The Replacement (23 page)

“You can’t be serious,” I say, beaming at him despite my disbelief.

“I thought you loved ink.”

“I do, I just…” Eyeing the shop sign above us, I drag in a deep breath. Maybe it’s the fact that I’m still getting used to spending time with a man outside of a bedroom, or maybe it’s because I’m still surprised to be whisked off to Bainbridge Island for the afternoon, but adrenaline is pulsing in my blood and I’m completely floored by the fact that Ryder thought to bring me here. Some girls find flowers and chocolate romantic, but this? This is my kind of romance. Art and ink and blood. It’s damn sexy, and the gesture has rendered me speechless.

“Come in and meet Tracy,” Ryder says, taking my hand. “We have all afternoon, so get whatever you want, baby. It’s on me.”

“Holy shit,” I whisper as he leads me inside. It’s a small, clean shop, nestled into a line of stores that seem to be off the beaten path from the rest of downtown Bainbridge. Everything about it feels removed from the more upscale businesses that grace the main street. It breathes, natural and open, its walls sprawled with heart, edge, and argument—a modest display of the artist’s work. I’m enthralled, and the second I meet her, I’m ready for the needle.

“Hey, how’s it goin’?” Tracy asks, shaking my hand. “Ryder tells me you guys want to get some work done today? Do you have an idea of what you’re looking for?” She smiles and sets a sketch pad down, motioning for me to have a seat on one of the stools. Her feet are in dark brown boots, her hair is back in a loose bun, and The Smiths play in the background. Her voice matches her laidback persona, and I’m instantly at ease.

“Not really, no. This is sort of a surprise, so…”

She laughs and pulls out some books with various font styles. “That’s Ryder. Always full of surprises.” She eyes him for a second, handing me the books to flip through. “Just take a look at these and if you get an idea of what you might want, we can toss some ideas back and forth and see what we come up with. Sound good?”

“Definitely.” I settle onto the stool and begin flipping pages, sneaking a peek at Ryder. He’s admiring the art on the wall, chatting with Tracy while she begins setting up the equipment. Her voice suddenly turns low and they both glance over their shoulders toward me. I avert my eyes.

I thumb through a few more pages until I settle on a concept I like. There’s no need to pick out a font style, because I won’t be needing one this time. I close the books and stand from the stool.

“Any ideas?” Tracy asks, rummaging through supplies.

“I think so, yeah.” I lift up my shirt and shimmy my skirt waistband down to bare my hipbone. “I want to continue what I have going on here, on the other hip.”

“Oh yeah? Come here, let me get a better look.” She squints and waves me over, studying the art with an approving smile. “Alright, we can do that. Let me sketch something up and see what you think.”

“Sounds good.” Excitement unfurls deep in my gut as I watch her reach for her sketch paper. Ryder joins us, moseying up behind me to slip his arms around my waist. He rests his chin on my shoulder and watches Tracy flesh out some ideas while I describe what I want.

Two hours later, my other hip is glistening with fresh black ink. My bird has a home—a nest in a lush tree, which holds a pile of hearts similar to one the bird is carrying from the cage. A trail of smaller hearts trickles over my lower abdomen, just along my panty line, leading to the tree’s nest, creating a path from one hip to the other. I’m completely smitten and even more thrilled that I get to watch Ryder get inked next.

He removes his shirt and takes a seat, falling into easy conversation with Tracy. The needle starts buzzing away and I settle into the small sofa up against the wall, where I get a perfect glimpse of the show. Tracy makes jokes about Charles Bukowski and starts telling Ryder all about the sailboat she and her husband built together from scratch. She says it’s right there on the harbor and invites us to check it out after she’s done, but Ryder politely declines. He smirks at me from the chair, unleashing that damn dimple as he explains that we have to catch the ferry to make it back to Gig Harbor on time for me to meet my friend. I’m already going to be late meeting Natalie, but I’m hoping she’ll understand. I’m sure Jay filled her in on Ryder’s surprise.

