She stood in the kitchen carving the ends from the strawberries and watching them fall into the sink. Each time she grabbed a strawberry from the container she lifted the knife with the opposite hand, cut off the end, and tossed each respective piece in different directions. The fluid movements of her arms appeared to be mechanized and almost perfect. As her arms moved back and forth with a certain grace, I studied her tattoos. The bold colors seemed to be more prominent in the natural light of the kitchen. I stood at the edge of the doorway leading to the kitchen, behind her and out of her view, and admired the work I had done on her arm.
For the rest of her life she would be marked by my mind’s creations, a piece of artwork unlike anything else, and something unique to her. I never tattooed the same design on two people for many reasons, and I prided myself in the fact I had not. After a few minutes of admiring her grace, beauty, I cleared my throat.
She glanced over her shoulder.
“Come here,” I said.
She glanced over her shoulder and grinned. “Just a minute.”
There was so much I wanted to say, but didn’t dare. I knew the next day I was going to be headed out of town into a situation that could easily go in an unfavorable direction. Nonetheless, I knew it was something I needed to do, and in the end, Riley and I would both be better as a result after it was all behind me.
I wasn’t only doing it for me; I was doing it for us.
For our growth as a couple.
I anxiously took the few steps that separated us and wrapped my arms around her, resting my hands at her waist. With my chin resting on her shoulder, I watched as she finished cleaning the strawberries. As she held the strainer under the faucet and ran cold water over the fruit, I reached into the basket and pinched one of the berries between my thumb and forefinger.
Silently, I lifted it to her mouth. She opened her mouth, accepted the fruit, and wrapped her lips around the tips of my fingers. As she sucked the sticky juice from the tips of my fingers, I leaned forward and tilted my head to the side.
She shifted her eyes to meet mine and grinned. I held her gaze and smiled in return.
I blindly reached for the strainer. After fumbling for another piece of fruit, I eventually found one and lifted it to her mouth. Again, her lips parted, wrapped around my fingers, and sucked the juices from my fingertips.
I pressed my hands to her sides, pushed them along the length of her body, and past her hips. As my hands reached the bottom of her shirt, I grasped it in my fingers and slowly pulled it upward. As the shirt slowly revealed the bare skin of her back, she lifted her arms over her head, allowing me to remove it completely.
I pressed my chin against the side of her neck and kissed her under the chin. As my mouth moved along her jaw line, she tilted her head rearward and closed her eyes. Gently kissing the soft skin underneath her ear, I reached for her bra and unclasped it. As I continued to kiss along her neck and eventually her shoulder, I slid my hands beneath her dangling bra and cupped her breasts in my palms.
With her head still tilted back and her eyes closed, she moaned as I massaged her flesh in my fingers. I dragged my teeth along the base of her neck and across her shoulder, my tongue darting across every inch of her skin as I did so.
I released her breasts, pushed my hands against her skin, and slowly slid my fingers into the waist of her shorts. Her moaning increased as my fingers followed the crease from her hips to her wet mound.
I curled my middle finger upward and into her wetness. Slowly and gently I worked in and out of her tight wet slit, pressing slightly further each time. Within a few seconds it was buried deep inside of her and the palm of my hands was covered in her satisfaction.
She reached for the waist of her shorts, unfastened them, and pushed them along her thighs. As she continued to fight against the unwilling garment, I turned her to face me and kissed along her neck, past each of her breasts, and onto her stomach. As she playfully kicked her shorts to the side, I knelt in front of her and gripped her bare ass in my hands.
I opened my mouth, extended my tongue, and gazed upward. As our eyes met, I grinned. She spread her stance slightly, stepped forward, and pressed her sweet wet flesh against my mouth. Eagerly, I licked her. With each stroke of my tongue, she pulled away slightly, only to return for taste of what I had to offer her.
