Inked Fighter: Book One (BBW New Adult Romance) (7 page)

I felt so nervous I thought my heart would fly out of my chest and flutter away. Damien would be at my house in a few minutes to give me a tattoo.  I’d considered putting on something sexy, but changed my mind. I didn’t want to give him any ideas. Instead, I wore a pair of jeans and a tank top under a hoodie that zipped in front.

I trotted down the stairs. Zoe played with Rose in the living room. It made me happy to see them enjoying each other’s company.

“What time will he be here?” Zoe asked. Was she trying to make me more nervous?

“Six.”

I could feel my stomach turning in knots.

There was a knock at the door. I looked at Zoe with huge eyes and my cheeks puffed out.

“Answer it!”

I let out the breath and opened the door. There he stood. He wore a leather jacket and had a backpack slung over his shoulder. His blue eyes gazed down at me like the sun on water. I vaporized. My knees almost buckled. I hoped my face didn’t reveal my emotions.

I could smell the spicy musk of his cologne mixed with the smooth scent of leather. It made my heart crash against my ribs and my mouth salivate. I felt the tiny pinpoint between my legs swell. We stood in the doorway staring at each other awkwardly. I was like a doe caught under the magnetism of an alpha wolf.

“Hi,” said Zoe, holding her hand up in greeting from the couch. Rose cooed in baby talk, her gummy grin wide.

“Doggie,” she said, pointing at Damien. Zoe and Damien laughed. I felt mortified.

“Not doggie, man,” I corrected, taking her little hand in mine and kissing her pudgy pink cheek. My hair tumbled around my shoulders.

“She got me, I’m a shape-shifter,” he said behind me.

I turned to look at him, flicking my hair behind my back. His grin gleamed in his eyes. I tilted my head to the side and smirked. “I can see it. Bradly did pick a fight with you when we met. Now I know why.”

“Out of the mouths of babes,” he said, staring me down.

“I’ll take Rose upstairs,” said Zoe.

“Thanks, Zo.”

“Just call me if you need anything. I’ll be in your room.”

I felt shy under his gaze. He seemed to be eating me up with his eyes; it sent a thrill through me and made me feel utterly open and completely vulnerable.

“Should we set up in the dining room?” he asked.

“That sounds good.”

He turned a chair around so that the back faced the table. He told me to straddle it while he pulled his equipment from his backpack, setting dyes and a tattoo gun on a stainless steel tray. He brought one of the lamps from the living room and pointed it at my back, then pulled up a chair to sit beside me.

“Now, how do I get you out of your clothes?” he asked.

I stiffened. He was going to touch me with his big dexterous hands.

I pulled off my hoodie, and Damien gathered my hair and swept it to the side. His fingers grazed my skin, sending a tremor down my spine. He slid his fingers over my neck and down my upper back, tracing the lines where the tattoo would be.

“It will go from here to here.”

“That feels like the right spot.”

He wiped my back with antiseptic, making me tingle. Then he placed the stencil on my skin and pressed. When the ink had sunk in, he peeled it away. With two hand mirrors, he showed me the stencil. I looked at the design on my skin. It was even more beautiful than it had been before.

“Perfect.”

He slathered his hands with hand sanitizer and then snapped on a pair of rubber gloves. The sound of his tattoo gun buzzed behind me and the first jabbing sensation of the needle bit through my skin.

“Mother fucker!” I spouted. It hurt far worse than I’d imagined.

“The lines are the worst. Are you going to be okay?”

“I gave birth. I can do this.”

He chuckled and pressed the needle into my skin again.  I let out a long, low moan and whimpered.

“I wish it wasn’t pain that was making you make those noises,” he said, barely audible above the sound of the tattoo gun.

“What?” My head was spinning. I could smell ink as the needle pierced my skin. Endorphins hummed through my blood stream. I knew what he said. I wanted him to say it again.

“I’d like to hear you make those noises from pleasure.”

