Beneath This Ink

by Meghan March

  “I can call a cab. You don’t need to bother yourself with taking me home.”

  I wasn’t about to let her push me away. I slammed a fist against the red ‘Stop’ button, and she jolted when the elevator stilled.

  “What are you doing?”

  “You really fucking think I’m going to put your ass in a cab and send you home alone?”

  Her hands chafed her arms, as though trying to warm herself.

  I stepped closer, backing her into a corner. I wasn’t sure how long it would be before the stopped elevator attracted attention, so I knew I had to make my point fast.

  “You ain’t leaving this building except with me. You ain’t leaving the parking lot except with me. You ain’t spending the night with anyone but me. You seeing the pattern here, princess?”

  My words had the desired effect—they brought some life back to her. She shoved against my chest. “You can’t order me around, goddammit. I…I…will not be ordered around.”

  And then my plan backfired.

  She burst into tears and sank to the floor. She’d hit her limit.

  Shit.

  I reached down and scooped her up into my arms. I jabbed the button with my elbow and readjusted her so I could whisper directly in her ear.

  “Baby, you scared the hell out of me tonight. I could’ve lost you. Right now is not a good time to ask me to let you out of my sight. I can’t do it. I need you next to me so I know you’re safe.”

  She hiccupped through her tears, and her nails dug into my shoulders as she held on.

  “But Trey—”

  I held her tighter against me and pressed a kiss to her temple. “Shhh…It’s gonna be okay. Trey’s gonna pull through. He’s tough. He’s a fighter.”

  The elevator chimed, and the doors opened. Her crying quieted, and she clung to me as I stepped out into the deserted lobby. I’d just crossed the threshold and exited the hospital when I remembered I had my fucking bike. Shit. I couldn’t put her on the back of it. Not in this state.

  I spied a bench and stopped in front of it. “Gotta set you down for a minute, babe. To call a cab.”

  Her luminous blue eyes darted up to mine, confused. “You changed your mind?”

  I lowered her as I replied, “What? No. Just can’t put you on my bike. Should’ve driven the Tahoe. But I didn’t think beyond getting here as fast as I could.”

  Once she was seated, I reached into my pocket, palming my phone. I kept my attention on her even as I scanned through my contacts to find the cab company I normally used. Vanessa swiped at the remains of her tears with the side of her hand and seemed to pull herself together.

  “Don’t. It’s okay. The bike is fine. I’m not going to fall off.”

  I shook my head. “Don’t worry about it. This is easier.”

  I found the number and was about to initiate the call when she pushed off the bench and stood.

  “What—”

  I didn’t get the rest of my question out before she marched off toward the parking lot.

  The fuck?

  “Vanessa, wait.”

  She didn’t bother to turn, just kept walking toward my bike—which was still parked in the clergy spot I’d nabbed. I was happy to see they weren’t towing people at this hour. Either that or security bought the idea of a clergyman riding a Harley.

  I hurried after her, catching up to her just before she grabbed the helmet off the seat. “What are you doing?”

  Her lips were compressed, her brow furrowed, and her jaw set. Determined. Mulish, even. “I want to ride the goddamn bike. So let’s go.”

  I wasn’t going to argue with the woman. It was damn near four AM, and I wasn’t going to win. I wasn’t even going to try.

  “Fine. Get on. I’ll buckle your helmet.”

  She didn’t ask where we were going, and I didn’t offer. There was only one place that seemed right. So I pointed the bike back toward the lake house.

  I wanted to ride the goddamn bike.

  Traumatic experiences affect people differently. In the past, I’d always pulled myself inward, shoring up my defenses to create a private, hidden place to let the pain batter me into submission. From the outside, you’d never know the battle raging within.

  I’d been building those walls, cementing them even as I said Hail Mary after Hail Mary with Ms. Vincent. I had a feeling she was doing the same thing. Because without those walls, we’d have no choice but to break. And as women, we didn’t have time to break. We were too busy trying to figure out how to cope and fix.

