Brand Me (Imagine Ink Book 2)

by Verlene Landon

  They all hoped that Michael being the charismatic person he was would, at the very least, bring awareness to the reality of male rape. Finally, the active part of their challenge, for now, was over. Waiting was the next order of business.

  And waiting.

  And waiting.

  One morning on their run, they rested at the other side of the lake. Tori spoke first, “I think we should keep the cabins, don’t you?”

  Michael pulled her onto his lap facing him and rocked gently against her through their running clothes. “I was thinking the same thing all along, just rent them out. But unlike before, I’m thinking we will actually visit. I did sell the other two, to buy Tonya out, but kept the ones that we’d use.” Kissing along her neck raised fleshy bumps on both of them.

  “Then it’s settled. We keep the cabins, and when we have kids, we bring them to vacation here, but we make sure they have happier memories than you.” Tori freed his cock and moved her shorts to the side; he sank into her with a sigh.

  Michael had finally received his clean bill of health and Tori, at last, got to experience him skin to skin. It was fitting that this “first” come on the heels of a run, in nature. It felt so right, so natural…and so damn good.

  “Yes, but right now, less talking, more fucking.”

  Their cabin routine was just that, routine, but not in a boring way. They enjoyed the time alone. Even though Tori missed bonding with Willow and helping Erika and Walker, her mother had been right all along, this is where she needed to be. That’s another relationship that would need some TLC after the fallout of all this mess.

  But the waiting was wearing on her nerves. She needed to know if her first child would be Michael’s, too. Not that she was pregnant yet, because she wasn’t. Though they weren’t exactly trying to prevent it at this point. Deep down, she wanted to share that first child experience with him.

  Tori meant what she said, any child of his was welcomed in their home, but could she love it the way she should? She prayed about pregnancy, constantly it seemed. Prayed she soon would be and prayed Wendy wouldn’t, but that ship had sailed. Wendy was, in fact, pregnant, and Tori was, in fact, not. Now her prayer could only consist of paternity. Does it make me a bad person to wish that the baby had another father?

  That track of thought always sent her down the path of what if there’s another victim. Sure, that freed Michael, but possibly condemned another to be silent in his pain. Even though Wendy didn’t strike her as a serial rapist, just an ignorant person, she wouldn’t wish for another to go through what Michael or Troy went through.

  Wanting to tell Michael her fears, but not wanting to give him reason to doubt her commitment to him and any children of his, she kept it inside, and it was slowly poisoning her. When will this nightmare end? No sooner had the question tiptoed through her mind, than she heard the hum of the Bobcat. She stepped onto the porch with Michael at her back. She had her answer.

  In about two minutes.

  Just a few ticks of the clock and this part of the nightmare would be over, but would a new one begin? It was the longest two minutes of her life, and she was sure it was Michael’s, too, if the set of his jaw was an indicator. It was like slow motion as she watched the Bobcat approach. Finally shutting down the vehicle, Stacy and John exited from their respective sides and walked toward the cabin.

  Tori shifted her gaze down and chuckled. Even in the snow, Stacy forsake practical boots for spike-heeled sex kitten ones. Somehow, she still managed to look professional. How the Hell she didn’t look like a hooker in those was beyond Tori’s comprehension. She had a pair herself, almost identical in brown and she looked slutted-up when she wore them, but then again, Stacy had a classy air about her, even when she was snorting at a joke Tori told. Yep, she snort-laughed, too. Still, there was something regal about Stacy. Maybe it was her carriage or the powerful confidence that emanated from her. Whatever it was, Tori liked it. Even she could admit it was sexy as Hell.

  Tori realized she’d let her mind wander down the yellow brick road just to avoid the nerves bubbling up in her stomach about what the next few minutes would bring. One thing was sure, it would change everything.

  The men clapped each other on the shoulder once John reached the porch. Tori grabbed Stacy and clung to her for dear life. She was afraid to let go, but also afraid not to. It was Michael’s voice that brought her out of Stacy’s embrace.

