He nods, before backing away from me. “In that bag is enough money to keep you running for a while. The first couple of months, keep moving on. If you make it past a year, find odd jobs, not staying longer than six months anywhere. No one is downstairs right now. The prospect who is supposed to be on guard duty thinks I am going to be runnin’ in to pick up somethin’ and coming right out again. My truck is out front. It would be nice if the person that steals it would leave the keys above the visor at the bus station. Also, put on the black hoodie I have on to cover your head. Now, I’m goin’ into the bathroom, because I can’t watch you leave me.” He leans over to give me one quick kiss on the cheek before taking his hoodie off and turning to walk away.
“Hold,” I cry, running to hug him. “Please come with me. We can be together.”
He catches me, holding me close. “I wish I could, but I only know this. Where you can’t live here, I can’t live there.” His arms pull and push me away from him. “Go, Hels, before I change my mind. I don’t wanna let you go.”
I step back at his words, letting him walk into the bathroom and close the door. I don’t hesitate, placing the hoodie on before grabbing the bag to run downstairs. The clubhouse is empty. I don’t encounter a single soul. His truck is waiting for me and I ride out behind the tinted windows, past the prospect who is expecting Hold. My heart pounds inside of my chest, knowing each mile I drive toward freedom could be my last.
When I get to the bus station, I leave the truck keys where he asked before getting out. The first thing I do is buy a backpack and toiletries. Inside the brown bag is not only money but there’s also fake identification. I can’t believe he was able to get all of this done tonight. I ditch the bag, and find the first bus heading out of town.
I don’t take a deep breath until I’m back on the road, rolling along in the large motor coach, a little old lady sitting next to me.
“What is your name, dear?” she asks.
“Helen,” I tell her, not even using the name on my fake I.D. Real smart, Hels.
“I love that name. It always reminds me of Helen Keller. What a sad, but lovely story. You know it, don’t you?”
“No, I don’t think I do,” I say, glancing over at her.
“Well, let me tell you about a brave, young girl.”
“You ready for me to wrap it up?” Billy asks, indicating the Ferris wheel tattoo.
I nod. “Thank you for staying late to finish it.”
“Malik doesn’t care as long we lock everything up,” Billy says, placing a piece of plastic wrap over it.
“Yeah.” I reach for my lacy shirt and slide it on, fastening only a couple of buttons in the middle.
“Speaking of Malik, you guys good? It went from you both having this intense sexual chemistry to being all eat-shit-and-die glares,” she says, smiling at me. “You know he cares about you, right? If he didn’t, he wouldn’t be worried.”
“I know.” I don’t tell her that I will be moving on soon either way. It doesn’t matter what Malik thinks, but I hope to resolve our issues before then.
My phone chirps with an incoming text. I reach around to the back pocket of my black denim skirt for my cell phone. My heart flutters when I see that it is Vin.
Outside the shop… I need a tattoo. Know a good artist?
“Billy, do you care if I lock up?” We all have our own set of keys.
“If you need to stay late, you can have it. I’m hitting up Lowry’s for a beer. See you, lady.”
I follow her to the front, unlocking the door. “Thanks, Billy. Have a nice evening,” I say, smiling at her.
“You’re welcome. And well, well. What do we have here,” she says, looking over at Vin standing outside. “Don’t do anything I would.” She winks at me before leaving.
“Is it too late to get hooked up for a tattoo?” He stands with his hands on his hips.
In a million years, I would never have pictured me loving someone like Vin. He’s a little too clean cut, even with his face stubble. His shaggy brown hair lies haphazardly across his eyes. I glance down at his brown loafers, tan cargo shorts, and red button-up shirt that are way too straitlaced for my taste. Nothing like the leather and jeans I am used to.
“What are you wanting?” I ask, blocking his entrance.
“Well, I’ve been told that the second tattoo is artist choice,” he says, stepping closer to me.
