Inked By Him (Queen of Hearts Ink Book 2)

by MK Moore

  Inked by Him

  Copyright © 2018 by ChaShiree M. & MK Moore

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Epigraph

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Epilogue

  Also available by ChaShiree M.

  ChaShiree’s Acknowledgements

  About the Author: ChaShiree

  MK’s Acknowledgements

  Other books by MK Moore

  About the Author: MK

  “Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, ‘Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous?’ Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won’t feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It’s not just in some of us; it’s in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.”

  ―Marianne Williamson, A Return to Love: Reflections on the Principles of “A Course in Miracles”

  Shit. I am so fucking tired. I have been at it all day. But I have to say, I am super happy with the way it is turning out. Convincing Miles to franchise the business is hard work. He was dead set against it for some fucking reason, but I am determined to make him see reason. I know, he thought the challenge he gave me to increase our clientele by 60% would put me off the idea. Instead, it gave me more of a drive to see it through. I hate nothing more than tatting at godforsaken frat parties. But shit, young and dumb teenagers are the best marketing and guaranteed money.

  Now, here I am in Chicago overseeing the building of our second shop and I cannot help but feel as if I have accomplished something. Miles refuses to come here and see the progress, even though it has been six months since we started. I don’t know what his aversion is, but I will find out.

  Walking off the elevator to the apartment downtown I am renting while I am here, I cannot help but think about Her. My beautiful exotic beauty. Carrie. Fuck.

  She is the one good thing that came out of any of those lame ass frat parties, besides my achieving the challenge Miles set forth.

  Saying her name makes my dick jump. Reaching down to quiet my cock, I give him a squeeze to let him know I understand. Ever since I laid eyes on her the first time, he has been like a fucking dog with a bone. Waking up to her being gone was like a fast-acting dose of chemical castration. I have not, so much as gotten hard in the presence of another woman. The only time my cock seems to have life is when I am thinking about her and our night together.

  I looked everywhere for her assuming since the party was in NY, she went to the university or at least lived in NY. After going back to the frat house and no one knew who I was talking about, I took some of my discretionary fund and hired a P.I. with no luck. Obviously, she doesn’t live in NY and now I do not know where else to begin. What I know is, no other woman will do. I feel absolute disgust when other women approach me. Apparently, my raven-haired beauty was it for me.

  Here I am almost two years later aching for her. Jacking off to the memory of her tight sleek body, with sweet sinful lips. A wet, snug pussy, and the cherry I popped on the one night we were together.

  Motherfucker.

  I stroke my shaft faster and faster, while remembering the way she rode me until the wee hours of the morning, once she found her groove. In the moonlight, I memorized the beautiful artwork on her body. She is every tattoo artist’s favorite canvas. I could hardly see the actual pictures, but I do remember the one I did that night at the party. It was part of my favorite quote by Marianne Williamson from ‘A Return to Love’. I remember thinking it was sad, because for some reason she needed this piece on her skin as a reminder that she is everything. I would show and tell her every day without the pain of a needle that she is special.

  More than that, I remember the way her caramel skin and long silky black hair were in direct contrast to my pale skin. Not only is she covered in tatts, but her Marilyn Monroe piercing has a direct line to my dick. Her eyes are the color of milk chocolate and I wanted to drown in them and never be saved.

  Don’t get me wrong. I am itching to put my ink and brand on her beautiful skin, marking her as mine forever. If given the chance, I know what I would put on her.

  The vision of marking her is enough to send me over the edge. Aaaaaarrrrrrghhhhhh!!! My release splashes over my stomach and hands, as I take deep breaths to calm myself down. Now, I need a fucking shower.

  Bzzz…. bzzz…bzzz

  And of course, the phone rings. Ah. Miles.

  “Hey big bro. Was sup? You ready to check out the place?”

  “Dex. Listen. You need to come home. There is something going on with Kitty and I think we need all hands-on deck.”

  “What the fuck do you mean something is wrong with Kitty? Like what? Is she ok? What happened?”

  “I am not sure. But, she has been throwing up nonstop, looks like hell, and I am pretty sure I have caught her crying. She has always talked to you and Chip more, so I need you to come home.” The desperation in Miles voice has me worried.

  Kitty is the only girl in the family and we are very protective of her. If Kitty is in trouble, there is no hesitation. “On the first flight out. I must prep the rest of the building crew first. Will you send word to Hamm and let him know I will not be here to oversee the cabinets? I think he has the best connection to the construction crew, since it is his best friend.”

  “No problem. See you when you get here.”

  Two months in Chicago is a LONG time to be away from my baby boy. DJ does not understand why I had to go away. My parents have been invaluable, while I did the on the job training at Queen Ink’s second shop. I drove my Tesla to Chicago, because since DJ was born I have been driving my Mom’s BMW SUV. And, she has been driving my car.