After a few minutes of my tongue carefully exploring her every crevice and fold, she reached down and gripped my head in her hands. In perfect rhythm we continued; her pulling my head into her slightly, and me licking with precision. Her moaning acted as the only warning of her body’s intended release.
As she bellowed into the room, I flicked my tongue against the swollen nub at the top of her wetness, forcing her even further into the heavenly cloud her mind had certainly taken her. The few spasmodic thrusts of her hips that followed provided a sense of satisfaction that I had satisfied her as much as I had hoped.
I released her from my grasp and slowly stood. She gazed down and followed my hands as I unbuckled my belt, lowered my jeans, and removed my shorts. As I removed my shirt, she grinned, but did not speak. I placed a hand against her shoulder, turned her around, and directed her to the sink. As I gazed over her shoulder and into the basket of strawberries, I pressed my hand against her back. Without hesitation, she bent at the waist, resting her stomach against the edge of the counter.
I gathered her hair in my hand, held it firmly, and guided myself between her legs. As I felt her warmth encompass my swollen shaft, I pressed my chest against her back and pulled her hair tight with my hand.
As I slowly and predictably worked myself in and out, she grunted softly with each stroke. I sank my teeth into the side of her neck, pulled her hair rearward further, and pushed myself even deeper.
Her back arched slightly, and her mouth opened. Slowly, as I held myself in place deep within her, her eyes fell closed and she tightened around me. As I felt my love for her release in short bursts of pleasure, I released her hair.
She moaned out into the room.
With our bodies pressed against each other and our skin affixed slightly from the sweat we had created, I held her in my arms. As I kissed along her shoulder and onto her neck, she turned to the side and parted her lips slightly.
I closed my eyes and leaned into her, pressing my lips against hers. A long, slow, sensual kiss followed.
I rested my chin against her shoulder, realizing it was where we had started only a short time before. As I closed my eyes and gave thanks for Riley’s existence, I felt her finger tap lightly against my lips.
With my eyes still closed, I opened my mouth.
A piece of the roughly textured fruit was pushed past my lips and into my mouth. As I bit into the sweet fruit, it acted as a reminder that not all things are as they appear.
Sometimes the repulsive surface acts as a disguise of what may be the sweetest of life’s offerings.
RILEY
After logging the appointment into the computer, I turned toward the back of the shop. Stevie sat on the edge of her stool finishing a tattoo she had been working on for a few hours. The woman getting tattooed had a very interesting story, and after hearing it, I loved the concept of her tattoo, feeling it would depict something that was extremely important in her life, and how everything came to work out. I had seen the outline of the tattoo, and walked back a few times during the shading, but was eager to see it once it was finished.
“How’s it coming along?” I asked as I walked to Stevie’s side.
“Have a look,” she said as she nodded her head toward the piece.
The scantily dressed woman holding a set of scales in one hand and a sword with the other all done in black and grey appeared to be finished. It looked like a photograph. The quality of the realism is Stevie’s work amazed me, and this particular piece was a nothing short of a masterpiece.
“Justice,” the woman said as she glanced up.
Dressed in jean shorts, Chuck’s, and a tee shirt, she looked l
ike she could have been my sister, only a few years older, but not much.
“It’s…” I stared down at the tattoo. “It’s uhhm. It’s amazing.”
“I love it,” she said as she shifted her eyes toward Stevie and grinned.
“Let me get it wiped down and have one last look,” Stevie said.
After wiping the tattoo clean, Stevie inspected it thoroughly. Satisfied the piece needed no touch-up work, she stood from her stool and smiled.
“Looks awesome,” Stevie said as she pulled off her gloves.
“So, you said after almost ten years, he finally got out of prison, and you waited all that time?” I asked.
She nodded her head and smiled. “Love is a powerful thing.”
“It sure is,” I said.
“Were you here when she said her Ol’ Man’s Jackson?” Stevie asked.
“Oh, wow. I guess not,” I said.