“You think it’s a wise decision for me to place anything permanent on your body, considering you haven’t contacted me in a week? You could walk out of here with unicorns and rainbows on your ass.”
“If it would help you forgive me, I might let you.” His body stands parallel to mine. His eyes stare down, trapping me in his gaze.
I don’t know if it’s his cologne or his day job, but he has this wonderful woodsy scent that drives me insane, especially, when he is next to me. I want to bury my nose against his chest.
“Do you not care enough to call or text? I don’t understand. Are you just that busy that you don’t have a minute to spare for me?” I try to disguise the hurt in my voice with sarcasm, but it’s an epic fail as my words crack at the end.
“Don’t say that,” he whispers. “When I am away, I have to separate what is happening with us from my job, because I damn sure can’t here.” He brings his hands up to gently cradle my face. “Look at me. I’m an ass. It will not happen again—that I can promise you.”
I watch his lips slowly lower to mine, inch by inch. When they finally touch, an electric voltage sends my senses into a tailspin. I whimper from the longing overwhelming me. My hands reach up to grab his wrists as I lose myself in his eyes and our lips do the talking for us. A deep pang of longing rocks my center, as waves of lust crash against my sensitive skin.
“I missed you, Keller,” he says, breaking the spell.
My body intensely protests my retreat as I step back from him to hold open the door to Screaming Ink, inviting him in, and then locking it behind us. All of the blinds are pulled for the night and most of the lights are already turned off, except for my station. We both walk that way.
This week has made a difference that is becoming clearer by the second to me. I can’t just give him my body anymore. He deserves more—I deserve more. I need to find out if I am leaving this town with him or by myself. But first things first: I need to know where we stand.
As I walk by my chair, I accidentally rub my fresh tattoo against it. I hiss, reaching for the searing pain on my ribcage.
“What’s wrong?” He grabs my arm to turn me around.
“It’s nothing.”
He doesn’t listen to me as he reaches for my shirt to pull it up. I watch him gaze at my new tattoo. His finger hovers over the covering, outlining the air above the design.
“It’s our Ferris wheel,” he says, glancing up at me.
“Yeah, it is,” I reply, tugging the bottom of my shirt away from his hand. “Why did you come here tonight, Vin?” He visibly blanches at my words. What is the deal? It’s not the first time I have noticed that something I say upsets him.
“To see you. But now I really want a new tattoo,” he says, placing his hand on my hip. His grip closes the distance between us.
I give a strangled laugh. “A tattoo? Okay. What do you want tattooed?” I glance up at him. I don’t miss the dire need projecting from his eyes.
“Keller, I trust you. You know what belongs on my skin. Just nothing crazy big. The pain, you know,” he says, shrugging his shoulders while giving me that soul-squeezing smile of his.
How is it that I don’t have some type of heart condition, with as many times that he causes it to stop and start? He turns my world upside down, and inside out, and I love it. I crave it like my drug of choice.
I know immediately what I would give him, but I need answers before I tattoo this on his skin. He needs to understand the circumstances that surround me, because he may choose not to receive the tattoo I want to give him. And I wouldn’t hate him for it. I would
endure the pain that would threaten to tear me apart at his absence.
“Vin, we need to talk. There are some things I need to tell you,” I say, wetting my lips. My nerves are getting the best of me. “My name…”
His mouth effectively cuts off my words. This entire week disappears in a fog, the hurt carried away by the promise of this kiss. He slows down his movements, teaching and torturing me in the same instant.
“I need you to do something for me,” he says, in between kisses. “I want to hear what you want to tell me, but I need you to give me one week—just one more week, before we discuss our past or future. Can you do that for me? For us?”
Alarms go off in every corner of my brain. Something is off. When we first met, he only wanted to know about my past. And now he wants to wait? “What is going on, Vin? You used to pressure me for answers about myself and now you don’t want them? If you don’t want me, just say it.”
