by Debra Kayn
Scars that Lilly saw when she looked at him, and decided to love him for the rest of her life.
Scars that he couldn't hide.
Scars that called to him every fucking day.
At his Harley, he stopped. He looked down at his hand and found Lilly holding on to him tightly. He'd forgotten his rule of keeping his dominate hand free and hadn't protected her, but greedily accepted her support. He'd gone against what he believed and put her at risk.
She gazed at him with concern. He let go, grabbed her helmet, and passed it to her. That part of his life was over, and he wasn't going back to old addictions where he had to hurt himself. He had the woman he always wanted, and a new start to life. He wouldn't drag her down.
"Let's go home," he said, throwing his leg over the Harley.
She got on behind him and hugged his waist. He started the motorcycle and rode away, unsure where the truth would take him. He headed toward the family that protected him from himself, and maybe they'd support him one more time so he was strong enough not to lose Lilly.
Chapter Twenty Four
A low buzzing woke Lilly. She stretched her arm out, reaching for Ink, and found him gone from the bed. Panic kicked in and she opened her eyes, blinking until she could make out the shadowed form of the dresser and chair in the room.
Ink had gone to bed with her when they'd arrived home from the bar. He'd been quiet, but he'd talked about random things and answered her questions. She swung her legs off the bed and sat on the edge. The promise of sex never came and she knew that telling him what she'd overheard when she was a child upset him, but he refused to talk about it more and she'd apologized before she gave up and went to sleep.
Her stomach ached at recalling their evening. She hadn't meant to upset him. He'd brushed her concern off once they were in bed, but his silence told her that there was something about her knowing he used to cut himself when he was a kid bothered him.
The noise that had woke her came from the bathroom. She walked over and tried the handle. It was unlocked. She paused, knowing she should knock and respect his need for privacy, but they were together now. There was no reason to shut her out.
She opened the door and found Ink sitting on the edge of the tub, inking in the black designs covering his bruised ribs. Most of the time, she was blind to his outer coverings.
But right now, her stomach rolled. All she could see was what he wanted her to see. A man, covered in tattoos, hiding what was going on inside his head. She pressed her hand against her abdomen and stepped inside the small room.
Ink's foot came off the pedal on the floor and he raised his gaze. She stared back at him. Her heart ached. The pain and hesitation in his eyes came through loud and clear.
"Did I wake you?" he asked, setting the tattoo machine on the towel he had spread out on the counter.
She moved over, closed the lid of the toilet, and sat down in front of him. "I woke up because you weren't beside me."
"I'll go to bed." He removed the rubber glove he wore and stood.
She grabbed his wrist, knowing she interrupted something important to him and wanting to understand. "No...keep going. Please. I've never seen you work."
He sat back down, pulled another glove out of the suitcase at his feet, and glanced at her again, before dipping the needle in the tiny cup of ink. She wrapped her arms around her stomach, and leaned forward.
The machine shook in his hand. She studied him, knowing without asking that he'd probably never had another person watch him work on himself before. Sure, he'd given the other Bantorus MC members their flames and artwork, and she was sure that even some of the bitches sported his tattoos. However, a man who hides in the bathroom, while working on himself, wasn't a man who shared easily.
For the first time in her life, she felt alienated from Ink. Her connection with him was gone. She shivered. That truth was the loneliest feeling in the world.
While the needle touched his skin, making a mess of the blue ink against his skin, his hand remained steady. The moment he lifted the tattoo machine from his side, he shook. She laid her hand on his knee in support. The pain must be unimaginable.
He looked at her. "Okay?"
"Yeah." She nodded.
If he could put himself through the discomfort, she could stay here with him in case he needed her.
He lowered his head, pulled his skin tight with his free hand, and continued coloring in the lines. She held perfectly still, not wanting to interrupt him.
Perspiration dotted his forehead and he stopped again to push his hair back from his face with his forearm. She stood and gathered a clip out of the drawer, and pulled his hair back, securing it out of his way.