  “Well, what’s the word? You got my mail?” Tori didn’t miss the hitch there, nor did she fail to notice his trembling hand interlaced with hers. She brought the other around to wrap around the back of his in an attempt to steady his nerves, or hers. It was hard to tell who was shaking more.

  Stacy shifted toward Michael and extended an envelope. He released Tori’s hand to capture it in both of his. The manila fluttered as a direct result of his motions. It was tough to watch on many levels, but to see Michael this off-kilter was one of the worst.

  The pleading look in Michael’s eyes as he turned to Tori tore her up inside. “You’re mine, Tori, and I’m yours. No matter what, right? No matter what.” The look may have torn her up, but the words; the words filleted her very essence.

  Cradling his cheeks, lips to lips, she stated emphatically, “You are mine and I am yours, no matter what.”

  Tears sprang to his eyes and ran down her cheek. She realized that she had never shared the depth of someone else’s pain or liberation of their relief until Michael’s emotions slid in hot droplets down her own face. It was as close as she’d come to crying someone else’s tears.

  Without breaking eye contact, Michael thrust the envelope to John. “Please? I can’t.” As soon as John relieved him of his burden, his arms flew around Tori, but their faces never left each other.

  The sound of the seal being broken was intensely loud; the paper rasping out of the package, painfully slow. John’s voice mumbling to himself was torture. It was only when John spoke to them that the Earth ceased its rotation.

  “It’s not your child, man. Less than one percent chance.” His voice rose. “It’s not yours, oh, my God, Michael, it’s not yours.”

  If felt like hours, an eternity before the sound waves settled in her ears and the information relayed to her brain. Michael’s not the father. Michael’s NOT the father. As soon as it registered to Tori what that meant, she was swinging around in a circle, John and Stacy nothing more than colorful blurs on a white background with each rotation.

  Finally, she was on her feet again, and she looked up at the most devastating smile she had ever seen. “Oh, babe, it’s not mine. That means you’ll give me my first kid, and that? That fucking slays me.”

  “Oh, Michael, me too. I didn’t say anything, but it wasn’t going to be easy and…”

  Effectively cutting her off with his most talented tongue, she lost herself in the velvet feel of him invading her mouth. He broke the kiss to pepper smaller ones on her lips, nose, and eyes. “I know, Princess, I know, but you were standing by me anyway and I can’t tell you what that means to me. I love you, and I can’t wait to start a family with you, but first, we need to get hitched. What do you say, courthouse tomorrow morning?”

  “My mother would have a coronary, she’s had my wedding planned since before I hit puberty, a big southern affair outdoors under the magnolia trees. It would absolutely kill her if we denied her that.”

  “Didn’t she make an exception for your bother and Erika? They got married in the hospital and they are giving her the dream wedding after the fact. Why can’t we do the same, even horn in on theirs? Wouldn’t she love that, both her kids getting married, together under the magnolia trees?”

  Staring into his eyes, Tori knew she was lost, she could deny him nothing, plus he was right, Francis Reid would eat that shit up with a spoon. He was so excited and happy. She would move Heaven and Earth to keep him that way.

  “I can never say no to you Michael Illanipi Brande.” Michael’s eyes sparkled with mischief. She turned her attention to
ward John and Stacy and announced, “What do you say, folks, want to go to a last minute wedding tomorrow?”

  Laughing and nodding in the affirmative, Stacy and John said their goodbyes and made their way back to the vehicle. Michael held her from behind, resting his chin on her head as they watched until the Bobcat was out of sight.

  Tori broke away and headed for the door. Michael caught the handle and held it open for her and as she made her way past him, he caught her by the wrist, pulling her closer.

  He rasped in her ear in that sex and whisky voice of his, “I won’t forget you said that later.” When she looked at him trying to connect the dots, he added. “Never telling me no? I’m going to hold you to that, Princess.”

  Tweaking his nose playfully, she added. “I was hoping you’d catch that, Wingman.”

  With a wink, she sashayed into the cabin and Michael smacked her ass and entered close on her heels.

