Motorcycle Man
Page 70

I got him then and what I got made my head jerk.
“A dragon?” I whispered.
“Yeah,” he replied.
“But that’s… that’s…” I paused then said so softly it was barely a breath, “Naomi’s.”
“The dragon’s me, babe. The tat I got is me, not her. She said it. I am it. She had that dragon, she lost it. Now it’s yours.”
Oh wow. I liked that.
Then it occurred to me he wanted me to get a tattoo. Not just a tattoo, a tramp stamp.
What he wanted, where he wanted it and why was hot.
But I wasn’t sure.
“I don’t think I’m a tattoo kind of person,” I informed him carefully.
“You weren’t a lotta things before you met me, babe,” he pointed out.
This was true.
“I hear it hurts.”
“Like f**k,” he confirmed.
Not good.
“But it’s worth it,” he continued.
“If I got a tattoo, my Dad would have a conniption,” I shared and this time, his head jerked. “My Mom would also lose her mind,” I added, he didn’t say a word so I finished, “And Uncle Marsh would be none-too-happy and he’s a pretty laidback guy.”
“Any of them in this bed?” Tack asked.
“No.”
“Then what do you care?”
Good point.
“Only two people who matter are in this bed right now,” he told me, making my heart flutter. “This is your life, your body. Not theirs.”
Well, I couldn’t argue with that.
Tack kept talking, “I’ll take you to my guy, have him sketch somethin’ out. You like it, you get it. It isn’t your gig, don’t get it. I’m tellin’ you what I want. That don’t mean you gotta do it.”
Well, that was nice.
“Okay,” I said quietly.
“Now what do you want?”
I stared.
Then I started to ask, “Are you saying, I mean… are you going to get –?”
“Not tomorrow. Not next week. But this keeps on like it is, Red, it’ll happen. Absolutely.”
I felt my body melt underneath his.
That meant the world to me. The absolute world and I had no idea why.
It just did.
“So, I get your ink, what do you want?” he pressed.
My hands slid up his back, one going in to his chest and up to wrap around the side of his neck and I answered softly, “I don’t know.”
“Link with Tabby’s, under my pec, on my ribs,” he decided.
Link with Tabby’s. His daughter. His beloved daughter.
Close to his heart.
Tears instantly filled my eyes and I dipped my chin and turned my head to the side in a ridiculous and futile effort to hide my emotion.
And I knew the effort was futile when Tack’s sweet whisper came at me.
“Baby, look at me.”
“My turn to make breakfast,” I said but my voice was wobbly.
“Tyra, baby,” he was still whispering and his hand wrapped around my jaw, forcing me to face him so the tears slid out the sides of my eyes, along my temples and into my hair.
“Inexplicable hangover crying jag,” I lied stupidly and futilely. “It happens all the time.”
“Bullshit, Red, you been hungover around me more than once and you have not cried.”
“You’re still getting to know me. I keep drinking like I am, you’ll see it.”
He ignored my idiocy and stated, “That meant somethin’ to you.”
I took a shaky breath in through my nostrils but didn’t reply.
“It means somethin’ to you,” he mostly repeated.
I licked my lips and still didn’t reply.
Tack’s thumb moved out to glide along my lips and his face dipped close.
“Admit it, baby, that means somethin’ to you.”
I pulled in breath through my nose again and whispered against his thumb, “No,” and his eyes flashed but I kept going. “It means everything.”
His thumb pressed into my lips as did all of his fingers along my jaw and his eyes shifted to heated and intense.
“Fuck, came three times last night, built seven in you and now I’m gotta f**k you again,” he muttered, his thumb sweeping away and his lips getting closer.
“Tack, you don’t –”
“Shut up, Red,” he said against my lips, “I’m gonna kiss you. Then you’re gonna sit on my face. Then I’m gonna f**k you on your knees and imagine my mark on you. Don’t got time for your games.”
My games?
“Tack!” I snapped. “I’m not playing any –!”
I didn’t finish. His head slanted and he kissed me. Then he deviated from his plan, yanked off my cami and spent some time at my br**sts. Then he pulled me over him, tugged off my panties, yanked me down on his mouth and ate me. Then he f**ked me from behind, his hands spanning the area just above my ass, under my waist, his thumbs meeting in the middle, his fingertips at my hips.
And during it I decided I was definitely a tattoo person.
Absolutely.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Later
“Don’t worry, Cherry, I’ll get the pig.”
This was Brick accepting the task of finding the pig Chaos was going to roast the next Saturday.
“He always gets the pig,” Hound muttered, grinning at Dog who was grinning back. This told me they were sharing an inside joke. I knew they’d explain if they intended to, they always did, or didn’t as the case may be.
This time they didn’t for no further words were spoken about getting the pig. And seeing as it was a whole pig and that whole pig was a dead pig that would be roasted, I really didn’t want to know how Brick got his hands on it.
I was in my office at Ride’s garage. It was Friday after the Saturday morning that Tack and I had our discussion about tattoos. My office was now filled with rough and tumble bikers. Brick, Dog, Hound and Boz to be exact.
Like the mechanics and body shop guys, members of Chaos hanging in my office was not unheard of. Shortly after Tack officially declared me his woman, this began to happen. It wasn’t frequent. It wasn’t rare. And the boys who came to hang included what I’d discovered was my man’s inner sanctum, in other words, the guys who were closest to him, Dog and Brick (who Tack himself told me were his lieutenants), Hop, Hound and Boz. But I also got visits from all the members of Chaos including the three recruits, Roscoe, Tug and Shy.
Surprisingly it further included the two bikers that Tack confirmed at my question were dissenters but who were back in the fold now that they had to band together against the common enemy of the Russian mob, Arlo and High.