  But tonight? Con had screwed up everything. His surprise appearance had derailed my emotional masonry. Instead of standing tall on my own, he’d propped me up, lent me his strength. I didn’t know how I felt about that. But now, instead of keeping everything contained, the storm was blowing out of control, and I wanted to do something crazy. Instead of numbing the hurt, I wanted to feel alive.

  I wrapped my arms around Con as we rode. He was so solid. So steady.

  I didn’t think when he pulled between the stilts of the lake house. I didn’t try to stay his hands as he removed my helmet. I didn’t protest when he led me toward the back stairs and then up and inside. I waited for him to pause inside the massive sitting room just beyond the doors.

  And then I acted.

  I shoved him toward the sofa where he’d given me the most intense orgasm I’d had since…that night he didn’t remember and I remembered all too vividly.

  “Whoa, princess. What the hell are you doing?”

  “Shut up.”

  Con’s head jerked back, and his eyebrows went up as he let me push him down into a seated position.

  I reached for the hem of the scrub shirt and…my not-quite-a-plan unraveled when I remembered that I was still gross from crawling around on the ground.

  The wave of disappointment hit me so hard, tears burned behind my eyes. I’d already cried too much tonight. I didn’t want Con to see me cry again—not when I was just feeling sorry for myself. I spun, turning my back to him, and wrapped my arms around my middle.

  “Whoa, princess.” The words were the same as those he’d spoken only a few seconds before, but this time his tone was hushed, careful. Like he was worried he was going to watch me lose it again like I had in the elevator.

  I fought back the tears and cleared my throat.

  “Do you have a shower I can use? I’m disgusting.”

  I felt the heat of his body against my back before I even realized he’d stood. For a moment I expected a smart-ass comment, and then realized I was operating on my old assumptions. He’d been nothing short of amazing tonight—a stand-up guy beneath all the ink that colored my and society’s judgment of him.

  “You can use whatever you want. Including me, if that’s what you need.”

  Jesus. I was so transparent. “It’s not… I mean… Never mind.” I breathed deeply and took a half step forward, but Con’s arms wrapped around me from behind and yanked me back against his chest.

  He whispered against my hair, “Maybe I need it, too.”

  I squirmed, and he loosened his arms, as though preparing to drop them. I twisted around to face him. His deep blue eyes lowered to mine. “Then don’t make me shower alone,” I whispered.

  I ran a hand down his rippling bicep, skimmed along the colorful tattoos on his ropey forearm, and laced my fingers with his. I wasn’t sure if he was going to take me up on my invitation until he squeezed my hand, trapping my palm against his.

  His voice was rough when he said, “Follow me.”

  I began to second-guess my offer as soon as we hit the bathroom—at the exact moment I realized he was going to see me naked under the bright lights. No dimly lit bedroom. No covers to hide under.

  Shit.

  He reached for the light switch, and I almost sighed in relief when he slid the dimmer to illuminate the bathroom only halfway.

  He’d still see me, but with the distraction of the water and the dim light, I’d be able to hide some of my
flaws.

  Con tugged his shirt over his head and tossed it to the gray travertine floor and reached inside the glass enclosure to turn on the shower.

  All thoughts of my body issues evaporated when I stared at him. My eyes feasted on the tanned and inked skin stretched over ridges of defined muscle. It’d been two years since I’d last seen him shirtless, and he’d definitely made some changes. He was still as ripped as he’d been then, but there were more tattoos. I’d be hard pressed to pick and choose exactly which were new, because unfortunately I didn’t have a photographic memory.

  Although I did find it hard to believe I’d ever forget what I was seeing right now.

  “Your turn, princess.”

  Uh. What?

  He’d turned back to me, and I’d been so caught up in cataloging the ripple of his obliques and flex of his pecs, I’d completely forgotten what I was doing.

  I dragged my eyes from his chest up to his smirking lips. He’d clearly taken note of my detailed inspection.

  He stepped toward me, and every muscle in my body clenched, including the inner ones.