He ripped the clip from his hair, tossing it on the counter. "Ace..."
"What do you need me to do?" She sat back in front of him.
He set the machine down, ripped off his gloves, and stood. "I can't do this anymore."
She looked at his ribs. He wasn't finished. There were still spots that needed colored. Spots that weren't scarred and were bare to her eyes.
Why was he covering his beautiful unblemished skin? She gathered his hand and held it to her chest. Whatever needed to be done, she'd do it, because having him shut her out scared her. His lack of talking hurt worse than having to stay away from him.
"It's okay. If you don't want me watching, I'll go back to bed." She let him go and stepped around him. "Just yell if you need anything."
"Ace?"
She turned around. Emotions clogged her throat.
Ink's tormented eyes begged her for some unknown thing she wasn't giving him. She racked her brain trying to figure out what was wrong. He'd never hesitated when talking with her, and if she was out of line, he'd put her in her place.
"What did I do?" she whispered, trying not to cry.
He gave a quick shake of his head. "I can't cover myself up anymore."
"I don't understand." She stepped back inside the room to be closer to him.
"I could spend the rest of my life inking my body, covering it completely, and you'd always see the scars." His gaze burned into her. "I can't undo the damage that you've seen and heard about."
She reached out and he stepped away. "Ink—"
"I can't protect you from what's a part of me." He patted his chest. "I'm still trying to cover it up. I need to cover it, and there's no point. It's here. It's here all the time."
She held his face and whispered, "You're beautiful to me."
"I'm covered—"
"You're. Beautiful. To. Me." She caressed his cheeks with her thumbs. "I look at you, and I see inside. I don't see the tattoos. I don't see the scars. I see your heart, your brain, your soul."
His hands went to her hips. She closed her eyes and leaned forward and kissed his chest over the mark he'd put on himself. His hands continued to tremble against her skin.
"If I had a tattoo, would you only see the ink?" she asked.
He jerked back, frowning. "No."
"Right." She grabbed his hands, an idea striking her. "You said you'd give me a tattoo. Let's do it. I'm not going to be able to go back to sleep and you have everything out."
"You can't jump into a tattoo," he said, rubbing his lower jaw. "You don't even know what you want."
"A heart with wings," she said, not letting him get out of picking up the tattoo machine and doing what he loved to do.
He stared at her. "You don't know where you want it."
"Inside hip." She smiled and lifted her shoulder. "Please?"
He inhaled deeply, looked around the bathroom, and finally said, "We'll do it in the other room. You can lie on the bed."
She stepped forward and kissed him hard, thankful that he was back to talking with her. "Awesome."
"Go lay down. I need to clean the ink off me and clean the supplies." He backed away and washed his hands.
She hurried out and lay down on the bed, afraid he'd change his mind. Whatever was going through his head had stopped him fro
m enjoying what he loved to do. If she could get him past the pain of knowing she understood what he was doing to his body, he could go back to enjoying the creative side of him.
He returned carrying the suitcase, plugged in the tattoo machine, pulled over the chair next to the bed, and glanced at her. She smiled. He shook his head in confusion, and went back inside the bathroom. That's when it hit her that she was going to let him stick a rapid-fire needle into her skin thousands of times.
She squeezed her eyes shut and pushed her fingernail into the soft area on the inside of her hipbone to see if it'd hurt. She hated needles. Even at the doctors when she had to get the common childhood injections, she cried afterward, even though the pain had disappeared almost instantly. Simply the thought of something piercing her skin made her queasy.
The soft pat of bare feet against the hardwood floor brought her eyes open and she put her hand down at her side. Ink stood above her and set the tray of supplies on top of the chair. She blew air out of her lungs slowly.
Ink stared at her pelvis. "You'll have to take your panties off and pull up your tank top."
"Oh, right." She lifted her hips, pulled down her panties lifting her knees to her chest.