The hard planes of Ryder’s chest and abdomen flinch and flex as the needle works over him. He’s so at ease as Tracy works, but I’m anything but comfortable. I have to press my knees together to keep from squirming, and my mouth waters as I watch him. He’s casually sprawled out in the chair, one arm behind his head propping him up, his legs splayed wide and loose as he leans back. He’s chatting away—talking books, of course—completely oblivious to the fact that I’m so turned on I can barely think straight. All I want to do is jump him.

One agonizing hour later, when we board the ferry home, I finally get the chance.

The ferry bathroom door slams behind us and Ryder reaches to click the lock, but I stop him. “Leave it open,” I whisper, as I drag him inside by the collar of his shirt, gripping him hard. I feel a mischievous glint in my eye as I lead him into the closest stall. My back hits the side of the stall and he swings the door shut, fumbling with the lock as he hoists and pins me up. I don’t want to know how filthy the stall is, I only want to make it dirtier.

Ryder’s hands wildly grope my thighs, shoving my skirt up and tearing my panties right down the middle. I cry out and bite down hard on his lip. I’m going to combust at any second, and the hiss of approval that sizzles through his teeth speeds up my impending release. It’s on its way. It just might kill me. But if Ryder keeps manhandling me like this, I’ll die one happy girl.

I focus on grasping at his shoulders, working the sleeves of his blazer down his elbows. I mess with the top buttons of his shirt next, but he’s too impatient. His hand glides up my neck to the back of my scalp and threads into my hair, yanking my head to the side. He spins me around and slams me forward, pressing my chest into the stall wall.

“Like this,” is all he says, angling my head to the side so my cheek is smashed against the wall. The sound of his zipper echoes off the tile floor and he thrusts into me in one swift, sharp movement. He doesn’t bother with slow build up. There is no steady pace, no chivalry. Just fast, hard abandon, as if he knows it’s exactly what I need. His palm slaps the wall next to my face while the other grips the side of my hip. He’s careful not to touch the bandage covering my new tat. This is the roughest Ryder’s ever been with me, but his touch still feels attentive, like he’s handling a precious artifact.

A squeak and heavy creak sounds from the bathroom entrance as someone strolls through the door. Shoes shuffle along the tile into the stall next to us, and Ryder stills inside of me. I freeze against the wall, working to quiet my breathing as one of his hands glides around to cover my mouth. His body trembles against mine from behind. A sheen layer of sweat on his chest touches the back of my neck, sticking to my skin. His fingers clamp down harder over my mouth and he begins to move inside of me again, careful and even, slow and measured. The thrill races through me, the adrenaline heady and dangerous.

Tameless need ignites my bones.

I bite down on his finger and push against him, hearing him grunt, working to muffle the sound against my ear. I grin against his hand, my eyes rolling up to meet his over my shoulder. He shoots me an equally devious look, but it’s full of warning as the toilet flushes next to us. The stall door swings open and water runs at the sink for a moment before the bathroom door creaks again. The second we’re alone, Ryder drops his hand from my mouth and resumes his brisk strokes.

My breaths come out in labored, harsh gasps as I accept him, letting him ram me against the bathroom stall wall. Our moans echo throughout the large space, mingling with the slapping of skin and sweat. Each time his groin hammers hard against my ass, I shudder with a deeper need, one I can’t compare to any other I’ve ever known. Ryder’s taking what he wants, giving me what I want. It’s wholly physical and entirely carnal, but a deep seed, rooted somewhere in the rich soil of my soul, tells me this transcends the physical.

Ryder is more than perfectly imperfect, sexy, strong male. He’s gesture and heart, soul and honesty. His actions actually back up his words and he always says what he means. There hasn’t been any question of his intentions or motives, because he wears those desires on his sleeve like a bleeding heart.
When you find a connection like we have, you recognize it. You grab hold of it and take it for all its worth. You don’t let it slip between your fingers.
Christian’s words zing toward me and I grapple to push them away. Christian is the very last person I want to be thinking about right now.

But what if he’s right?

