t for their past—for their son laughing and swinging under the April sun—I’d claim Allie in a heartbeat and pound Trevor into oblivion. “Can’t ask,” I say. “I’m too afraid of her answer.”

  Holly watches me until I grow uncomfortable under her stare. “Listen, J-dog, she let you meet Ben. You wouldn’t be here if she didn’t think you two had somewhat of a future.”

  Holly’s words make enough sense that I’m able to relax again. She’s right. If Allie were seriously contemplating getting back with Trevor, she wouldn’t have let me meet Ben. The nagging fear that has been at the back of my mind since Riley shared her worry about my getting “hurt” dissipates for the most part. In fact, Holly’s insight has me beaming like a kid because Allie’s letting me meet Ben implies we’re far more serious than she’s ever let on.

  I watch Allie’s bright smile as she pushes Ben.

  Somehow, without my even considering it, I’ve come to want serious too.

  Chapter 24

  Allie

  It’s a relief to be in the car alone. All morning I kept the lustful thoughts from my head as I dutifully got Ben dressed, fed him breakfast, and dropped him off at school. Now driving back home, I’m very aware that Justin is in my apartment cooking breakfast. For me, for him, for just the two of us. Alone. The possibilities of us alone in my apartment roll through my mind. As I park the car, my thoughts can’t be contained. They should be, but they are like thrown blobs of paint—messy and vivid and lingering, running down a canvas.

  I could blame my pent-up lust on the fact I haven’t been with anyone in over two years, but the reality is that I can’t resist Justin. His tall, lean muscled frame. The ink covering his body. Those green eyes. Those dimples. But mostly what gets me is the way he yearns for me to know him. And I’m beginning to want to know him in every way possible. The topography of the surface of his skin and the man beneath that skin.

  The scent of bacon hits me as soon as I open the door. Standing at the stove behind the counter, he glances over his shoulder. “Breakfast will be ready in about five.”

  I shut the door and whip off my shoes. Food is not on my mind. Feeling as sexy as he claims I am, I round the table and step into the kitchen. He’s moving bacon around a pan with a fork. Faded jeans hug his tight butt, and his right biceps ripples as he moves sizzling strips to a plate.

  Lust and apprehension fight a war within me. This wouldn’t be confusing if there were nothing between us, if I knew that being with him would be safe and emotionless. But there are feelings between us. Lovely, growing feelings I shouldn’t but want to give in to. Even knowing this is a huge step—maybe a wrong step, I can’t help myself from sliding close behind him.

  Wrapping my arms around his waist and pressing my body against his back, I say, “I don’t want food right now.” Beyond the bacon, I breathe in his sexy scent and then press my lips between his shoulder blades. His entire body freezes. “I want you even more than bacon,” I say, trying to lighten my brazenness with humor. “That’s a lot, you know, because bacon is really, really good.”

  He stays frozen for a long moment, then flips off the burner, shoves the bacon into the oven, and turns into my embrace, his hands wrapping around my waist. “Say it again in that smoky voice of yours.”

  I wonder if it will be harder with his hot green gaze boring into mine, but it isn’t. “I want you,” I repeat without hesitating.

  His eyes f
lutter closed while he pulls me tightly against him. “Shit, Allie.” He bends and kisses me softly. I try to follow his lips but he pulls back. “I’ve been waiting since the first night we met.”

  His words excite me more, because I know he’s telling the truth. I kiss him while backing up toward my bedroom. Lucky for us, it’s the first stop in the hall, right across from the kitchen. As our tongues slide together, I pull up his shirt and then lean back to see all his glorious inked skin on display. Holy wow. My hands itch to touch him. He hauls the shirt off over his head and drops it to the floor but steps into the hall.

  “What?” I say in a rush, suddenly fearing rejection.

  He smiles deep enough for a dimple to show. His fingers encircle my wrists and he draws my hands to his naked chest. I almost shudder at the touch of his skin. “It’s been a while for me too. We need to slow down or I’m going to devour you whole. Let me lead. Let me make this good for you,” he says, propelling me forward, then kicking the door shut behind us.

