by R. C. Martin
I watch as Grace traces her fingertips along Rosalie’s cheek, totally in awe of her. Grace works so hard, keeping this shop up to snuff, keeping her husband happy, and raising two beautiful children. Even Harvey couldn’t keep her at home when she’d decided she was done with maternity leave and ready to get back in the shop. I admire her, I really do, and I certainly haven’t been giving her any grief. If she’s here, then Rosalie’s here, and that means when I drop by, I get to snuggle. Now that Caroline and Axel are getting older and more independent, Daphne usually watches them during the day, making their visits to the shop less frequent than they used to be; but they’re around once or twice a week, and I get to see them on Sundays, of course.
“Oh, my god!” Grace gasps, her head shooting up as she looks from Rosalie to me. “Happy birthday, sweetie! I’m sorry, I was having a mom moment.”
“It’s okay,” I laugh as she hurries her way from behind the counter.
“Get over here. Group hug,” she demands, holding out her arms. We sandwich Rosalie in a careful embrace before Grace tells me, “I don’t know how I could possibly forget. I made you the most amazing cake this morning. You’re going to love it. We might have to eat it before lunch tomorrow. Or maybe you should just come over for breakfast.”
“So, basically, if I show up tomorrow and a piece is already missing—”
“Blame Harvey,” she playfully interjects, throwing her hands up as she returns to her spot behind the counter.
“Uh huh,” I giggle.
“Well, Kenzie, I would tell you to head on back, but you have some papers to sign today.”
My stomach knots up with nerves, but I can’t wipe the smile from my face. I’m just as excited as I am nervous. I barely even look at the disclosures she puts in front of me before I sign them. Right as I’m finishing up, Coder appears out of the mouth of the hallway, his signature smirk making my heart skip a beat. He’s wearing a plain, black, long-sleeved t-shirt and pair of jeans with his boots, looking just as gorgeous as always. I haven’t seen him since yesterday morning—Brooke insisting that we hang out last night, just the two of us, while we went over wedding stuff.
“Hey, babe.”
“Hi, honey.”
Shifting his gaze to Grace, he jerks his chin before he asks, “She good?”
“She’s all yours.”
Coder holds out his hand and I hurry over to him, wrapping my fingers around his as we make our way back to his room. Grace calls out for good luck, and soon everyone is popping their head in the hallway, greeting me, wishing me well on my birthday, and offering words of encouragement for my first time under the needle.
The moment after we cross the threshold into Coder’s room, he shuts the door. Before I can blink, I find myself backed up against it. I hear the rattling of the handle as he locks us in, and then his lips are on mine, owning my mouth in a hot, wet, deep kiss. I drop my bag onto the floor and then slide my arms around his middle, flatting the palms of my hands across his back. He groans—man, I really love that—and cups his hands around my face, making me feel treasured and loved. A small whine spills from my throat when he parts his lips from mine, and he chuckles before brushing one last soft kiss against my mouth.
“Happy birthday, Mack,” he rumbles, his dark, soulful eyes staring down into mine.
“Thank you.”
“You ready to get inked?”
Grinning up at him, I fist the fabric of his shirt into my hands as I push myself up onto my tiptoes, leaning into him as I declare, “I’m so excited.”
He returns my grin with one of his own, winking at me before he says, “Come ‘ere. Let me show it to you.”
I grab my bag and follow him to his desk. When he sits in his chair, he takes hold of my waist and guides me down into his lap. I search the surface area in front of me, my eyes hungry for the piece that’s mine, but he doesn’t reveal anything. Turning my head to look at his face, I’m surprised to find him staring at me in wait.
“Coder,” I giggle, playfully nudging him with my elbow. “The suspense is killing me. I’m ready, baby. Show me.”
“If you don’t like it—”
He starts to warn me, but I cut him off, reaching back to kiss the side of his mouth. “Don’t speak such nonsense. Show me!”