She flung the underwear and squirmed on the bed to raise her skin tight shirt under her breasts. Once she was lying flat on her back, she rolled her eyes.
"Well, this is a little awkward." She shivered and goosebumps broke out along her bare legs.
His gaze softened as he put the Latex gloves on his hands and took the seat by the bed. "Relax."
"Oh, I am." She licked her dry lips. "You'd think I shot a half a bottle of whiskey. I am...cool. Just hanging out with my man, going to get some ink, and...and shootin' the breeze while wearing no panties."
"You're that relaxed, Ace?" He grinned down at her.
She flashed him the smile she used on all the Bantorus men. "Yep. I'm cool."
"Well, this might be a little cool." He held up a white bottle. "I need to clean the area."
"Go for it." She let her gaze go to the ceiling and clenched her teeth.
The shock of the colder temperature quickly fled when he rubbed the area with a cloth. She relaxed and lifted her head. Her lower body was bare and he was working in the area only inches from her sex.
"Oh, man..." She groaned.
"What?"
"Nothing."
"It's something," he said.
She pressed her hands against her forehead. "Remember Josie, one of the bitches in Pitnam?"
"Yeah." He blew on her hip.
Her stomach fluttered and the sensation wasn't a bad one. She hooked her hands behind her head. In fact, his breath on her felt nice. "She had a tattoo right above her pussy. It was—"
"A black rose," he said, finishing her sentence.
"Yeah." She looked at him. "Shit. You did it, didn't you?"
He dropped his chin to his chest, hiding his amusement. She lifted her hands and shoved his shoulder. "Nevermind."
"How'd you see it?"
She glared. "I was peeking through the cabin window with Kristen. She wanted to see if Bruce was in there, and I was looking for you."
"Was I inside?" He held up a red bottle of ink. "For the heart?"
"Yeah, that's pretty." She sighed. "No, you weren't there."
He finished filling the tiny cup. "Okay, I'm ready. How do you want your heart? 2d? 3d?"
"Surprise me." She laid her head back down. "I trust you."
He leaned down and kissed her lips. "I'll make it beautiful."
"I know you will." She inhaled deeply. "Let's do this."
"It's your first time. I'll do short lines. Make sure you breathe through the pain. Say something before you move, because you don't want a fucked up tattoo." He dipped the machine and the buzzing started.
Lightheaded, she closed her eyes and waited for him to make contact on her skin. "I'm cool. I'm cool. I'm—" She held her breath at the touch of the needle and the moment it stopped, she gasped. "Holy shit that hurts."
Ink chuckled. "It'll get easier."
"Yeah, right." She opened one eye and peeked at him, not believing a word, not trusting him, and wondering if she was the biggest baby in the world.
"Look at me. Both eyes." He pointed to his face with his free hand. "Breathe and look. If you want, you can count to yourself in your head. Each line I make lasts three seconds and then I lift the needle off your skin and the pain disappears."
She nodded. Three seconds. She could do that.
The machine buzzed to life. At the touch, she counted.
One.
Two.
Oh my God.
She gasped for breath and the stinging pain disappeared. Her body let down and a rush of exhilaration over surviving hit her.
Ink started again.
One.
Two.
Oh my...
Okay. That was better.
On and on she counted. After a while, the pain lessened, though it was nowhere near gone. It was tolerable in short sessions. Any longer, and she'd be up off the bed and done with the idea of ever getting a tattoo.
Ink worked diligently over her, dipping, tatting, moving. His whole focus stayed on his artwork. She studied him, loving the intensity coming from him while he worked.
He spread Vaseline on her hip and rubbed the area. She expected soreness at his touch, but the soothing mixture of his caress and the slick glide of the petroleum cured the painful process.
"Don't stop rubbing that on me." She glanced at her hip. "That feels really good."
"Just wiping the extra ink off your skin, so I can see." He set down the cloth. "Ten more minutes, and I'll have it finished."
