“And here I thought I’d never be able to make you smile with my presence,” Notch said, grinning.
“You ready for your appointment?” I asked.
“Whenever you are.”
I quickly navigated away from the updates and ran them in the background.
“Then, follow me,” I said.
I locked the front door and fixed my sign to let people know I’d be back at one thirty. Then, we made our way back into my office. I closed the door behind us and drew in a deep breath, trying to settle the rest of my nerves. I’d had a very busy morning with piercings and a few touch-up tattoos. But I always closed down for my lunch hour.
“Busy day?” Notch asked.
“You have no idea,” I said breathlessly.
“Well, maybe I can help you relieve some of that tension.”
“You mean you’re going to let me poke you with my needle again?”
“If that’s what you’d like to call it. Though, I’m usually the one doing the poking,” he said, winking.
Heat trickled up the back of my neck as I went to sit down in my office chair.
“Okay. I have four distinct patterns to fill in the gaps on your right arm and link all of your tattoos together. Tell me what you think,” I said.
I pulled out my file folder and slid it toward him. He took it from me and opened it up, pulling out each of the four sketches. I’d worked hard on them early this morning. Early, because a dream about him woke me up.
And I wanted to distract myself from how hot my thighs were after the fact.
“This geometric one is interesting,” Notch said.
“It’ll give some 3-D depth to your arm, if you’re into that kind of thing,” I said.
“But I’m kind of liking the shading on this darker one. Are those swirls?”
“Of light, yes. Darkness and light. The darkness you saved those people from, and the lives that are now lit because of your efforts.”
He quickly pushed that one to the back, and I wondered why. Had I said something wrong?
“I’m not really a fan of this one, though I get what you were going for. Background colors for each of the tattoos, right?” he asked.
“One bleeding into the other. Like they each have their own canvases that are then bound together.”
“The colors would have to be changed. I’m not sure about the bright orange and the… pink?”
I grinned. “Magenta, technically. But, yes. A form of pink.”
“Yeah. No,” he said flatly.
It made me giggle as he reached for one of my pens.
He set all the other ones aside and went back to the geometric one. And that made me grin. Out of all the things I’d drawn out this morning, I knew he’d be drawn to that one the most. The depth of it. The rich colors and the jagged edges. It was the epitome of a metaphor for a man like Notch. He made a few tweaks to the outside layers. How things were blocked off and cut off. I hovered over the design and watched him play around with it, twisting it and turning it and changing a couple of the base colors.
Then, he handed it back to me.
“What do you think?” Notch asked.
“Doesn’t matter what I think. It’s not my tattoo,” I said.
“I don’t want you doing something you won’t be proud of. Because when people ask me where I got it, I’ll obviously send them your way.”
“Thank you. That’s very kind,” I said.
“Just standard. I like those colors better. And the sketch was fantastic. Far better than anything I could have come up with. But do you like them?”
I tried not to smile at his compliment.
“I’d be proud to put this on someone, yes,” I said.
“Well, I’ve got the money. Why don’t we do it today?” Notch asked.
“Right now?”
“Right now.”
“On our lunch breaks?”
“You want to take me out to lunch before we do this? Because, I mean, I’m not really dressed for something so formal.”
I threw my head back and laughed before I settled the picture down onto my desk.
“Sure, we can get it done today. If you’re feeling up to it,” I said.
“Don’t let my lanky stature fool you. I’m much tougher than I seem,” Notch said.
“Got nothing to do with how tough you are and everything to do with whether or not your body rejects the tattoo because of the stress it’s under.”
“Wait, a body can reject a tattoo?”
I shrugged. “The body can reject any foreign object. An implant. A crown on a tooth. Ink underneath the skin. Aren’t you a paramedic?”
“Yes, but I’ve never heard of someone’s body rejecting a tattoo.”
“People get tattoos all the time before figuring out halfway through they’re allergic to the ink. Or the metal of the tattoo pen. Or a plethora of other things that could go wrong.”
“Has it ever happened to you?” he asked.
I shivered. “Trust me, you don’t want to hear that story.”
“Yikes. Okay. Well, let’s get started on this tattoo before we thoroughly gross one another out.”
“What? No lunch date over talks of how the skin bubbles and oozes all of a sudden?”
“No, thanks.”
“Or how it gets inflamed and the skin starts to peel back?” I asked.
“You can stop now,” he said flatly.
“Or how the person starts throwing up in my chair and can’t stop until they get into an ambulance and are injected with—”
Notch held his hand up and I smiled.
“You’re a shit paramedic,” I said.
“I have my moments where enough is enough, yes,” Notch said.
I shook my head as I stood up. He followed me out of my office and into my tattooing cubicle, where we were alone as alone could be. I tried learning more about him. More about his EMT job and how someone like him who had a queasy stomach would deal with some of the things he’d seen in his line of work. We joked back and forth, laughing and jousting as I started in on this freehand, geometric pattern on his right arm.
But when the conversation turned toward him, his childhood, his likes, or his hobbies?
He clammed right up.
“What about you?” Notch asked.
“What about me?” I asked.