  I get DJ from my mom and spend several minutes cuddling him close. Oh, how I have missed his sweet lavender smell from his after-bath lotion. Now I feel at peace again. He is the very best thing that has happened to me. After we do our snuggles and lots of giggles from him, I buckle him into his car seat in the BMW and head over to the shop.

  I love the location and this town in general. When I walk in with DJ slung over one hip, I immediately greet Kitty with a hug. She kisses DJ and then introductions are made. I already felt weird for brinin
g DJ with me, but in the end wanting to be with him won out. Miles is staring at me intensely. Not as if he wants me, but like he’s trying to figure me out.

  “I am sorry to bring him but being away from him for two month was too much. It is the first time I have left him for longer than a day or two.” I find myself blurting out and I am not sorry. I missed the hell out of my baby.

  We are exchanging small talk when the door chimes again behind me. Suddenly a feeling of I am suffocating starts deep in my chest. The air has a feeling of thickness and cloying to it. I struggle to appear normal, but I am sure it is in vain.

  “You.” His voice reaches my ears and without turning around I know it his him. My baby daddy. My oh so sexy baby daddy.

  When I finally do turn around, he looks better than I remember. His too-tight t-shirt shows his corded muscles, but I remember the feel of how his arms held me tightly the night he ruined me. An image of how his beard burned my thighs, sends shivers down my spine. I know I am fucked when looking at his ear piercing makes me want to reach out and touch him. Besides his ear and nose he has a delicious cock piercing that rubs me exactly the right way.

  “Oh my God. It’s you.” I feel faint. As if I am an eighteenth-century girl who is corseted within an inch of life. I have to force myself to breathe. Why isn’t it working? Fuck.

  “What is his name?” He demands as he is looking at our son. I never thought I’d see him again.

  “DJ.” I say, after I manage to gulp down a large amount of air.

  Dexter moves closer, causing me to take a step back. His intense look is killing me and I want to say something. Tell him I have been faithful to the memory of him, which I would have continued to be for the rest of my life. My mother told me about a real, soul lifting, and fuck everybody else kind of love only comes once in a person’s life. It does not matter I only met him once, because that once was enough to be sprung for life. The thought of any other man entering my body has me wanting to puke.

  “No! Say it. Tell me. What. Is. His. Name.” He reaches for our sons hair but stops short as he is waiting. I close my eyes and expel a long breath as I say it.

  “Dexter Junior.”

  Once it is out in the open, I get a feeling of both relief and dread. Will he try and take him from me? I don’t know a lot about him, but I do still want him. I tried looking for him on Facebook after I found out I was pregnant but had no luck. I am ashamed. Not of DJ because I love him more than life itself. But of the fact that I didn’t get his whole name, phone number, or anything to identify him. I bolted out of his bed before the sun rose because I was scared. It had never occurred to me to ask him to use a condom.

  When he was doing my tattoo, I could feel little bolts of lightning course through my skin. I am almost positive he felt it too and following him back to where he was staying, felt natural. It never crossed my mind I could be making a mistake. Somehow, I knew in my soul, we are destined for each other.

  When I can look around, I see Kitty, El, and Miles have retreated from the reception area. I don’t blame them because there is an immense amount of tension in this area. A mixture of sexual tension and anger. The weird thing is I don’t know if the anger is from me or him.

  I try to break the tension in the room with an introduction. “Dex. This is your son. Dexter Eldridge.”

  “What the fuck, Carrie? Can I hold him?” He asks with his voice breaking a little. His eyes have moisture in them, but they also hold a bit of recusal at me. My heart breaks a bit at seeing it there.

  “Oh my God. Yes. Of course.” As I handed him over, our fingers touch. My eyes snap to his and he is staring at me too. He felt it. The connection. The thing that tells me this will all be okay. Eventually. When he holds DJ, I feel my ovaries combust and pussy clench.

  “Hey Little Man. I am your daddy. I’m sorry I missed the first year of your life, but I won’t miss another second.” He says low in his throat. I think he meant for only DJ to hear but our proximity makes it hard to miss. When he kisses DJ’s forehead, I feel the need to sit the fuck down. This whole time I have been a single mother, my only thought has been if my son would grow up without a father. Now I am faced with what I have asked for, I feel….conflicted.

  Then DJ does something he never does with a virtual stranger. He lays his head on Dex’s shoulder and settles in for a nap. And that is it. All it takes for me to know we are in the thick of it now.

  “We should talk.” He says to me quietly.

  “I know. I am sorry I left like the way I did. But, I was embarrassed. As you know, I had never done anything like that before and I was overwhelmed. That is no excuse, I know.” I am totally rambling now, because I have these conflicting emotions roaring through me and I don’t know how to dissect them.