He smirks and then offers me a nod before he pulls open the top drawer of his desk, taking out two different designs, each of them already on transfer paper. “This one,” he starts to say, holding up a piece that spans about four inches long. The image is a row of five little birds in flight, each of their wings in a different position. “This one would go here.” He takes hold of my left wrist, turning my hand palm up before tracing a diagonal line along the inside of my forearm, just above my wrist. “I wanted you to have something you’d see all the time. Something small—a reminder of the ones you’ve loved and lost, and the ones you still fight for.”
His words hit me right in the middle of my chest, and I feel them profoundly, causing my heart to ache and leap all at once. I lean back against him, turning my face until my lips find his cheek as I whisper, “Yes. Yes. I love it.”
My attention shifts back down to the paper in his hands when he reveals the second design. I suck in a breath, leaning forward as I take in the image. It’s perfect—absolutely perfect. This is what I wanted—this is what I was hoping for. This is all Coder. And yet, at the same time, it’s all me, too.
He’s drawn a beautiful feather, maybe about seven inches from stem to tip, and two inches tall at its widest point. Inside of the outline, instead of looking like an actual feather, he’s filled it with an assortment of intricate tribal designs—except it’s not the least bit masculine. There are four of five different sections that come together to form a cohesive image, and he’s weaved flowers into a couple of the patterns displayed. The feather itself is slightly curved, as if it’s falling, and beneath it, along the edge, there’s an incredibly delicate script, so fine I can barely make it out.
“What does it say?” I whisper, not daring to look away from it.
“We fight to keep our promises. Willow took care of the font for me.”
Overwhelmed with how amazing this gift has turned out to be, my eyes well up with tears I don’t even bother blinking away. I swallow the small knot in my throat as I ask, “Where does it go?”
He sets the pages down, and my breath catches in my throat as he starts to inch up the hem of my shirt. When he’s got the right side hitched up over my breast and under my arm, he curls his fingers beneath the side of my bra, tracing a line across my ribs, just below the swell of my breast. His touch makes my skin break out in goose pimples as I imagine the feather where he’s designed it to be.
I don’t think twice before I pull my shirt from over my head, dropping it on the desk. My heart pounds fast and hard in my chest as I remove my bra next, allowing it to fall to the floor before I turn to face Coder. I then circle my arms around his neck and press my naked breasts against his chest.
“Do it,” I whisper. “I’m ready, baby. Mark me.”
“Fuck,” he whispers, bringing a hand up to grip a fistful of my hair. “That’s my girl.”
“I love them. Both of them—but especially the feather. It’s just right. Thank you. Thank you so much. I love you, and I want my body to say so. Forever.”
“Mack,” he grunts, closing his eyes as he touches his forehead to mine. “If you don’t stop talking, I’m gonna have to fuck you right now.”
I bite my lip in response, keeping my mouth shut. Not that I’m opposed to having him inside of me in his office—it’s happened before—but not on a day like today. The next time he enters my body, I want to be tatted.
After a moment of silence, Coder sighs, presses a quick kiss against my lips, and then demands I get up. I do as he says before he grabs my shirt, pulling it back over my head. “You know how much I love your tits, babe. Not looking to be hard the entire time I’m working on you. I’m going to start with your wrist. The
ribs can be tough—we’ll get your adrenaline pumping first, yeah?”
“’Kay.”
He takes me to the chair and then gets everything set up. The sound of the tattoo gun seems a whole lot more menacing when I know it’s coming for me, but I brace myself the best that I can. At first, it hurts more than I was expecting, but Coder distracts me from the pain, insisting that I tell him about my day at the hospital in vivid detail. Pretty soon, the needle doesn’t seem so unbearable, and I try to relax, watching my man do his thing.
It only takes him about twenty minutes to finish my arm piece. He then patches me up and settles me on my side so that he can work on my ribs. He wasn’t kidding about how much more this would hurt. I cry a little, making me feel like a total wuss. I try to hide my tears from Coder, but to no avail. He doesn’t stop, though. He keeps going, reminding me that taking breaks will only prolong the processes. Knowing he’s right, I seal my eyes closed tight and bear it; all the while, he encourages me, assuring me that I’m doing great and it’ll look amazing when he’s done.
