First Ink

Rush

She’s fucking unraveled me again. Screwed with my head again. Made me not only want her ass more than I’ve ever wanted it, but made me believe that maybe—shit, just maybe—there’s a possibility for…something. Clearly, I’m mentally fucked, because instead of putting her on the back of my bike and dropping her wherever she and her friend are hanging their hats, I put her on the back of my bike and set a course for home.

She’s wearing my helmet, and her arms are wrapped so tightly around my torso I sort of can’t breathe. But I don’t give a shit. The moon is full, stars are blinking hard and bright, we’re alone on the desert road, and I just can’t get there fast enough. Get my mouth on hers fast enough. Get my tongue back inside her fast enough. It’s a real fatal flaw with me.

My mom knew it. Knew I had no business slowing down. She named me Rush because of how I was born. I was her first baby, and I guess they say that first babies take forever. Not me. Twenty minutes from home to hospital to in her arms. And from that day on, it’s how I’ve lived my life.

As I take a tight curve, Addison squeals behind me and clings to my back like a terrified monkey. I could slow down, if I was a nice guy. Or shit, I could pull over to the side of the road, let her breathe for a second. But that might bring about some trouble. I’d probably be inclined to turn around and have her straddle me, wrap her legs around me as I drop her zipper again. And mine. Shit, we don’t need to get all the way naked. Not for me to slip inside. I know how wet she gets. I can still taste it.

I narrow my eyes and kick the chopper into high gear. I must be a fucking lunatic to be doing this. Or a masochist. Or shit, maybe both. But it’s been a dream of mine to have her at my place. Have her see it, walk around inside it. Without ever knowing that she was who I thought about when I designed it.

I pull off the main road onto a dirt one that stretches up a ways and meets with my actual driveway. I bought this piece of land on the second anniversary of Wicked Ink. We’d been doing really well, and I’d been dying for something all my own, deep in the desert. It took a good year to build the contemporary stone, metal and glass structure, but it was worth the wait.

I kill the engine under the steel carport, then wait for Addison to slip off before following her. She already has my helmet off by the time I face her, and it’s like holding back a bull when I see her bright eyes, flushed cheeks and sexy, just-fucked hair.

But her eyes aren’t on me, they’re combing the exterior of my house.

“Oh, Rush,” she breathes, sounding so entranced I feel a fucking kick in my heart muscle. “You designed this. I can tell.”

I don’t say a word. I think my throat’s not working right. Or maybe it’s my lungs. I just take her hand and lead her inside the house. My gut is doing the knot dance again because as she stares at all the glass and metal, brick and stone, I wonder if she likes it or is overwhelmed by it. The place is pretty modern, maybe even cold to some.

Standing in the center of the living room, staring out the wall of glass doors leading to the view of the Red Rocks in the distance, she turns to look at me. “It’s beautiful.”

The knot inside me unravels instantly and I find myself grinning like an asshole. I take her around, show her every inch of my digs, preen like a douche every time she oohs and aahs over my shit. God damn, I don’t want to be this guy, this guy who feels giddy-ass relief that his girl approves of his pad. Because A: I shouldn’t give a shit. And B: She’s not my girl anymore.

We end up in the kitchen and I remember she’s a guest and not a permanent resident who knows her way around and has equal control over the fridge and its contents.

“You want something to drink?” I ask, grabbing the handle and pulling the stainless door open to see what I got.

“Sure.” Addison leans against the counter all casual. She looks good in here, like she already belongs or something.

My hand tightens around the handle. “Nothing with alcohol for you.”

“Hey, hey,” she says on a laugh. The sound echoes through my house. I wonder idiotically if it’ll stick around, maybe cling to the walls after she leaves.

“I’m over twenty-one, man,” she continues. “Granted, it’s just one year over. But that’s legal.”

“Alcohol can do funny things.”

“No doubt. Some of the shit I’ve see at school…”

“I’m talking about tats.” I stare into the fridge, not seeing a damn thing, my skin going tight around my muscles. “Don’t want the area to start bleeding. It’s not likely, but I’m not taking any chances.”

“Aww, you’re such a caring guy.”

I close the fridge with just a little too much force and turn to face her. “No. I’m not.”

Her brows shoot together and she pushes away from the counter. Her happy face, and that sexy but casual body language—both of which I seriously want to bottle and keep in my upstairs safe—go rigid.

“Okay, what just happened?” she asks, shaking her head at me, her eyes confused. “We were chilling. Had a back and forth that was easy and light, and…” She shrugs. “You turn dark again. What’s going on, Rush? Did you bring me here to fight?”

My body flares up and my dick knocks at my zipper. Why did I bring her here? Was it because after tasting her back at the office, I needed more? I needed all of her? Or was it something besides that?