"Already?" she said, surprised.
He chuckled. "It's daylight, Ace. We've been doing this for an hour and a half."
She turned her head toward the window at the same time the tattoo machine came to life. She tensed, prepared for the pain. While each time he pressed the needle to her skin, it hurt; she handled it knowing he was almost through.
Ink quickly worked. Pain, wipe, pain, wipe.
Focused on him, she took in the skill and almost routine steps he took in his process to give her a piece of himself. Her nipples peaked as a chill coursed through her. The reaction surprised her, because it wasn't uncomfortable. Pleasure tickled her sex and she swallowed. The vibrations from the tattoo machine traveled down his hand to his arm, which lay against her pubic bone.
She bit down on her lower lip, caught between jumping every time the needle pierced her and wanting him to continue because what he was doing aroused her. She rubbed her stomach, embarrassed by her reaction.
Ink glanced up at her. She caught his eyes, took in the tenderness shining in his eyes and the understanding. He could feel what he was doing to her, and she was unable to hide.
The information hit her out of the blue. This was what he was talking about. He couldn't hide. Her vision blurred with unshed tears. When she'd caught him tattooing his own skin, he wasn't only talking about covering his scars. Maybe he needed the pain and the pleasure.
While he went back to work, his arm moved, settling his elbow between her legs and putting more pressure on her mound. She wanted to move, and forced herself to hold still to better understand what he was trying to show her.
No one could get past the pain of getting a tattoo to be thinking of how good it felt. She must be crazy because she not only hated the needles, she loved the euphoric experience.
He raised his hand. She squeezed her legs together. Ink caught the movement and mumbled, "Hang in there. Almost done."
Her body warmed and she held on to the bedspread underneath her. She wanted to press her hips up and beg him for his hand. Unable to move, she counted to three, over and over, and tried to concentrate on holding still.
By the time the tattoo machine stopped, moisture had gathered between her legs. She remained in one spot as Ink cleaned her hip area with the cool spray in the white bottle. Once he
was done, he snapped off his gloves.
She raised her head to take a look, and he put his hand on her stomach. "Wait," he said.
His hand dipped between her legs. She moaned in relief and embarrassment. Aroused, wet, and on edge, she moved her pelvis against his finger. She wanted to cover her face and hide from him, but she was past the point of caring. After the tension of holding her body still through the pain, and the surprising way Ink helped her through the experience, she wanted him to keep touching her.
He leaned forward and put his mouth on the sensitive curve of her neck. "You deserve the pleasure."
Her body quivered, reaching for the orgasm that hovered inside of her. She tangled her fingers in his hair. With one hand, he circled, rubbed, and caressed her clit. His free hand went under her head, holding her securely, staying with her.
His mouth.
His fingers.
His attention.
He cradled her head. She gyrated against his hand, desperate for release. Confused over what was happening to her, she held on to him and let him show her.
His tongue licked her skin and he sucked harder. The bundle of nerves zeroed in, sending a wave throughout her. She bucked against the bed, unable to stop.
"Ink?" She panted. "Oh, God."
"Let me have it, Ace," he mumbled against her ear.
Her legs clamped together, holding his hand hostage. Her insides constricted, and pleasure radiated throughout her.
He continued stroking her lightly, slowly, dragging out the wonderful sexual coma that he'd created for her.
She had so many things to ask him. After all their time together, she never understood this side of him. There were many things about Ink she looked forward to learning.
"Do you enjoy...?" She inhaled deeply, gathering her lost breath. "Is it the same...?"
He raised his head, continuing to hold her, and looked her in the eyes. "No, it's not the same."
He kissed her forehead and stood, leaving her cold and weak. She watched him cleaning up the supplies he used and carried it back to the bathroom. His answer confused her more and left her feeling alone. She'd thought he was showing her what he felt when he tattooed his body. Instead, he kept his secrets and pulled farther away from her.