  Moving slowly, as though waiting for me to back away or protest, his huge hands drifted to the hem of my scrub top. When I stayed still, he slipped both hands beneath it, skimming up the curves of my waist and ribs, raising the shirt as he went.

  “Arms up.”

  Inhaling sharply, I complied with his command, and my vision went dark for a moment as he pulled it up and over my head. Wearing only the strapless bra that had been necessary for my cocktail dress, I stood in front of him. This time it was his eyes that strayed—or rather caught on my chest as it lifted with my heaving breaths.

  Heaving bosoms.

  I don’t know where the thought came from, but it was so ridiculous I couldn’t help the giggle that escaped.

  Con froze, hands hovering just inches from my sides.

  “You about to lose your shit, sweetheart? Because we can stop right here, and I’ll pretend I’m a gentleman for once in my life, and leave you to shower in peace.”

  Trying—and failing—to wipe the slight smile off my face, I said, “It’s not that. I’m…just ignore me.”

  This time he chuckled. “Like I’ve tried to ignore you for years? Hasn’t worked yet. Doubt it’ll work now.” His eyes dropped meaningfully and lingered on my body. “Especially when I’ve got you almost naked, and I’m fucking sober this time.”

  All humor fled my brain. There was one thing I had to know; I’d been wondering about it for way too long.

  “Would you have taken me home that night if you hadn’t been drinking? I always assumed that the only reason you’d forgotten you hated me was because of the booze.”

  The backs of three fingers skimmed up the bare skin of my arm, leaving goose bumps in their wake.

  “I’ve never hated you. That’s the problem.”

  I jerked my gaze away from his hand and looked up into his blazing blue eyes.

  “But in high school—”

  “Thought we already covered the fact that the chip on my shoulder is big enough for Evel Knievel to use to jump a dozen school busses.”

  “So—”

  “The way I grew up, it’s easier—hell, safer—to pretend you don’t want something than it is to admit how you really feel.”

  “Oh,” I whispered. “I always thought…”

  “Exactly what I wanted you to think.”

  “So that night…”

  “I’ve spent more time trying to fill in those memories than I’d ever admit. It kills me that it’s nothing but blanks.” He flipped his hand, and his palm wrapped around my shoulder. “I’ve waited long enough. And you better damn well believe I won’t forget a second of what happens next.”

  I shivered, and the heat of his palm skimmed up the column of my throat, until his thumb rested under my chin. He lowered his head, tilted my face, and took my mouth.

  Reaching up, I twined both arms around his neck, burying my fingers in his hair. Con’s free hand slid down my back until it reached the band of my bra. I barely realized what he was doing before it unclasped, and the pressure against my breasts released.

  I let go of his hair and smashed one hand against my bra to hold the cups in place.

  Con lifted his head and stared down at me, confusion clear in his expression.

  I knew in that moment I had to explain my hesitancy. He’d laid a little piece of his soul bare, and I was going to do the same.

  “I have…stretch marks.”

  His eyes turned sharp. “You had a baby? Who the fuck knocked you up, and how did you keep it quiet?”

  My humiliation was complete. I stepped back, squatting to feel around on the floor for my top. I needed to be covered, because now he was studying my midsection.

  “No one, you ass. They’re from being fat.” I squeezed my eyes shut as tears threatened again. “Just…get out.”

  I wouldn’t look at him. I absolutely would not look at him.

  Until he dropped to his knees in front of me and grabbed my chin.

  “Whoa, honey. Calm down.”

  The tears that had threatened to fall dried. It was official. Con Leahy was just as dumb as every other man on the planet. I jerked my chin from his grip. “Don’t you tell me to calm down. I’m freaking calm. You’re the one who isn’t calm.”

  Finding the scrubs and using them to cover my chest, I stood and pointed to the door. “So just go.”

  I expected him to tuck his tail between his legs and skulk out of the room. Why? Because underestimating Con seemed to be a habit I couldn’t shake. I’d have to work on that.

  His trademark smirk flashed on his lips. “I don’t think so, babe.”