“That’s what I thought.” I groaned again, and he laughed. “Are you enjoying this?”

“Hurting you? No. But the tat is going to be amazing. I’m just imagining you groaning for better reasons.”

“Stop it. You don’t have my permission — ouch — to think that,” I teased, barely keeping myself from moaning again.

“You can’t stop me. In my head, you’re all mine.”

“Should I be worried?”

“What is there to be worried about?”

“I don’t know. Tattoo biker guy who likes to make me groan. Ouch… And somehow weasels his way into my house to press his sharp needles into my skin. Could be dangerous.”

The buzzing of the gun stopped, and Damien was silent. “I’d never hurt you,” he said. The tattoo gun buzzed back to life and the needle dug into my flesh.

“You don’t even know me.”

“You’re you.”

I rolled my eyes. “I’m nothing special. I’m just a girl on the edge who hasn’t slipped over. There are plenty of us, everywhere you go.”

“Do you want me to agree that you aren’t special? Would that make you more comfortable?”

“Well, then you’d sound like everyone else. Maybe it would.”

“I’m not everyone else.”

“So, you’re the special one.”

“Maybe. Maybe I am. Maybe I’m special because I can see how special you are.”

“Oh brother. Just do the tattoo, would you?”

He chuckled and the gun buzzed in the air between us. We sat silently while he finished his work. My skin became numb to the pain, and I relaxed into the feeling of it slicing my body. Finally, he wiped my back and covered it with ointment and a bandage. “The outline is done. We can do the shading later. How do you feel?”

“A bit lightheaded. But the pain got better after a while.”

“It usually does. Hey, you want to maybe go for a ride or something. It’s still early, and I have the day off.”

“A ride, with you, on your bike?”

“Yes. Why not?”

“I guess.” I shrugged. Was he asking me out? We were treading an uncomfortable line. This was exactly what I was afraid of. My head shouted at me that I should have said no. My body reminded me it wanted nothing more than for him to lift me onto the kitchen counter and shove his tongue in my mouth. I told both parts of myself to shut the hell up. “Where?”

“It’s still light out. We can head up to the park.”

“I can’t resist a ride to the park. Let me just tell Zoe.” I found Zoe upstairs, playing with Rose on the floor in my bedroom.

“Um, so, Damien asked to go for a ride. Could you watch Rose while I’m gone?”

“Wow. Hot. Like a date?”

“No. I just figured I might as well take the opportunity to get out of the house for a while.”

She snickered at me. “Yes, of course. Go.”

I trotted downstairs and grabbed my coat. Damien packed his things in his backpack.

I followed him outside and he handed me a helmet. He got on the bike and helped me get on behind him. We sped down the road and turned toward town and stopped in front of the health food store. He told me he’d be right back, and I waited outside. A few minutes later, Damien came out with a bag that he stashed in the storage compartment in his bike.

We got back on and sped north along the highway. I had no idea what he had planned, but I didn’t care. My body pressed against his. The motor under me hummed into my already excited core and teased out the moisture waiting behind the surface.

I felt so safe attached to his strength. My legs squeezed around his hips. The feeling of his hard body between my legs added to my excitement.

We turned into the Redwood State Park and took the Avenue of the Giants into the forest. We passed the tourist destinations. Tall trees rose up around us, and the shadow of the forest swallowed us in diffused light. The hydrangeas were blooming, white and pink and purple — massive pompoms on tall leafy bushes.

We drove past the campground and continued down a rarely traveled road toward the back of the park. I clung to him as we drove. Finally, we made it to a turnout that indicated a trail to Island Hill.

I got off the bike and pulled the helmet from my head. The damp smell of the fog and the richness of the forest intoxicated me. Damien opened the storage compartment of his bike and pulled out a blanket and the bag from the grocery store. He took my hand and led me up the trail. After the long drive the trail was fairly short.