  Once inside, he had her prisoner in his arms, and posed a question while feeling her up. “Tori, I’ve been curious since your note, why did you sign it happily melted?” His hands and lips were wreaking havoc on the part of her brain that did her thinking. Kissing the crisp hair that teased her through the vee of his shirt, she spoke to his chest.

  “Ever see Frozen? You, Michael, are worth melting for.”

  Dear Reader

  Thank you for reading this book. If you loved reading about Tori & Michael as much as I loved writing about them, let your voice be heard by leaving a review. It is not only an amazing gift for an author, but it’s a hella useful tool for other readers.

  Read on for a peek into IRREVOCABLY MINE, Imagine Ink 3.

  Sneak Peek - Imagine Ink 3

  It’s fucking déjà vu all over again, Big Dax mused with a reflective sigh.

  Me, sitting here eye-humping Stacy; her, pretending not to notice; the rest of this patchwork family that I fucking love stupid, blind to it all, as usual.

  His hungry gaze devoured her from the top of her platinum head to the four-inch spikes of her red-soled heels but he somehow managed to catch snippets of the conversations taking place around him.

  Gus was seated to his right, debating the finer points of MMA with Stacy’s brother, John. Dax would bet his right nut—yes, it’s my favorite—John didn’t give two shits about MMA, but he damn sure did about Augusta, or Gus as everyone called her. John was so far down that rabbit hole, he’d probably sit there and discuss vagina maintenance tendencies in the elderly community of The Villages if that’s what she wanted to talk about. Good thing I’m not that deep.

  Before the “p” sound faded in his gray matter, a realization he wasn’t ready to accept yet reared it’s ugly head and taunted him…again. Aw, Hulk’s hairy green taint, John is just following the Goddamn trail I blazed.

  Dax was beginning to realize he was similar to a hunk of oak he made tables from or a chunk of metal he forged into something lethal—a metaphorical blank dermal canvas that could be inked into a living work of art. It was all just raw material until a craftsman carved, forged, or inked it into something more. In the past few months, Stacy had made her marks on him. He was no longer completely raw. Something different was taking shape, a chrysalis effect.

  Stacy is already my master craftsman and I haven’t even kissed her yet.

  Tori and Erika, the two ladies he considered sisters in every sense of the word, were just inside the kitchen chatting it up. You know, love ‘em to death, but they make your life hell with their meddling; sisters. They droned on about the same thing they'd been plotting for over a year now, throwing Dax at Gus, or Gus at Dax—different path, but same destination.

  Those two adorably well-meaning, but clueless, women were the reason four of the ten adults here at the Reid’s home on this fine summer day in Florida were more miserable than the investors in the Member’s Only corporation in 1990. It wasn’t like he was the only one with ears. Gus suffered their misguided attentions, too. It was pretty much public knowledge at this point; they were playing matchmaker for Gus and Dax.

  Even though they weren’t the least bit interested in each other that way, neither had the guts to take a piss in Erika and Tori’s Cheerios. Dax wasn’t one to sprinkle feel good between all the truths, but he was loathe to upset the fragile balance this family-by-choice had finally achieved after a year that would make even his ancestors, the historic Vikings, cringe.

  In just twelve short months, this clan had seen tragedy, assault, death, birth, and, lucky for them, much love too. His attention was diverted back to Stacy as she gracefully swept past where he sat and disappeared down the hall. As he was being hypnotized by the perfect sway of hips, Francis’ heated words almost gave him whiplash as he spun his head around like Linda-freaking-Blair.

  What? Dax stuck a finger in his ear and shook it in an attempt to clean it out to ensure he was hearing things correctly and he stared, dumbfounded, in the direction of Francis’ voice.

  Francis was the matriarch, the thread that held the scraps of the quilt of this family together. She was short, sassy, and southern, but she would turn into a freaking beast to protect every single one of them against anyone, even each other. She was intuitive, like him. They both seemed to observe things on a deeper level than most, and neither shied away from saying so as a rule. The evidence of that trait in her is blowing me away right now.