“What was it like, growing up in Tianjin?”
I shrugged. “It was fine, I guess. Nothing really to complain about.”
“Were your parents happy about you hopping over the ocean?” he asked.
“My father actually funded the trip with my mother’s support.”
“Because you wanted to pursue your dreams of being a tattoo artist? Or something else?”
I didn’t like where this conversation was going. And suddenly, I understood how Notch felt. Which raised a lot of red flags. Did he have something to hide? Was he really a paramedic? Was he running from something? Maybe a dangerous life, like I was?
Was that why he was so closed-off to my questions?
“They just knew I’d never be able to pursue my dreams in the traditional society Tianjin still has,” I said.
“Could you not have gone somewhere else in your country?” Notch asked.
“No. I couldn’t.”
That pretty much derailed the conversation. And for a moment, I wondered if I had angered him. Angered this man I was taken by. I wasn’t sure why I gave a damn about pissing him off, but I did. I flickered my eyes up to his and found him watching me. Studying me. And when our eyes locked, he grinned.
“Might want to watch what you’re doing there,” he said.
“Yes. Sorry,” I said softly.
I felt two inches tall and twice as beautiful underneath his gaze. I’d never felt this way before, and I wasn’t sure how to handle it. The tattoo came alive with every stroke of my needle. Every shading and every outline pulled these tattoos on his right arm together in a fascinating sleeve I couldn't stop staring at. My han
d smoothed over his skin and electricity shot up my arm. He’d shift and brush against me, sending chills down my spine.
We kept up with the stolen glances. The small brushes. And slowly, the tension shifted. It went from nerve-wracking to hot in a matter of minutes. Looking into his eyes made my heart flutter. Smoothing the wipe across his chiseled muscles made my gut ache. I finished off the last of the tattoo and checked to see if there were any spots I missed. And after spot-shading, I covered his arm in Vaseline and wrapped it up in saran wrap.
“All right. Looks like you’re good to go. If you want, I can take a look at your other tattoo?” I asked.
“Be my guest,” Notch said.
I got up and walked over to his other arm. I slowly eased the rest of his shirt off his body, trying not to stare at his rippling abs. I unwrapped his tattoo and took in how raised it was. How red it had become. I smoothed a wipe over it, gauging his reactions. But he didn’t seem to be in any pain, and there was no oozing or pussing of his hair follicles.
So, I wrapped that arm back up and nodded.
“Looks good,” I said.
“I could say the same thing about you.”
Our eyes connected as he stood from his chair, his bare chest catching my eyes. I watched his muscles roll underneath his skin as he made his way for me. I backed all the way into my tattoo cubicle door, feeling him approach me. I closed my eyes. If I blocked him out, I could block everything else out.
Like how he made my blood rush and how hard my heart beat whenever I was around this man.
“You’re beautiful, and I can’t help but…”
He trailed the statement off and I opened my eyes. I looked up at him, taking in his cold, hard stare. Except, there was a softness behind them. A softness that disarmed me as his face dropped to mine. His hands pressed into the door as I stood to my tiptoes, allowing our lips to meet.
And when they did, fireworks ignited in my mind.
I slid my fingers through his hair and pressed my tongue between his lips. He groaned against me. He pressed his body against mine as he wrapped his arms around me. He pulled me away from the door, stumbling back into the leather chair. And as I straddled his pelvis, I ground deeply into him.
I let my body take over as his cock grew to life underneath his jeans.
“Maya,” he growled.
I hummed my appreciation as my small hands slid down his chest.
I let my fingertips rumble over the divots of his muscles. His tongue raked against the roof of my mouth as I pinned his hands down against the arms of the chair. He couldn't embrace me like that. Not unless he wanted to ruin his tattoos. I ground against him, pressing myself closer to him as I sucked on his lower lip.
His cock pulsed wildly against me. Begging to burst free. But when my hands moved to his belt buckle, something vibrated.
I paused. “What was that?”
“Don’t worry about it. Fucking hell, just keep going,” he groaned.
He cupped the back of my head to crash our lips back together, but it happened again.
“Is that my phone?” I asked softly.
“No. It’s mine,” he grumbled.
“Should you get it?”
“Are you going to make me get it?”
“Depends. Do you need to get it?”
“It’s probably work,” he murmured.
“Then, yes. I’m going to make you get it,” I said.
And the sigh of frustration that fell from his lips matched my own disappointment as I hopped off his lap.
9
Notch
Feeling that woman slide off me was the most destructive thing I could have ever encountered. Her lips tasted like candy and her tongue taunted me with all the things it could do. The way it twisted and caressed. Left behind a soft trail of lust for me to follow with every pucker of her lips. And the way her small hips fell into the palms of my hands effortlessly made my cock throb. It ached against my jeans as her feet hit the floor. I growled in frustration as my phone continued to vibrate. The squirting of a bottle hit my ears as I swallowed down my want for Maya and put on my game face.
Because I knew who was calling.
“After you’re done talking on the phone, I’ll get you rung up and checked out,” Maya said plainly.
As if shit wasn’t just about to go down with us.
