Missing Ink

by E J Frost

  I turn my head and kiss what I can reach, which is the part of her hair, but it doesn’t matter. She feels it and she knows what it means: her Sir has her.

  “Means a lot you came to me and let me take of you, sweetheart. I hope you didn’t feel Logan and I were crowding you by running interference with Theo. I was proud of you for standing up to him and calling him out on his shit, but I didn’t like the way he was trying to lean on you.”

  She rubs her hand up and down my biceps. “I didn’t feel crowded. I felt defended. It was a nice feeling. It’s nice being part of this . . . it’s kind of a family, isn’t it, Sir?”

  “Very much a family, girl.”

  “Mmm.” She snuggles in a little tighter as her breathing deepens.

  I lie in the dark for a while, looking up at the ceiling. It’s still on the early side and I didn’t have the hell-day Bren did. I turn over what we learned from Theo with a small smile. While I wouldn’t wish a ruptured testicle on anyone, it does feel like just deserts. I wonder if Cinder will feel that justice has been served or whether he’ll still want to break more bones. Whatever he decides, I’m up for it. As Napa said, this is the brotherhood.

  On that thought, I finally close my eyes.

  I open them again a few hours later when Brenna begins shifting around. At first, I think she’s uncomfortable on her bad hip, but no, she’s just restless. Her breathing tells me she’s not sleeping, so I rub my hand up and down her back, enjoying the feeling of her firm body through the thin T-shirt. As I’m rubbing, she turns so my hand is suddenly on her breast. She covers my hand with hers and squeezes.

  “Something I can do for you, girl?” I grumble sleepily.

  “I’m horny, Sir,” she whispers.

  I swear, any indication of desire from this girl is a magic wand for my dick, which immediately twitches with interest.

  “Are you now? Residual adrenaline got you all hot and bothered?”

  “I think it’s just lying here with you, Sir. You make me hot and bothered.”

  I chuckle. “If you’re the one who’s hot and bothered, you can do all the work. Mount up and ride me, girl.”

  I expect my sammie to grumble, but she must really be horny because she’s shed her clothes and climbed on top of me faster than I can blink, rubbing her slick kitty over my dick, licking between my pecs as she works up and down. I catch her nape and pull her up so I can kiss her, ignoring the faint sourness of late-night breath. Her mouth is still wonderfully warm and soft and I lose myself in it for long minutes. She rubs herself all over me while we kiss, finally impaling herself when my cock reaches full mast. There was a time, not so long ago, when I couldn’t get hard without pain or cruelty, but I seem to have left that behind with my marriage. Everything about Bren is a turn-on, whether we’re playing or just fucking like we are now.

  But this day which has held a number of surprises turns out to have one more.

  Bren rides me with a will until I take her hips in my hands and set a driving rhythm that has us panting into each other’s’ mouths, laughing at the wet slapping of our bodies, and groaning as we go off like firecrackers, her clasping kitty milking my release right out of me.

  She collapses on top of me and nuzzles into my neck.

  “I love you, Sir,” she whispers.

  I rub her back and when she lifts herself off me, help her clean up with baby-wipes from the night table. When she snuggles up, I turn on my side so she can spoon to my back the way she likes.

  I lie awake and stare at the wall and consider why it feels so wrong to say those words back to her.

  Chapter 21

  I am a fucking idiot.

  I have moments where I think I’m actually on top of my shit. I kicked three grown men’s’ asses yesterday, right? I must have something going for me, at least in the kicking department. But the only thing I’m kicking this morning is myself when I wake to an empty bed and the first thought that crosses my mind is that I told Mac I loved him last night, and he turned his back on me without saying a word.

  He's probably just gone for a morning run, the way he usually does. I know that, in my head. Tell that to my idiotic heart which is sniveling all over the bed. Why didn’t I just keep my mouth shut? Just because he was there for me during a shitty day, giving me everything I needed and so much more, did I really have to break out the three little words?