Not only about that, but about the idea of enough being only an illusion? What if Ryder discovers who I truly am and realizes I’m not enough? That he needs more? Something better? Expectations have always scared the shit out of me. Many don’t show the people closest to them every part of their true selves. They can’t. Even to those they love. They’re too close. Too close to the person they want you to be. The truth might carve their heart out. Then what will they do when they’re left bleeding? What will you do when their blood is on your hands? I’ll tell you what.

Clean up.

A clean-up crew has to swing by and clean up the mess for you both, because one of you is reeling over the realization that he’s been in love with an ideal of you—not the real you—and you’re too busy trying to hold him together while you deal with the fact that you’ve been lying to yourself. You’re both too shell shocked by the grimness of it all to take care of the mess on your own. And that clean-up crew? The little minions in charge of your hazardous waste? They get the worst end of the deal. Your mom, your kid, your career, whatever. Whatever saves you takes a beating. And it’s not fair. None of it is.

“Elise,” Ryder groans into my ear, sliding a hand around my torso and down between my legs. He thumbs my clit as he fucks me, picking up the pace. “Where are you, baby?”

“I’m here,” I murmur, dropping a hand over his knuckle as he works me. “Right here.”

A loud gasp is punched from my lungs when his hips stop rocking and he grabs my shoulders, spinning me back around to face him. He peers down at me, hazy eyes dancing for a second as they study my face, and then his hot mouth covers mine, bearing down like angry lava. He suddenly drops to his knees and shoves his head between my legs, his hands clamping down hard on my hips. A strangled cry breaks me open when I feel his tongue, determined and sharp. I shout, my head slamming back against the wall.

“Are you with me?” He exhales against my pussy, nipping roughly. “Give it to me, Elise.” He resumes his persistent strokes, sending me soaring into the sun. Bursts of light rain down all around me, bright and sweet, and my legs tremble with the explosion. I’m gasping for breath, my fingers curling in Ryder’s hair, convulsing against his tongue. As his strokes slow and I slide back down from the bliss, I’m ready to be wrung out to dry, but he’s not done with me yet.

Standing to his feet, he lifts me by the waist and sinks me back down onto his cock, sliding deep inside with one decadent, firm stroke. I’m still catching my breath, panting and begging him, mumbling incoherent things, but he powers forward, his lips dropping to the crook of my neck. Pleasure radiates from my core and swells, pouring outward and dousing my inner thighs with waves of warmth. He smashes into me, again and again, until he’s shouting my name and gripping my hair tightly between his knuckles.

A long, strenuous sigh shuttles through him and our bodies slump against one another, his broad shoulders holding me to the wall. His chest heaves against mine and I suddenly wince, wiggling against him to put some space between us. He looks dumbfounded and a bit slighted as I push him back, but I placate him with a quick-witted smile.

“Our ink,” I breathe in explanation, trailing my fingers along the bandage over his chest. It’s peeking out from underneath his shirt, just below the top buttons I’d managed to loosen.

“Oh, damn,” he laughs, out of breath. “Sorry. Let me see.” He rests his hot hands on my waist and crouches down to study the bandage on my hip. Lifting it, he studies it and grins when he’s satisfied. “Perfect.”

“Like yours,” I reply coyly, pulling him up to full height. My fingers slide beneath his shirt, over his exposed chest, and I perform the same check, carefully lifting his bandage. The words
ad astra per aspera
are splayed across the firm skin, across his collarbone, with falling stars on the edges of the phrase. “Through hardships to the stars,” I whisper, admiring the new art. I can feel his gaze, penetrating and roasting me from the inside out. “So optimistic.”

“You think?” His tone’s gritty and dry.

My eyes roam up to meet his. “Not everyone makes it to the stars.”

“When one wants, one can,” he replies, feeding me the mantra on my own hip.

My lids narrow, and a spark slithers down my spine. “I hope you’re right.” A sad smile teases my lips and I shift to move. I want out of this stall and off this ferry. I need to get home, need to see Natalie, but most of all, I need to distance myself from whatever being with Ryder stirs in me, so I can think clearly and focus. Today has been art and ink and blood, but it’s also been emotion and confusion and sweaty, lecherous sex. It’s been a rush of things that I don’t know how to define other than danger.