  “I am not happy about it, true. We went in thinking it was a one-night stand, but I was not going to let you go.”

  “You weren’t?”

  “Fuck no. You were there. And you may not have anything to compare it to, but it was not a normal experience for me.” I frown at his words.

  “I don’t want to hear about your other conquests.” I say as I am overcome with irrational jealousy. He owes me nothing.

  “Jesus, Carrie. I am not telling you about other women. Only, that being with you was life changing. But, when you left that also changed me. It broke something fundamental in me and I don’t know if it will ever repair. With that being said, I want to be in my son’s life.”

  “Okay.” I feel like grabbing my son and bolting, but I know I cannot do that to him again. Especially, I cannot rob my son of his chance to have and know his father.

  “Good. First thing is I want to be on the birth certificate. His last name should be Heart. Not Eldridge.” He says with a bit of disdain and this raises my ire. Who the hell does he think he is. Eldridge is a perfectly fine last name and it holds a considerable amount of weight. Asshole. But of course, I do not say any of that. This is not the time or the place.

  “Of course. It should not be too hard to get done. I left it blank.”

  “Good. Are you scheduled to work today?” He asks.

  “No. I came in to meet Miles. I start officially tomorrow.”

  He nods and starts towards a door I didn’t notice before.

  “Where are you going?” I start to panic.

  “We are going to talk. Grab a pizza or something. My apartment is upstairs.” I stand there stunned for a minute.

  “Are you coming or what?” He demands.

  Nodding, I start walking towards him as we head up the stairs. I am not sure what I was I expecting, but his apartment is neat and orderly. Cradling DJ in his arms as if he is the most precious thing in the world to him, he turns to me and says, “I am going to lay him down in my bed.”

  “Sure.” I say, because what else can I say?

  “Have a seat and I will be right out.” He says as he heads down the hall.

  I sit on a huge gray couch that takes up most of the room. The only other furniture in the room is a giant TV and a coffee table. There are no homey touches anywhere. It makes me happy. Irrationally happy as I wring my hands in my lap waiting for him to come back.

  “Just, talk to me. You are making me nervous.” I manage to get out of my suddenly dry mouth.

  A child. A little boy. A dad. I have a son. I am a dad. I keep repeating this over and over in my head as I pace the floor, because this is my dream and nightmare come true. Ever since I was old enough to understand certain traits are hereditary, I have been dreading the possibility of having a family. My father had some significantly fucked up possessive traits and as a result he and my mother met a tragic end. I never wanted to be like him.

  However, the moment I met Carrie I knew. When the machine started grazing across her skin and inking her with my design; it took all I had not to replace the words she chose with ‘Property of Dex’. I was screwed from the get go. Finding her gone the next morning, after I gave her my soul did something to me. I looked for he
r. But in the end, I felt it was fate.

  Maybe. Saving me from finding the same ending as my parents. Because, after one night of watching her sleep, I could feel possessiveness and ownership take over and it scared me shitless.

  Never in my wildest dreams as I moved on with my life, with half of my heart missing did I dream of walking into my tattoo shop and seeing the woman, who has taken a hold of me from the start; standing there holding a baby with my eyes. When I saw the little boy draped over her shoulder as I am hearing her voice; the urge to snatch him away to be able to protect, love, and runaway all at the same time. Only the pull of my own flesh and blood standing in front of me, being snuggled by my woman kept me moving further into the room.

  And now I am here, pacing the floor and preparing myself to tell her about my family. Letting her know who I really am, while simultaneously demanding my rights as a father be upheld. As far as Carrie goes, I am not sure. Each of my siblings and I took a piece of our parents’ death and it manifested it in different ways.

  For me, it is my need to be sure of everything. I cannot trust someone if I feel I cannot figure them out. The need to know what a person is about, helps me in being able to reconcile it and let you into my circle. The one exception is Carrie. But the minute she left, she became something I couldn’t touch, see, and feel. She became someone I couldn’t trust. Even now I cannot figure her out, which means I cannot entertain a relationship with her right now. The need I have to hold on to things that are concrete will be my son.

  “Will you please talk to me. You are making me nervous.” Her voice brings me back to the present. I look over at the woman I was once so sure was my destiny and sit in front of her. I want her eyes on me when I tell her what I have to say, because I want no doubt when I tell her I will not be like them.

  “When I was growing up, my parents had a sort of rocky relationship. My father loved my mom so much and anyone who was anyone knew it. It was the same for my mom, who loved my father just as much. The problem is my father loved her to the point of obsession and I have long since believed she loved it. She loved when he got jealous at the slightest inclination of another man sniffing around his territory. Loved how he always wanted to be around her, touching her, and monopolizing her time when she wasn’t preoccupied with us. I would go as far as to say, she thrived on it and sought to keep him that way. What she didn’t expect was for his obsession to be deadly.