  “Fuck me.” I tell the ceiling. The small cracks in the white paint stare back at me and I swear they’re judging my midnight madness. Unable to handle their verdict, I roll over and fumble my phone off the bedside table. It’s almost nine. I’ve slept for nearly twelve hours. I stretch and crack my neck. My body feels good: warm and light and pleasantly sated. None of the weird soreness I felt after the fight. The bruising on my knuckles has faded to purple and green. When I flex my hand, there’s only a twinge. I roll out of bed and do a couple of toe-touches to limber up. My hip’s a little tight but after training with Kru for years, I know how to kick without aggravating my injuries. Overall, my body feels good. It’s just my heart that’s dragging ass.

  I pull on the T-shirt Mac gave me to sleep in last night, since I think his precious concert shirt was a one-off to make me feel better, and the owl-print socks I borrowed from Emily yesterday, wind my dreads up into a pair of space buns, and head downstairs. The door to the great room is open and I can hear voices. I take a moment before walking through to parse through the voices and compose myself. I will not be clingy this morning, no matter fucking what. Shiny, shiny, shiny Brenna.

  I plaster on a smile and march through into the kitchen. The bikers are already here, standing at the kitchen island, drinking orange juice that Logan’s probably just squeezed. He’s still torturing citrus fruit in his huge metal guillotine while Mac fries bacon and Emily works the waffle-maker.

  “G’morning,” I say cheerily. “How can I help?”

  Emily lifts her head and gives me her sunshiny morning grin. “Could you make coffee?”

  “On it.”

  The coffee machine’s on the far side of the kitchen from where Mac’s cooking the bacon and I don’t need to go near him to get there, but, because I’m an idiot, I walk over, stretch up on my toes, and give him a kiss on the cheek as I pass. “Good morning, Sir. Thanks for letting me sleep in.”

  “Good morning, girl. Start the coffee and meet me in the bathroom. Rule seven.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  It takes me less time to fire up the coffee machine than it does for him to finish the bacon, so I have time to get fidgety as I wait for him in the bathroom. He’s wiping his hands when he walks in and closes the door behind him. He takes a hand towel off the rack next to the sink and tosses it on the floor.

  “Get on your knees and offer me your mouth, girl.”

  His face is inscrutable. None of the softness of yesterday. His eyes are a hot, August blue, but there’s not much warmth in them. I can’t get a read on his mood and it makes me a jittery as I get down on my knees, letting my gratitude for the towel to soften the tile show in my face, and open my mouth.

  He doesn’t give me much time to lick and suck him before he’s going down my throat. He pins my head between his hard abdomen and the sink, his hand cupping the back of my neck so I’m not whacking against the quartz countertop with each thrust. Despite that consideration, he doesn’t take it easy on me, fucking my face until the tears run down my cheeks and I’m fighting what little gag reflex I still have. He doesn’t draw it out—this is just pure domination, although his groans tell me he’s enjoying it—and comes in my mouth in under five minutes. He pulls out as he comes so I get a musky mouthful that stings my sinuses and have to slurp to keep it from dribbling out of the corners of my mouth.

  “Hold it in your mouth and let me see,” Mac pants, shifting his hand so he’s cupping my chin. He’s held my eyes throughout the blow job and I’m still not sure what’s going on behind his. He looks almost angry.

  Whatever his mood, his domination is do
ing it for me. I hang from his hand, a submissive puddle, my mouth open and my tongue cupped to keep his jism from spilling. He finally nods and I swallow gratefully.

  “Real talk, girl.”

  I swallow hard for a different reason. “Yes, Sir?”

  “I heard what you said after we fucked.”

  “Yes, Sir.” My stomach is in freaking free-fall. If I thought waking up alone and feeling like an idiot was bad, this is a thousand times worse.

  “Do you need me to say those words?”

  “I—uh.” I’d like him to. If he means them. If he feels them. Not if he doesn’t, of course. And if he doesn’t, then I need to stop saying them. “I’m guessing you don’t want to, Sir?”

  I phrase it as a question. Maybe if he doesn’t feel pressured—

  “No, Bren. Do you understand why?”