  She was standing up to his sisters. He knew she was serious too, because she was using phrases like “bless your heart,” “just because you slap butter on it, don’t make it a biscuit,” and “for the love of grits.” She knows, she fucking knows. Well, bless her heart, and not in the sarcastic southern way either, Dax thought.

  Francis could see he and Gus were a no-go, but more than that, she could see what Tori and Erika’s TattooArtistMatch.com efforts were doing to the people they called family. She was spelling it out for them and telling them to back the truck up, but in a sweet as iced tea way, of course.

  Aw, fuck me stupid. Dax’s brain turned to oatmeal, his lungs, frozen. His heart hammered in his chest like a muscle car piston and his dick tried to break out of Levi Prison and hump Stacy’s leg like one of Tori’s Great Danes.

  Stacy was emerging from the hall in a white, one piece swimsuit and some see-through sheer cover-up that covered absofuckinglutely nothing, and those fuck-me pumps. As she turned to open the screen slider, he caught a glimpse of that delectable crease at the bottom of her ass cheek that led into a soft thigh that would feel like Heaven on his shoulder. Fuck yes, that is the exact location I will grip her sweet body while I wax my beard.

  Dax rose from his seat and trailed Stacy out onto the pool deck where the rest of his family was hanging out. This is going to happen, damn it. Stacy will be mine. Francis had paved the way and basically stamped her approval on it with her words to his sisters. She’s the sheriff around these here parts, and we are all just lawfuckingabiding citizens.

  Even though he wasn’t biologically related to the Reids, Francis was standing up to the daughter she gave birth to, Tori, and Erika, her daughter-by-marriage to her son, Walker. She was standing up for Dax, her son by choice, and by extension, she was fighting for Gus, Stacy, and John. She loved all her “kids” with equal ferocity.

  One thing Francis had said in her efforts to explain to Erika and Tori what their good intentions were costing really resonated with Dax and spurred him into action sooner, rather than later. “Erika, honey, life is made up of opportunities disguised as run of the mill moments. If we fail to see them as the opportunities they are, then they cease to be so. Once they pass, they were simply ordinary moments because we failed to seize them and make them otherwise. Is that what you want for two people that you love like crazy? Actually, four, because the effect isn’t confined to Dax and Gus.”

  That was all he needed to hear, he would not let Stacy slip into The History of Daxton Magnus Askrsson as an ordinary moment.

  Acknowledgements

  There are so many people to thank. One perso
n may write a book, but even one that self-publishes doesn’t do it alone.

  There is Lea at Fierce and Fabulous Book Diva, who goes out of her way to get my hard work recognized. She is way above fierce, and miles beyond fabulous.

  My editor, Jennifer, is another beautiful lady who goes above and beyond being “just an editor.”

  I don’t want to forget the beta readers, they do me an incredible service, and contributed to this book tremendously.

  I couldn’t do this without my family’s willingness to eat fast food, my dogs forgoing extra pets, and my husband making wine runs. They really do contribute a lot to my books without even knowing how much.

  I can’t tell you how many times I’ve run out the door to pick up my daughter at school with potato chip crumbs and chocolate smears on my face, and she never complains…in front of me, anyway.

  My husband has endured countless hours of teasing at my expense, for obvious and not so obvious reasons. His co-workers questioned my very existence until I finally put my writing down and attended an office party, over two years into his employment. Half of them still have their money on me being a hire. I think my son has it worst of all, his education schedule puts him at home with me more than everyone else. He has witnessed more meltdowns, freak outs, and “expressive” language outbursts than anyone his age should ever have to. Not to mention when I’m mumbling about story lines he’d rather not know exist. So please, buy my book, I have to pay for his therapy somehow.

  Last but not least, the haters (that’s harsh, let’s call them the dislikers). You guys propel me higher than you can imagine. I take every word to heart, even when they sting like a bitch. I process them all, transmuting my tears of shame into fuel of awesome.