“It’s not that. Everything is so unbelievably complicated. I am trying to work out my situation, my job, before we make any decisions. Please? Just one week?”
I can’t believe what I am hearing, what he is saying. Maybe he’ll know more about where he will be working next in one week, what house he will be restoring.
“What tattoo are you going to give me?” he asks on a whisper.
My throat constricts as the tears gather. “I can’t tattoo what I want to without knowing there is a future for us.” I search his eyes, looking for answers.
He brings his lips tenderly to mine for a kiss, before leaning back. “You are my future. No matter what you tell me, no matter what I say… you are my future.”
We touch, our hands, mouth, and lips move in synchrony. I believe him. I really, really want to believe him. His words remove so many doubts, but the truth still remains between us, a gap not so easily surmounted. Our bodies know the meaning behind his words, recognizing the indescribable pleasure offered. But my mind craves more, knowing instantly that we have nothing without full disclosure.
My lips slow his, bringing the heat between us to a low-burning simmer. I try to take a step back.
“Tattoo me. Please,” he says, his eyes closing as he holds me tightly to him. “Whatever your heart tells you. This is me showing you how I feel, because it’s not time yet for words. We have built this relationship from broken shambles and damn it, if it doesn’t work—we will start over and build it again until we get it right.” He opens his eyes, “This is me telling you that you own me body and soul.”
I am on a precipice, anticipating the fall. This is the first time that I don’t want to take it alone. This man wants to take it with me. His eyes hold all the answers that I need.
Eagerly, I reach for the top button of his shirt and, one by one, I slowly undo them all. My hands reach under his shirt, opening it wide, and I watch my fingers spread across his hard abdomen. The heat coming off of his body makes me wet. My palms drift lovingly up his chest. He hisses as my fingertips graze each of his nipples. The corners of my mouth lift when I hear him. I want to show him how much he means to me, how much I love him. My hands slide his shirt back from his broad shoulders, pushing it down his strong muscular arms, the experience heightening my own emotions.
His eyes never leave mine as he reaches for the few buttons of my shirt. When it falls open, he takes his fingertip to press it softly to the sensitive skin below my bellybutton. His touch sets off an electric charge inside of me. His eyes lower to that one spot so he can follow his finger as it rakes up my body, stopping under the lacy pink bra. My own chin drops so that I can watch. He continues his upward ascent, between my aching breasts, and over my heaving chest, up my neck, until he rests his finger under my chin. He raises it slowly.
We stand shirtless, facing each other. My breasts rise and fall beneath my bra. Too many sensations are hammering at me—it’s almost more than I can endure. I turn to gather my supplies, giving myself a minute to center my emotions. His hands circle my waist as his mouth trails across the soft skin of my neck. The touch of his wet lips breaks my concentration. I laugh, the sound so unlike me.
“I swear, my mission in life is going to be to make you laugh,” he says, his raspy voice laced with the lust I feel.
It is hard to keep my focus on my equipment with him surrounding me, but I do it in record time. I turn, gently pushing his chest back until he falls into my chair. The look on his face captures my heart, and my soul yields to him. I place a hand over his existing tattoo, rubbing the place right underneath.
“Here?” I ask, waiting for his acceptance.
He nods, leaning back against the chair. It takes only minutes to prepare the area and my machine. I am not worried to free-hand the tattoo: the design blazes prominently in my mind. All of my years of experience come down to this one tattoo for him. In my head, it’s like I am painting by numbers, each one representing the tears that brought me here.
I press my hand against his hard pectoral muscle, flattening the area. My foot lightly steps down on the pedal, the buzzing hum a sweet sound to my ears. I press the sterile needle into his skin, the black ink transferring from my machine to him. He flinches, but keeps his eyes closed while I work in silence. Not a sound is made, but this haze of lust between us threatens to obliterate our surroundings. I hold myself back by sheer will. My teeth ache for the taste of him.