  My room is dark and inviting. Though I would never have admitted it this morning, I had shut the blinds and drapes before taking Ben to school in preparation for this.

  “The days don’t seem long enough, and the moonlit nights even shorter,” he sings quietly into my ear, brushing the sensitive skin of my earlobe with his lips and making me almost stumble. “Without you.” His hands slip under my sweatshirt and whatever he sings next, I don’t hear clearly. I’m electrified as his hands skim my ribs and settle below my breasts. His thumbs brush the sides of my bra and my breath catches.

  He turns and we sway into the small space between the bed and the dresser. “Since you’re my girl, I can’t help but be true,” he continues singing with a slight twang, then his teeth scrape a path down my neck.

  “Are you singing me a country song?” I ask with a gasp.

  His lips slide along my collarbone. “You don’t like country?” he asks, and his breath heats my skin.

  Though I’ve never been a fan, I don’t hate it. But as Justin continues to hum while pulling me close, I’m thinking country is kind of sexy. A minute later I’m thinking it’s very sexy. “I’m starting to,” I say, letting out a heavy pant without meaning to.

  We sway and he keeps singing. His hands slide across the fullness of my breasts as he peels my shirt off then draws me back to him. The contact of skin on skin—the cold metal of his nipple ring pressing into the tender skin above my bra—makes my heart thump to the tune he sings into my ear. His strong hands span my back as our slow dance turns into just the slow grind of our hips, with his melody controlling the rhythm of our movements.

  I’m melting, and I give in to his seduction completely.

  In a graceful sway and then a half twirl, he twists me around away from him, singing the chorus. His hands settle on my hips and his warm, heavy muscled chest slides along my back. As my head rests on his shoulder and the deep timbre of his voice fills me, he somehow loosens the clasp of my bra. Caught between his voice and his touch, I’m listless when he tugs at the straps and my bra drops to the floor.

  The line “Make my heart tremble wild” has me opening my eyes. Then his hands cover my breasts. His palms caress me, and I tremble with want, then try to turn toward him. But he holds me tight, singing and swaying, the length of our bodies touching.

  “Since you’re my girl,” he sings possessively in my ear. At the last “I can’t help but be true,” he turns me around and devours my mouth, his tongue plunging into me. My fingers move over his back. The contours are as marvelous as I imagined while inking him. I’m so lost in his kiss and the sensation of his skin that I’m almost startled to find myself lying on the bed when he tears his mouth from mine.

  “Since you’re my girl,” he repeats in a whisper. He licks my lip ring and lowers his mouth to my breasts. I’m grasping and squirming while he sucks my quivering skin. His fingers find the band of my yoga pants and he yanks them off.

  When his hand slips under the silk of my panties, his teeth let go of my nipple. “Say it.”

  His hovering fingers have me panting as I try to understand what he wants.

  His fingers brush me with the softest touch but don’t offer relief. “Say it,” he demands again.

  Desperation offers enlightenment. “I’m your girl.”

  “Don’t ever forget it,” he says roughly, and drags my panties down. After skimming his fingers from my ankle to my inner thigh, he touches me and my hips jump at the contact.

  As he leans over me and turns my desire into pure fire, I twist and squirm from his touch. Even as his mouth stays fastened on my breast, I clutch his forearms. “Take off your pants,” I insist. The last word comes out as a gasp, and he chuckles while his fingers continue to circle, slowly torturing me.

  “Soon.”

  I reach for the waistband of his jeans. “Now.”

  “Soon,” he repeats, then kisses me while his fingers wreak havoc until I’m simply clutching at his belt loops and panting. Finally, he pushes off the bed, digs in his pocket, and peels his pants and boxers off in one smooth move. For a moment I study the beauty of him, then I tear open the condom he tossed on the bed and reach for him. The planes of his face constrict at my touch, but he lets me roll the rubber on. Then he’s kneeling over me and I’m breathing hard in anticipation.