  I thought my heart cracked over Naomi but I didn’t know how deep and wide the chasm in my heart could be. The Marianas fucking Trench opens in my chest. I might have been a little muddled and vulnerable last night, but I meant what I said. I haven’t told a man I loved him since Edz and at least he said it back. I haven’t said it since. Not to Ten; not to Rob; not to a single person who has topped or fucked me. Now I find my Sir and he doesn’t reciprocate my damn feelings? What the fuck is wrong with me?

  Mac’s eyes harden even further. “Don’t do that.”

  “Do what?” I’m on my knees with my head pressed against the sink cabinet and my mouth still full of the taste of his come and his wet dick hanging six inches from my face. What the hell does he think I’m doing?

  “Don’t pull back from me. I’m not rejecting you, girl.”

  He’s not? Because it sure as fuck feels like rejection. It stings and seers and rips just like every other rejection I’ve ever felt only this is deeper because I fucking let him in when I never let anyone in and this is exactly why.

  “Talk to me, Bren,” he says. “Is this a big thing for you?”

  Is it? Isn’t it? Isn’t it a big thing for everyone?

  “Are you—are you still in love with Amy?” I force out.

  “No,” he says slowly. “She killed those feelings long ago. But those words are reserved in my mind for my wife and daughter.”

  A tear spills before I can blink and I dash it away with the back of my hand, which reminds me of the bruises decorating my knuckles. Idiot. I take a deep breath. Shiny, shiny, shiny Brenna. He’ll never tell me he loves me. So what?

  “Okay, Sir. I understand.”

  “Do you?”

  I square my shoulders and when he doesn’t stop me, push up off the floor, grabbing the towel as I rise, dusting it off, and hanging it back on the rail. “I do, Sir. It’s fine.”

  Mac’s eyes narrow. “Nothing any woman’s called fine actually was.”

  “This is,” I say firmly. “I hope me saying it last night didn’t freak you out.”

  “No, girl. I wasn’t freaked out.” But the slight wildness in his eyes says he was, and I feel the trench in my heart open a little wider.

  “Yesterday was a lot to handle, Bren,” he says as he tucks his cock back into his sweatpants. He didn’t even undress for his blow job, just pulled his pants down enough to get his cock out. At any other time, that would add to the shivery excitement of being treated like his fuck-hole, but this morning it just makes me sad.

  Sadder.

  “It was, Sir,” I agree. “But that’s not why I said it. I do feel that way about you. I won’t say the words if they make you uncomfortable, but I’m not ashamed of what I feel.”

  “Girl.” He shakes his head and reaches for me. I put my arms around him but it feels stiff and awkward. “I’ve gone about this wrong. I wasn’t trying to make you feel ashamed. Those words are special. They shouldn’t be said lightly or without commitment.”

  I didn’t say them lightly. Or without commitment. But I’ve seriously had enough of this conversation.

  “Yes, Sir. I understand.”

  “I don’t think you do.”

  I understand enough. I understand that I’ve idiotically thrown my heart at another man who doesn’t—or doesn’t want to—love me back.

  “No, I get it. Those words are reserved for marriage for you. I know how seriously you took your vows, Sir. I admire you for that. I’m not trying to compare my feelings with what you felt for your wife. Maybe those are the wrong words.” I certainly won’t be saying them to him again. “I’ll try to find better ones.”

  Mac shakes his head, but he doesn’t say anything more. When I pull away, he lets me go.

  He stays in the bathroom for a moment to wash his hands and when he joins everyone at the table, I could swear his eyes are red and look wounded . What does he have to be wounded about? I’m the one who just got her heart kicked back between her freaking teeth.

  But I’m shiny, shiny, shiny. I pass the waffles and the bacon and make another pot of coffee after the first one runs out. I laugh at everyone’s jokes and make a few of my own. I assume an appropriately serious expression when we recap—again—what happened yesterday. Napa tells us he’s gotten through to the Imperial Wizard of the Fairskin Knights via whatever mysterious means bikers have. Although he also told Napa to fuck off several times, the Wizard swore any action against me or Missing Ink was not Knight business.

  “Mr. Wizard wouldn’t give me Move On’s name, but the guy who gave me an in with the Knights thinks his name is Leslie Thomas. The tattoos fit.”