I stood up from the chair and eased my shirt back over my head. She wanted to help, but I knew if her touch fell against my body again, the crew would have to suck my dick. I slipped my leather jacket over my shoulders as my phone rang and rang, going to voicemail only to strike back up again.
I watched Maya’s petite form disinfect the entire room as I stepped out.
“This better be important,” I said as I picked up the phone.
“How many fuckin’ times I gotta call you in order to get you to pick up?” Stone asked.
“What is it? Why are you interrupting my tattoo appointment?”
“A three-hour appointment? Must be a hell of a tattoo.”
I pulled the phone away from my ear and looked at the clock. Holy fuck, it had been three hours.
Which meant Maya was late opening her shop back up.
“Yeah, I’m having some fill-in work done on my right arm sleeve. What gives?” I asked.
I strode down the hallway and unlocked her front door. I turned the sign around, letting the public know Maya was open for business. Fuck. I’d have to tip her very well for the hour and a half she lost with me.
Good thing I had the money to do so.
“Asher has more information for us. You need to get back here,” Stone said.
“Already? He’s only been out there for a few hours,” I said.
“Yeah, and there’s a reason he’s the president of the longest-running club out there. Get back here. We’re having church.”
“Let me pay and I’ll get my ass back,” I said.
“Good. And next time? Don’t make me call your ass four times before you pick up. I was about to send a hoard of men out looking for you. We’re in a time of war. You have to be careful.”
“Ready to check out?” Maya asked.
“The fuck is that?” Stone asked.
“That would be my tattoo artist, asshole,” I murmured.
“She sounds cute. You sure she’s not jumping up and down on another needle?”
I bristled at his comment, but I wasn’t sure why.
“I’m paying, then leaving. Goodbye,” I said.
Then, I traded my phone for my wallet.
“I’ll take that as a ‘yes,’” Maya said, giggling.
Fucking hell, I wanted so badly to turn those giggles into moans.
“How much do I owe ya?” I asked.
Her nimble fingers flew across the keyboard of her computer before she turned the screen around. Just under three hundred. Not bad, for the incredible work she had completed. I pulled out my card and swiped it, then doubled her pay-out with an equal tip. I submitted it before she had a chance to look at it, signing away my life on her screen for the money.
“Do you want a receipt?” Maya asked.
“No, I don’t. But I do want you to know something,” I said.
Her eyes looked at her computer screen and they widened.
“Notch, that’s too—”
“I will be back in this shop soon. And we will finish what we started,” I said.
Her eyes slowly panned back over to me and I watched them flutter down my body. I stood there, waiting for her to protest. Waiting for her to tell me to get the fuck out. But instead, she licked her lips and grinned before nodding her head.
“I look forward to the knock on my door,” she said coyly.
“Good.”
I was frustrated beyond belief as I rode back to the clubhouse. My cock ached. My boxers were sticky. And my arms fucking burned. I needed to tend to the tattoos as soon as I could. Get them undressed and covered in some healing solution I’d concocted years ago. Took away the sting,
numbed the burn, and helped with the swelling. It made the healing process of the tattoos more bearable, especially since I was prone to itching them whenever it became too much.
I’d had to redo so many fucking tattoos I destroyed with my fingernails.
I parked my bike and the front door to the safehouse burst open. Stone beckoned me inside, his face twisted in all sorts of ways. Whatever had happened, it was big. And I knew it wasn’t good. I rushed inside and closed the door behind me, watching as all the men turned to face me.
“I’m here. I’m good,” I said.
“Tell ‘em,” Stone said.
Asher cleared his throat. “I found them stocking weapons.”
“What?” Texas asked.
“Excuse me?” Bronx asked.
I stood there against the front door, locking it out of habit.
“The Chinese are stocking weapons,” I said.
Asher nodded, and the entire world stopped.
“And you’re sure of this?” Texas asked.
“I found a perch and watched them for a while. Got some recordings on my phone. Yes, they’re unloading weapons. Semi-automatics. Grenades. Smoke bombs. The fucking works,” Asher said.
“They’re prepping for reinforcements,” I said.
“And for war,” Bronx said.
“I think the police department is the least of our worries at this point,” I said.
“You and I both,” Asher said.
“Have you been able to study the pictures you took yet?” Stone asked.
“I took as many as I could without being seen. Crept a little closer. Kept myself quiet and unnoticed. I couldn't get very far in without risking being seen, but I got some decent pictures. Many faces of those unloading the guns. Those coming in and out of the new building space they have. Pictures of the guns and weaponry. The crates they came in,” Asher said.
“Maybe we can figure out where the guns are coming from once we study those pictures. Maybe one of your shots has some shipping information on it or something,” Bronx said.
“Do we have anything on the police? What that detective might be doing and whether or not he’s involved with any of this?” I asked.
“Like a dirty cop?” Bronx asked.
“Hayley’s been staying away from his phone calls, but they’re pouring in by the handfuls every day. Eventually, she’ll have to pick up the phone before he puts in a missing person’s report,” Stone said.
Notch: The Lost Boys MC #4 Page 6