  His hands cup my jaw. He leans forward and sucks my lower lip, runs his tongue over my lip ring. “Tell me you want me again.”

  My fingers slide across his tattooed chest and find solid muscle. “I want you.”

  He gently widens my legs and in one smooth move, he’s inside and on top of me with all his glorious weight. “You’ve got me.”

  I can’t verbally respond, only moan.

  Teeth clenched, he moves and my entire world becomes him above me. His body, his tattoos, and those deep green eyes that won’t let me look away. There is kissing and touching and straining and sighs, but mostly there’s a connection between us I never imagined possible. Past the lust, past the eruption of my climax, then his, is the feeling with each thrust that he’s touching my heart from the inside.

  * * *

  Afterward we lay in a tangle of sheets, each tracing the other’s tattoos. He’s lying on his side. I’m on my back. Thoughts and questions run through my mind. I trace the Japanese letters along his tight abdominal muscles. “What does this say?”

  He glances down as if he’d forgotten he’d been inked there, then murmurs, “Just always be waiting for me.”

  “Just always be waiting for me,” I repeat slowly, staring at the sharp black letters. Maybe Justin wasn’t always on the one-night-stand merry-go-round. Maybe he deals with heartbreak in reverse from the way I do. Instead of staying away from the opposite sex, he overindulges.

  His fingers absently stroke my shoulder. “It’s from Peter Pan,” he says. “The book at least. Not sure if the line was in any of the movies.”

  “Peter Pan?”

  “My nanny used to read it to me,” he adds and his gaze turns wistful. “I used to say the line to her every night after she tucked me in.”

  “What did she say back?”

  “Forever.”

  I wistfully imagine him as a little boy. “She sounds wonderful.”

  “She was, still is. But what about you? There’s this one,” he says as his fingers follow an olive branch etched on my arm. “That’s the big one.” He traces the cursive Ben on my other arm, and my fingers pause on the tribal swirl on his chest as I realize he’s counting my tattoos. “With the sunflower that makes three.”

  He pulls at the sheet. Not wanting my entire body open for his perusal even in the shadowy confines of my room, I drag my leg out from under the sheet and show him my thigh. He leans close and reads the words along the top aloud: “We can only make our pictures speak. Who’s that?”

  “Van Gogh. Last letter to his brother before he died.”

  “You and that ear slicer. I’m almost jealous,” he says teasingly. His fingers follo
w the curl of ink. “Any others?”

  I twist around and show him my lower back.

  He traces a wing. “Dragonfly Ink, huh?”

  “It was my first.”

  “Should I ask who did it?”

  “Probably not.”

  It’s hard to miss the sudden way his eyes narrow. “What other ones did he do?”

  “The one on my thigh.” I roll over to my back again, not wanting to talk about the name on my shoulder that was removed. “Todd’s done all the others. But you’re here in my bed, and I don’t want to even think about him.”

  He glances at my body covered with the sheet. “That’s it?”

  I lift my leg and show him the tiny dragonfly on my ankle.

  “So that’s it?”

  “Yup. That’s it.”

  Wrapping an arm around my sheet-covered waist, he grins slyly. “Would have thought there’d be more ink on such a badass tattooist.”

  I shrug. “Between raising a kid, going to school, and inking everyone else, the ideas I have for me keep getting pushed to the side. But once I get my degree, I’ll have more time.”

  “You’re keeping the shop?” he asks in a surprised tone.

  “Is there something wrong with that?”

  “No,” he says, shaking his dark blond head. “I’m just confused why you’re going to college at all.”

  “The shop does decent, but if things ever change, I want something to fall back on. And learning about business can only help.”

  His nod is thoughtful. “What about your painting?”

  “I used to consider painting and tattooing separately, but really they’re both creating. And having someone hang something on their wall isn’t as thrilling as them letting you mark their skin for life.”

  “You said something like that before. Your paintings are awesome though.”

  “Well, I can always do both. I’m kind of planning on it. What about you?”