Stevie nodded her head. “Yep. He did ten fucking years on a bullshit conspiracy charge. ATF set his ass up. So ten years later, the Ol’ Lady of the president of the club he rides with now hears about his case, files an appeal, and gets him out of prison. He gets out of the joint and rides with the club. Story gets a lot better, but I’ll let her tell ya.”
“So, Jackson? The big guy with the big arms?” I asked.
“Sounds like him,” she said.
“He and Blake grew up together,” I said.
“That’s what he said. Sad how they met, but I’m glad they found each other,” she said.
“Me too. Blake doesn’t really have any friends. He doesn’t trust people,” I said.
“Where is he now?” she asked.
“Kansas City, at some tattooing convention that came up,” I responded. “And Jackson?”
“Out riding with the fellas. It’s like a disease,” she said with a laugh.
“You ride?” I asked.
She stood from the chair and smiled. “As much as I can. Love it, personally.”
“Me too,” I said.
“So, you going to tell me the story?” I asked.
“Sure,” she said as she sat down in her seat. “I never get tired of telling it.”
“Jackson Shephard never breaks a promise. We met ten years ago when he walked into a bar when a guy was groping me. He never knew me, had ever seen me, or anything. So, I’m telling this guy to leave me alone, and he steps in. he beat the shit out of the guy and gave him a lecture on respecting women. I walked out of the bar with my panties in a puddle behind me,” she said.
I laughed and nodded my head, eager to hear more.
“So, he goes on to tell me he doesn’t fuck around, and he didn’t want sex. He was single, but convincing him to give me a chance was impossible. After a long - and I do mean long - courtship, we ended up together,” she paused, sighed, and smiled.
“He had an ATF agent working undercover in his club, and the man convinced him one night in a club when he was drunk to admit he’d kill a rival member if they threatened the club. It was male bravado bullshit, but the court saw it differently. They gave him life in prison. When he left the courtroom, I asked him to promise me he’d never see me again. He wouldn’t do it. They drug him out of there, and I cried for six months,” she paused, wiped her eyes, and gazed down at the floor.
She shifted her eyes upward and focused on the doorway. “Sorry, it still makes me teary-eyed thinking about it. Anyway, he spent almost ten years in prison. He was convinced his life was over, and he was convinced having so much as a visitor would drag them down into the hell he was living in, so he removed everyone from his visiting list and began his life of living alone.”
“I moved around the country, madly in love with him just as much as the day he left, knowing one day everything would be alright. Don’t ask me how, but I knew. I knew one day,” she paused and wiped the tears from her cheeks with the tip of her finger.
“I knew one day my Jackson…I knew he’d come back to me.” She nodded her head and wiped her finger on her thigh.
“So. I was in Las Vegas. I’d just opened a restaurant there. It was my third in the ten years he was away. I was talking to a food critic, and I saw this man standing in the distance crying. It was sunny, and the sun was in my eyes, but I thought for a second I was going crazy. So I sat there talking to her and staring at him. And he slowly walked my direction…”
She paused and sighed heavily.
“Ten years. And it all came rushing back. He’d been brought back on an appeal, won, and was released free and clear. He rode his bike around the country trying to find me, and finally he did. He gave me a kiss, and here we are,” she said as she spread her arms wide.
“Oh wow. That’s awesome,” I said.
“Gives me goosebumps,” Stevie said.
“What was your name again?” I asked.
She stood from her chair. “Em. Call me Em.”
“Riley, it’s nice to meet you. I like that story,” I said.
“I like telling it,” she said. She turned toward Stevie. “What do I owe you?”
“Tell you what. What do you say, Riley? Can we lock this bitch up a little early?” Stevie asked.
I shrugged my shoulders. “Uhhhm…”
“Girl’s night out,” Stevie said.
“Oh wow. Uhhm,” I paused and looked at the clock.
The thought of a girl’s night out was exciting. I hadn’t done anything with girlfriends since my senior year in high school. I tried unsuccessfully to hide my excitement as I turned toward Stevie.