  I glared. “If you think this is still happening, then you’re insane.”

  “I’ve been called worse.”

  “The mood—if there was one—is gone. I just want to take a shower and crawl in bed—by myself.”

  “Too bad.” The smirk kicked up a notch, and I had to stifle the urge to smack it off his face.

  “You’re such an asshole. Get. Out.” My voice rose this time, perilously close to a shriek. Didn’t care.

  Con lunged, wrapped both arms around me, tossed me up and over his shoulder, and stepped into the hot spray of the shower.

  “Ah!” This time, there was no question that the sound coming from my mouth was a shriek. It echoed off the glass and tile. The water beat down, plastering my hair to my face. In the manhandling, I’d dropped my bra and the top. My scrub bottoms were already soaked when Con slowly lowered me to my feet. I shoved against his chest as soon as I had my bearings. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  “I’m not letting you get away again. No matter how bad I fuck up.”

  Shoving my hair away from my face, I stared up at Con’s earnest expression.

  “I’m sorry,” he started. “I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions. I just—” He jammed his fingers into his wet hair. “I don’t give a fuck about stretch marks. I just couldn’t stand the thought of someone else…having you.” He turned away, facing into the pounding spray. “Fuck. That sounds insane. It is insane. Jesus. This can’t—”

  I didn’t wait for him to finish. I slipped between Con and the tiled shower wall and dropped to my knees, soaked scrubs and all. I didn’t want to hear him say what this could or couldn’t be. I didn’t want limits. Didn’t want restrictions. For once in my life, I wanted no boundaries. No guidelines. No can’ts. I struggled with the button of his jeans, and his words dropped off.

  “What the hell are you doing?”

  “Shut up,” I told him. It was exactly what I’d told him downstairs, when I’d had my first spur of boldness. It was time to follow through, and I wanted to be the aggressor. I wanted to take what I wanted without thinking.

  I yanked at his zipper and tugged his jeans down his legs.

  Hello.

  The man went commando.

  Con’s erection bounced as the sodden denim pu
ddled on the floor.

  And hello again.

  My eyes widened. If I were a cartoon, they would have bulged right out of my head.

  A silver ball winked from the top of the head of Con’s penis, and a matching ball glimmered directly on the other side.

  “That’s new.” I wasn’t even aware I’d said the words out loud until a burst of Con’s laughter echoed in the shower.

  “Is that gonna be a prob—”

  Con’s words cut off, as though he’d been strangled, when I gripped the base of his shaft and licked him from root to tip, tonguing the bottom silver ball when I hit the head.

  “Shit, woman.”

  His thighs flexed, and I imagined that his knees went a little bit weak. I liked that idea.

  You just want to be the woman to bring this man to his knees.

  I didn’t deny the voice in my head, but I did wonder if I’d know what to do once I got him there. The vivid memories of that night played through my mind.

  Yeah, I’ll know what to do when I get him there… but only because Con had taught me.

  I closed my mouth over the head of his cock and played with the piercing before taking him deeper. His girth stretched the limits of my lips, and even with my hand holding the base, there was no way I’d be able to take the rest of him.

  Con was…a big man. A really, really big man. Like the largest penis I’d ever seen in person or on internet porn. Not that a lady would ever admit to looking at such things. It wasn’t my fault that Elle had instituted a ‘dick of the day’ texting ritual.

  Con’s hands found their way to my hair, and he smoothed it back, gripping the makeshift ponytail with his fist. My movements slowed as he cupped my cheek and guided me.

  “Just like that, baby. Just like that.” He groaned. “Jesus fucking Christ. Yeahhh.” His hips surged forward, and his cock hit the back of my throat. Tears sprang to my eyes as I gagged.

  Con slid out. “Sorry about that.”

  I didn’t let him apologize any further.

  “Shut up.”

  “You seem to really like telling me that.”

  “Only because you don’t seem to know when to be quiet.”

  “Bossy.”

  I tongued the head of his cock. “You have a problem with that?”