  Logan gets busy with his phone and I’m pretty sure he’s texting Max.

  The scary, bald sergeant at arms, Cinder, says, “What’s important is that there won’t be any retaliation by the Knights against Brenna. You’re in the clear, honey.”

  “Thank you,” I say, digging deep among the pieces of my heart to sound appropriately grateful. Going by the look Emily throws me from across the table, I don’t succeed. “Do you think I can open the shop again?”

  Mac and Logan shake their heads in unison. It’s kind of eerie watching them do shit like that. They’re so in tune. I know straight guys don’t say “I love you” to each other, unless they’re very drunk, but I wonder if Mac’s ever told Logan he loves him. I bet he has. They’re closer than brothers in some ways. The thought settles like a weight in my chest and squashes the remnants of my heart flat.

  “Give it another day, Bren,” Mac says. “Let us track down Move On as well. Once we’ve got all three of these dickheads muzzled, we’ll take out the camera and you’ll be good to reopen.”

  Do I argue with him? It’s still my business, not his. I should be making the decisions. But he and Logan are so security-conscious, and I wouldn’t ever do anything to put Nicky or Jules or my clients in danger. I’m not going to ignore good advice just because he’s hurt me this morning. I sigh and take out my phone to text Nicky and Jules. “Okay, Sir.”

  His warm hand lands on my bare thigh and rubs lightly. That’s the first time he’s touched me since he came out of the bathroom. It comforts me a little, it also makes the gouging sensation in my chest sharper. Why do I keep throwing my damn heart at guys who don’t love me back?

  Logan’s phone pings and he nods as he reads the message. “Max got a possible address for Thomas. It’s within the service area of that IP address that kept hitting your Google page, Bren. Good match.”

  “Lo, can you tear yourself away from the CCTV footage for an hour or two to knock on Move On’s door while I head to the hospital?” Mac asks.

  A slightly charged look passes between them. Logan’s eyes fall first. “I’ll take Manny to make an impression.”

  He starts tapping his phone again.

  Mac nods grimly. “I think we’ve got ourselves a plan.”

  The men all nod and I feel excluded from something that I should be a central part of. But something in me—not located in my chest—understands. These guys are all alpha males. They look civilized on the outside. They work within society’s constraints, more or less. But you don’t have t
o scratch very far beneath the surface to find their inner cavemen, and when one of their women is threatened, the caveman roars out of his cave, beating his chest and ready to kill.

  I should be grateful for that. Mac cares about me enough to protect me.

  Instead, I just feel a little defeated.

  Emily catches my eye again and tips her head toward the seating area and massive TV.

  “Yeah, a movie sounds good,” I say.

  Logan smiles at his subbie. “What’s in the cards today, baby doll?”

  “A blanket fort and Brave , Daddy.”

  “The movie with the red-haired girl? That’s a good one. Do you want Max and Cynnie to come over and watch with you?”

  “No, Daddy. Just me and Bren today.”

  Logan draws Emily to him and kisses her forehead. “Good girl. I’ll me home in time for lunch and if I’m going to be later than one, I’ll call.”

  “Ta, Daddy.”

  Emily waits for another forehead kiss before she’s up out of her chair and dragging me out of mine. I don’t get a forehead kiss, but, to be fair, Emily moves like a ninja sometimes and I’m dragged along behind her before Mac even has a chance to lift his hand off my leg.

  She pulls me upstairs and piles pillows and blankets into my arms. I hear the guys moving around downstairs and then the front door opening and closing as they leave.

  Emily swings around with an armful of pink sheets and pins me with a glare. “By the time Queen Elinor turns back from being a bear, you’re going to tell me what’s wrong.”

  “Nothing’s wrong,” I say, setting my jaw.

  “I call bull-pucky.”

  “Bull-pucky? Seriously? You just heard him leave.”

  “Batman Daddy can hear me swear through ten feet of concrete.” She dumps the pink sheets on the pile I’m holding, grabs some more pillows, and pushes me towards the door. “Master Mac looked like it was his testicle you crushed this morning. What the heck happened?”

  That draws a faint snigger out of me. “Nothing.”