“Don’t tell Blake what time we locked it up,” I said as I shifted my eyes back and forth between them.
Stevie shrugged.
Em shrugged.
And I locked the door behind me.
BLAKE
God is not evil. Men who hide behind the word of God, using it as a shield to protect them from the questions which would normally arise in the absence of God’s word they so righteously spit at each person in their path, however, define evil.
“If God didn’t want you to, He wouldn’t have sent me to save you. The children of this earth are treasures, and each and every one is formed by God’s hands with a gift. The gift each child possesses should be shared, and shared so that it may be seen in the eyes of God. Your gift to Him in appreciation of the gift He graced you with. This, Blake, is your gift. And through me, the hand of God, it should be shared,” he said.
I was eight at the time, and wanted nothing more than to please him.
“My gift?” I asked.
He squeezed my shoulder lightly and nodded his head. “Yes, this is your gift. The pain you will feel is a reminder of the sacrifice Jesus made on the cross for you. You’re strong Blake, so, so much stronger than the rest. God’s gift to you was strength. Tremendous strength. Do you know what tremendous means?”
I nodded my head. “Like Superman?”
“Yes, like Superman. Blake, God made you this way for a reason. He formed you with his hands, providing you with something special. And God has sent me here to test your strength and send a message back to Him, and it will be sent through my test of you and a test of your exhibition of the strength God has graced you with. Can you please God?” he asked.
I nodded my head again. “I think so.”
He squeezed my shoulder and crouched down almost even with me. “What happens if you disappoint God?”
I lowered my head and pointed at my feet. He had taught me the earth beneath me was a fiery pit of hell reserved for those who disappointed God by rejecting his word and his wishes.
“You are so right. In hell you’d burn. You make me proud, Blake. You make me proud. Are you ready to please God?” he asked as he stood.
I nodded my head.
His son walked between us, lifted my hands, and guided me to the edge of the stairs. I remember feeling an odd sense of guilt, at least initially, that the rest of the family wasn’t present for my portrayal of strength, especially if it was a message directly to God. For me to prove
myself, and not share the blessed news with the family made me feel slightly cheated.
He handed me a bible. As I accepted it in my hands, I grinned. I didn’t have a bible of my own, and holding one made me feel important and powerful.
“If the pain becomes more than you are able to withstand, bite into the Bible, it will provide strength,” he said.
As I clutched the Bible and nodded my head, his son removed my clothes. I remember feeling dirty, silly, and embarrassed all at the same time.
But.
If it was God’s will, I knew I needed to make it mine.
As the pain shot through me like a bolt of lightning, I glanced up at his son. With my face filled with wonder, fear, and surprise, I wanted an answer.
Something.
He released one of my wrists and reached for the Bible I held in my shaking hand. As he helped me lift it to my mouth he nodded his head once, reassuring me it was okay.
And into the sacred book I sank my teeth.
RILEY
We sat on the same bench beside the lake where we first shared out secrets. The sun began to set in the distance, and the late evening clouds blocked the few remaining minutes of sunshine, but provided an extremely colorful sunset. Blake’s tattoo convention must have been very relaxing for him, because he seemed at peace with everything since he returned.
“I talked to Doc Racine on the phone this morning,” he said as he gazed toward the western sky.
“About…”
“Well, I don’t think I need to go back. It all started because of my past, and now that we’ve written that letter, and worked out the entire sex thing, there’s really nothing left,” he said.
“You think? Really? Like never go back?” I asked, excited about his progress with everything in life.
“Maybe not. We’ll see, I suppose, but I’m feeling pretty good about everything,” he said.
His face looked healthy. I knew he rarely slept an entire night, and often stayed up drawing until very late, but to Blake, it was his therapy. Tonight, however, he looked like he had received full night’s sleep, and he seemed to at peace staring out at the sunset.
Blurred Lines: Tattoo Romance (Bodies Ink and Steel) Page 18