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“I’ll put my ink on you anytime, Hellcat.”
She perks up and my dick responds in kind. It makes me a little lightheaded with how damn fast I go fully hard. I shouldn’t bend her over my tattoo chair and fuck her, but it’s really fucking tempting.
“Really?” I nod and her voice holds a little innocence and shyness which is at odds with my woman, “Are you busy now?”
“I’m yours for the rest of the day,” I admit.
Her eyes sweep over my body and turn hungry. Before I can reach for her and pull her into my lap to devour her mouth, which is what my body is screaming for me to do, she turns and tugs up her shirt to show me her shoulder.
“I have some space right here,” her words sound like they’re coming to me through water because all I can see is the creamy expanse of her back.
I want to cover her skin with my kisses. I want to taste every inch of her.
With a shake of my head, I push those thoughts away because now is not the time.
Soon.
Very fucking soon because I haven’t enjoyed being with a woman for so long. Wanting her still feels a little foreign, but that sure as fuck is not going to stop me from taking her. She’s mine.
“Do you have anything in mind?”
She drops her shirt and turns back toward me, a smile on her lips which has my heart beating faster in my chest. The trust I see in her brown eyes fucking slays me. She shouldn’t trust me. I’ve failed a woman before, my own sister.
She should be running.
But she isn’t.
“I do, but I’m going to say it’s artist’s choice this time. I trust you,” Rebel’s voice is a balm to my soul—soothing pieces of me so broken I was sure they would never knit back together again.
But they are. With her trust, with her words, with her faith in me.
It’s a mindfuck, one I should be pushing away and not allowing in my life. But I can’t stop it now and, if I’m honest with myself, I don’t want to.
I want this little spitfire of a woman who has a don’t mess with me vibe coming off her in waves, but the sweetest fucking smile I’ve ever seen outside of the other old ladies my brothers have found. I hope she can take the lifestyle. It can get rowdy, and the club angels won’t like her, even though I’ve never touched any of them. At least I have that going for me—she has no competition when it comes to the club and women.
Some of my brothers had uphill battles on their hands when they found their women. Friar was damn lucky that he met Robyn so far away from the club. I bet the angels would have tried to rip Robyn apart, but they were solid by the time they arrived in Seattle, and nothing was going to shake them. Not even a jealous bitch.
I nod and turn away from my woman to look through some sketches I already have. There’s one I have in mind that will be perfect for her. I don’t know why I haven’t offered it to someone before. Maybe I was saving it for Rebel. When I find it, I glance over my shoulder to find my woman watching me intently.
“I’ll get set up. Come, sit,” I point to the chair and swallow hard, my voice turning to gravel in my throat, “and take your shirt off.”
Rebel smirks at me, the twist of her lips making my cock throb behind the fly of my jeans. She doesn’t say a word as she follows my instructions. Forcing myself to look away from her back, I get everything ready for her tattoo.
It doesn’t take me long, the ritual of it calming me and helping me to focus on the task instead of the gorgeous woman waiting for my mark. When I turn toward her, I take a deep breath because she’s not only removed her shirt, but her bra as well. Fucking hell.
It doesn’t take long to get the stencil in place and get to work. We don’t talk a lot while I’m working, the silence around us content instead of awkward. We chat a little about my shop and how long I’ve been open as well as some of my history with the DSMC. There’s nothing heavy about the conversation and she opens up a little with me about her business and what she does.
I’m kind of in awe of her. She’s built something from nothing using skills she has, while doing something she loves to do. I’m damn proud of her.
It’s a strange sensation in my chest—to feel so much pride when it comes to my woman.
I haven’t felt that for anyone outside of the club in a long damn time.
While I’m working, I come to terms with how much everything has changed so quickly. Part of me thinks meeting Rebel is fate, a path put in front of me by Sofia. She would hate to know I was wallowing in my pain and misery. It wasn’t the type of person she was and, if she were still here, she’d have kicked my ass a long time ago.
I’ve always known that, but it didn’t make failing her any easier.
When I’m done, I sit back and look at the butterfly and notebook paper with flower doodles. It feels like a representation of both of us on her skin. I smirk when I notice my name hidden in the design. I don’t know if she’ll notice it right away, or ever, but I know it’s there.