My design comes alive on his skin. I finish the outline and shade it all in gray. It is a small tattoo, centered directly underneath his date, both directly above his heart. Every time my hand slips, grazing his nipple, he groans. We are both on overload and the air still swells with bridled tension.
When I finish, I glance up at him to catch him staring at me. I lay down my machine, stripping my gloves from my hands. He lowers his gaze to look at his chest. For a long minute, he doesn’t say anything. I watch his chest rise and fall sharply. I start to stand, fearful that it isn’t something he wants. His hand moves lightning fast, grabbing my arm to pull me over him. I climb on top, my knees spread apart, surrounding his thighs. My slide-on shoes fall to the ground on either side of the chair.
His hands move to deftly undo my bra, letting it also fall to the ground as his fingers caress my back. They drift around to my chest, taking care not to touch my new tattoo. One hand moves to the heart tattoo chained on my chest above my own heart. He touches the lock, rubbing the keyhole in the center.
“You tattooed a key on my chest,” he whispers, swallowing convulsively several times.
“Yes,” I say, resting my hands on top of his shoulders. My nerves build as I massage the muscles that bunch underneath his skin.
“You gave me the key that unlocks your heart?”
I nod, afraid of my own words. His lips find mine, silently offering me a future I never dreamed of, a future even better than my best wish. He shifts back to look into my eyes.
“I understand now. It’s beautiful ink. So much more than just a design, it is part of our story, lovingly placed on my skin,” he says, knowing my soul. “It’s taking every restraint within me not to ravage your body, because I want to make love to you,” he says, unzipping my black skirt before bringing it up, carefully lifting it against my ribcage, and over my head.
His words are taking my mind and body to places they have never been before. He caresses his hands up and down my torso, careful of my new tattoo, making sure to tug my nipples when he comes in contact with them. His hands drift lower, and with one quick tug, he snaps the silk band of my panties. He sexily pulls them away from me before slipping them in the pocket of his shorts with a smile on his face. It is naughty and more than acceptable.
My lips find his, climbing every step of this sensual journey with him.
“I don’t want your restraint. I want all of you, hard and deep, erasing everything bad in my life. I want it all replaced with you,” I say, begging him as he touches and kisses me. I watch his eyes go wild from my words.
“Wait,” he says, gently lifting me off of him, so that
we both are standing. “How do I recline this thing down?”
It takes me less than a minute to have the chair lay completely back. He turns to sweep me off my feet, picking me up to sit me back down. The sight of him standing before me melts my insides. He toes his shoes off, then strips off the rest of his clothing, reaching into his pocket at the last minute for a condom.
“Lie back,” he says, his voice commanding.
I take my time, placing my body on display in front of him. His grunt of satisfaction makes me brave with my actions. My hand drifts across my abdomen, circling my navel, moving lower. I rest it on the curls displayed at the juncture of my thighs.
“Slide down,” he orders, tearing the foil packet open.
My body hums at the sound of his words. I do as he asks, scooting my butt to the end of the chair. I watch him sit on my stool, sliding it to the end.
“Spread your legs open, slowly.” He licks his upper lip.
His capable hands fit themselves under my ass, lifting me to his mouth. His tongue licks me. It laps at the small nub of my clit, before spearing me entirely. In and out, he continues to stoke this lust building between us. My body writhes under his mouth. He conquers all of my fears and insecurities with actions instead of words.
He stops, kissing his way up my abdomen. My mouth is his final destination and I wait with bated breath. I feel his body climb on the chair, tasting my skin as he moves up. He sweetly places a kiss on top of the Ferris wheel that I did for him, his eyes never leaving mine.
Oh, God! I love him. He makes me feel whole, complete, something I am wholly disjointed from. When his lips reach mine, I surrender my desire, swapping it for his. The climax builds, threatening to shatter too soon. It is hard to separate myself from his touch, to slow things down. I need him; I need this.
“I love you,” he says, entering me with a sharp thrust. He chants it, repeating it again and again, making it our love song.