It takes him over an hour to complete my side. As soon as we’re finished, he wipes me clean and grabs his handheld mirror, holding it up so that I can see. I stare at it for a long time, at a loss for words. Amazing doesn’t begin to describe how it looks or how it makes me feel. Certain that anything I say would fall short, I don’t speak at all. I lift my eyes until they meet his, hoping that he understands all that it is that I’m saying by not saying anything at all.
“Yeah?” he mutters.
I nod, reaching for his face as I lean forward, brushing my lips against his. “Oh, yeah,” I whisper.
I feel his mouth curve into a smile as he grabs my right wrist, bringing it down until it’s resting on the impressive bulge he’s sporting inside of his jeans. “Babe—I’m going to fuck you now.”
“’Kay.”
There really is no sense in arguing. When Coder wants inside of me, he always finds a way. He has seduced me more times than I can count, and he always makes it worth my while. Always. It’s never only about him, which is just another reason why turning him down is simply denying myself. Some may find me submissive, and I wouldn’t disagree. Since that very first night, the night I offered him my virginity, my body has been his. Just as I gave him the freedom to ink my skin, I’ve granted him the right to claim me whenever he needs. He’s never given me any reason to doubt that he respects me and loves me and would die before he’d ever do anything to humiliate or hurt me.
He helps me out of the chair, holding onto my waist as he captures my mouth with his. He kisses me as we move, slowly making our way to his desk, his feet well aware of where we’re going without the aid of his eyes. When my backside hits the front of his desk, he unfastens the top of my jeans before shoving his hand into my panties. A small whimper sounds from my throat as his fingers graze my clit, coaxing my arousal. It doesn’t take long before I’m ready and anxious for him. As soon as he’s satisfied with his handy work, he spins me around, and gently presses my chest down onto his desk.
He tugs my jeans and my panties down my thighs, and then I listen as he frees himself from his own clothes. I suck in a breath when he gathers both of my wrists behind my back, holding them captive in one hand as he slides his dick inside of my warm, wet center. With my legs pressed against each other, he’s forced to squeeze his way in. As he stretches me open and fills me completely, I swear, he’s touching every bit of my core.
He begins to rock his hips, slowly at first, and then faster and faster. I press my forehead against his desk, biting my lip in an effort to keep myself silent. It’s a battle I’m sure I’ll soon lose as he pounds into me harder. It feels so good—urgent and raw and greedy. He’s not taking his time at all, but I love it. I can hardly catch my breath, and his soft grunts from behind me spur me on even more.
“You close, baby?”
“Close,” I breathe.
I turn my head, resting on my cheek as he frees my hands. I wonder what he’s doing until the places them palm down on either side of my head, lacing his fingers through mine. He leans over me, his t-shirt felt against my back as he bucks his hips.
“Will you come on my cock if I talk dirty to you, baby?” His voice is low, rumbly, and so very sexy, making me crazy with his big dick ramming in and out of me.
“Coder,” I mewl, clenching his fingers between mine.
“You like it when I fuck you on my desk, don’t you? You love it slow and sweet, but you crave it fast and dirty—that’s my girl.”
I moan, his hot breath against my ear making my nipples tingle.
“Fuck, baby, my ink on your skin—goddamn, it’s got me so hard for you.” He kisses the space just below my ear, using a little tongue, and my eyes roll into the back of my head as I enjoy what he’s giving me—both gentle and hard.
“Honey…”
“Come for me, baby. Give me you.”
As if he’s just said the magic words, I clamp down around his dick, pulling forth his release, and we climax together. I whine softly, desperate to free the cry inside of me, but knowing that I can’t. Not here, anyway.
Coder surrenders his weight on top of me when he is spent, his lips seeking out my neck as he delivers a few, sweet kisses. I don’t want to move, not wishing to lose the feel of him from inside of me, but I also recognize that I’m more than half naked on his desk, and this isn’t exactly an ideal position to be in—locked door or not.
“Honey?”
“Need a minute,” he mutters.