I enjoyed the feeling of being so deep in the forest. It was pristine, so far from everything. We made it to the top of the hill. It gave a view of the fog-covered valley sprawled out below. In the distance, a hill peeked through the clinging white mist.

I watched Damien spread the blanket over the grass in a sheltered clearing. We sat down, and he opened the take-out boxes — perfectly moist chicken kabobs, rice pilaf with cranberries, spinach spanakopita with flaky layers of filo and feta cheese, and rich chocolate cake for dessert.

“You had this planned all along. Didn’t you?”

“Maybe.”

I dug into the savory food, happy to taste something other than my own cooking or leftovers from the café. Flavors burst on my tongue. He uncorked a bottle of wine and poured it into plastic cups. We touched our glasses together, making a pitiful little tapping sound. I smiled at him. I knew it was a huge goofy smile. I felt happy. His lips curled in a grin and his eyes gazed down at me like they could see inside my soul.

“So, tell me your story, Damien Cruz.”

“There isn’t much to tell.”

“Come on. You trick me into a date and don’t want to tell me your story. Where are you from?”

“Los Angeles.”

I sipped my wine and took another bite of my rice pilaf. The sweet tang of cranberry broke between my teeth. “Oh. A SoCal boy. Do you surf?”

He nearly spit out his wine laughing. I wasn’t sure what was so funny. “No. I’ve never even been on a surfboard. Surfing is for rich kids.”

I suddenly felt a sense of kinship to him. My heart opened, and I wanted to know more about him. “What was your family like?”

“It was just me and my mom and dad. We lived in North Hollywood. Hollywood isn’t what people think. We had a lot of gangs and crime and prostitution going on in our neighborhood. It was pretty tough on the street. Mom always kept things together until she left. My dad was degenerate criminal who could never hold a job.”

“He sounds like a great guy.”

“Meh, my dad was what he was. I try not to think about it. He’s dead now.”

“Do you have a good relationship with your mom?”

“She was kind of my best friend when I was a kid. I was one of the only white kids in my school. It was tough, but she was always there for me.”

“What happened to her?”

“I came home from school one day, junior year of high school, and she was gone. She didn’t even leave a note or a phone number.”

“Jeez. I’m sorry. That must have been so hard.”

“Where are your parents?” he said, changing the subject.

“My mother… she killed herself two years ago. That’s why I’m here and not in college. I was on a full scholarship to a design school, but I had to come home to take care of Zoe. My dad, he left a long time ago.”

“Shit, Claire. I had no idea. That’s horrible. At least my mom is still alive somewhere. I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

“It was hard. But we had the house, and we live in a pretty safe town.”

“This place is a little piece of heaven.” He lay down on the blanket next to me. I could feel the warmth of his body radiating into my hip. I took a last swig of wine and lay down next to him.

Our individual pain seemed to merge into a collective body that divided between us and made it all seem less raw. My broken soul went out to his, and we merged with each other in that moment as the fog rolled over the hillside.

“What happened to Rose’s father?” he said, lying beside me.

I took a deep breath. I didn’t want to talk about Jessy. It was one of those subjects I avoided, like my mother’s suicide. He stroked the back of my hand. I drew my hand away and crossed my arms, staring up at the darkening sky. I felt guilty for pulling away from an innocent touch. I knew I wasn’t going to make out with him. I might as well tell him why he should stay far, far away.

“It was a car accident. After I came home to take care of my sisters, when my mom died, Jessy and I started going out. We’d been friends as kids and kind of more in high school, but it never went anywhere. One night he picked me up in his car, and I was so overwhelmed with everything that we ended up doing it in the front seat of his little pickup. Totally unglamorous.”

I tried to laugh, making it feel less awkward. “A few weeks later, I found out I was pregnant. Of course, I was stunned and thought about all my options. I was only eighteen. But I’d just lost my mom. I couldn’t lose a baby too. Maybe I was just being selfish.”