My insides go squishy, and I suddenly don’t care where we are, so long as he wishes to keep me close for a moment longer.
“Babe?”
“Yeah?”
He doesn’t respond right away, and then he sighs before pressing a kiss into my hair. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
Kissing me one more time, he mutters, “Don’t move.” After he pulls out of me and yanks up his jeans, he heads to the sink and wets a couple paper towels before he comes to clean me up. Ten minutes later, after he’s covered my second tattoo and I’m back in my clothes—sans bra—he pulls me into his arms as he glosses over the tattoo care instructions I’ve heard him recite a million times. When he’s finished, he lets me go, tugging up the sleeves of his shirt as he says, “I guess you’ve got to go get ready.”
“Yeah. I’m sure Brooke will start blowing up my phone any minute.”
“I’ll walk you out.” He takes hold of my left hand, and as we start to make our exit, my eyes drift down to look at my covered tattoo. That’s when I notice Coder has some new ink, too. I stop dead in my tracks when I realize what he’s done.
“Baby,” I murmur, reaching over with my free hand to graze my fingertips over the new piece. On the back side of his forearm, there are five birds in flight—just a bit bigger than mine, but still the same. With our hands linked, it’s like they’re all flying together, forming a V migration pattern. “Coder…”
Squeezing my fingers, he says, “Yours are to remind you of why you keep fighting—mine are to remind you you’re not fighting alone.”
I clap my hand over my mouth to silence the sound of my sob. It hits me so fast, there’s no stopping it. He takes a step closer to me, running a hand over my hair before gripping the back of my neck and bringing me to his chest. He dips his head, speaking into my hair as he mumbles, “Happy birthday, baby.”
I blush as I stare at myself in the mirror, wondering how I even allowed myself to let Brooke talk me into putting on this dress. She wouldn’t show it to me until my hair and make-up was done—and she had very specific instructions as to how I was to do that, too.
My hair is pulled back into a curly ponytail, a thick braid starting at my side part and wrapping around my head, the tail disguising my hair tie. I’ve left a few tendrils loose around my face, hoping to achieve the look of stylishly disheveled. My eyes are made up like usual—thick, dark eyeliner and plenty of mascara to help my eyes stand out—
though Coder has told me plenty of times that he loves my eyes with or without make-up—and I’ve kept my jewelry at a minimum, wearing only my favorite ring on my right hand.
I felt fine about how I looked until I saw the dress. Now, I’m not so sure I can leave this room.
Apparently, Coder told Brooke where he planned on putting my larger tattoo. The what he didn’t reveal, but when she asked him if she needed to keep anything in mind whilst shopping for my birthday dress, he gave her a hint that no bra would be favorable. How she got it in her mind that I could pull this off, I have no idea.
“She won’t come out.” I look through my reflection found in the mirror on the back of my door at the sound of Brooke’s voice. “I’ve seen her. She looks hot as shit—but she won’t come out.” I jump, startled when she bangs her fist on the door before she yells, “Hot as shit, Kenz! You better still be in that dress!”
That dress—a dusty pink slip dress with spaghetti straps and a V-shaped, scalloped cut neckline. The back plunges low in another deep V, leaving a ton of skin on display. I feel my ponytail brush against my lower spine, just above the small of my back. That dress is so loose, light, and short, it feels like I’m wearing nothing at all. My breasts, while small, have no support whatsoever, and the only thing preventing my nipples from poking through the light fabric are the sticky cover things Brooke gave me when she handed me that dress.
“Mack? I’m coming in.”
I shift my weight from one foot to the other, my feet already questioning how long they’ll last in the platform wedges Brooke demanded I wear. As Coder slowly opens the door, I ask myself again how I allowed Brooke to talk me into this.
When he has the door all the way open, I immediately forget about what I’m wearing, my mouth salivating at the sight of him in what he’s wearing. Black motorcycle boots, fitted, dark blue jeans, and a light denim button-up, left untucked, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His hair is wonderfully disheveled, and he looks just as gorgeous as he did the first time I ever saw him.