As I try to work out what I’m feeling, what I’m doing, my freaking intentions, my jaw goes so goddamn tight I’m worried about something snapping in there.

She takes a step toward me. “Rush…”

I back up like she’s made of fire. “Don’t want to fight.”

“Okay, good.” She nods. “Then what’s up?”

“What’s up?” I repeat, sounding a little manic. “Jesus…I’m such a fucking idiot.”

“Why?”

My eyes lock with hers. I’m going off the rails. I can feel it. Why did she have to do this? Come back here and start shit up again? Make me want her? Make me remember how I’ve never stopped.

“Will you talk to me, please?” she says.

“I brought you here because I wanted to show you…” Fuck! I start, but can’t finish. Because I’m a pussy. Because her eyes are trying to burrow into my chest and take a look at my heart.

“Show me what?” she pushes.

I turn away, walk away, head for the doors and for the Red Rocks beyond. I contemplate smashing the glass to bits, even though I can just open the fucking thing if I want out. It’s just…I don’t want her to peer inside of me. I don’t want her to see that once-wrecked muscle because she’ll see that it’s no longer wrecked. That it’s starting to look right and maybe open up a little.

“Rush,” she calls, coming up behind me.

“Not now, Addison,” I say, feeling nuts and out of breath. “Give me a sec.”

“God, you’re killing me here.”

“Good!”

“What?”

I round on her, my anger, fear and lust colliding. “I said good! Fuck you, Ads. Good!”

Tears prick her eyes. She stares at me for one second, then turns around and heads to the kitchen counter and the small purse she’d dropped there earlier.

I’d fucking loved seeing her shit on my counter.

“What are you doing?” I ask, though it comes out harsh and demanding.

“I need to call a cab.”

My heart sinks into my gut like it’s made of steel and I hightail it over to her. “No.”

Ignoring me, she digs in her purse and pulls out her cell.

I take it from her. “You’re not going anywhere. Goddammit, Addison, I didn’t say that to hurt you.”

She turns and glares at me. “Sure you did, and you had every right to. I deserve it. I know I do. I fucked up. I knew what I had—I knew!” Those tears start falling. “But I threw it away. I’ll regret it for the rest of my life, Rush, but I was fucking seventeen years old. We’re morons at seventeen. We think everything we do is right—that nothing has a consequence.” She grabs my shirt, yanks me to her. Her eyes are wild and glistening and gorgeous. “I’m asking you, begging you to forgive me so I can move on with my life—”

I cover her hand with my own and snarl, “You’re not getting my forgiveness.”

“Why not?” she cries out.

“Because I don’t want you to move on with your life!”

I grab her face and cover her mouth with mine. Her mouth has always been a hot and soft spot for me, and the one place I always wanted, but tonight it’s my way back from misery. I need her. More than I needed my tongue on her earlier. More than I need food or booze or my iron in my hand. I need my body against her, my dick inside her, deep and wet, just one last time to get her out of my system. Or fuck, that’s what I’m going to tell myself with every inch I push myself inside of her.

Christ, whatever it takes to separate feeling from fucking.

As she works my zipper, I grab for the edges of her tank, and ease it up, breaking our kiss for a sec to pull it over her head. Then I take her face in my hands again and devour her. She tastes hot, like the desert we’re alone in, and I drive my tongue inside her mouth to let her know that she belongs to me. Right now, she belongs to me.

Her hands fumble with the waist of my jeans, but she manages to get my fly undone and my cock in her hands. I groan as she fists me, and kiss her deeper. She meets me every step of the way, sucking my tongue into her mouth, biting at my lower lip.

Like I said, her and me, we were always combustible.

Her breasts are pressed up against my chest, the diamond-hard tips making me crazy with lust. I hate that I can’t have her every way at once. Hate that my mouth can’t be everywhere at once. Shit, that would rule with this girl.

I drag my mouth away from hers with a curse. Which causes her to release my dick. The thing instantly cries over the loss, dripping pre-come on my abs. But I gotta get those jeans off of her, those soaking wet panties. Breathless, her eyes half-lidded and hot, she wiggles out of the tight denim and tosses them aside with her foot.

I grin. I can’t fucking help it. She’s just so kickass. So fun. So desperate, like me.

Completely naked now, I see how wet she is, how the sweet-as-sin juice I sucked from her earlier is running hot again, down her leg, tempting me. My mouth waters, and I contemplate laying her out on my dining table and having a late supper. But then she’s on me, her thumbs tucked into the waistband of my jeans. She pulls Denim and his friend Boxer Brief down so hard I almost lose my balance. She looks up at me and laughs. I do too, then kick both things in the same direction as her clothes.

For one second, maybe two, I let my eyes roam over her, take in that sexy body that makes my eyes cross with lust. Oh, the artwork I would love to brand her with. Something with a lot of color on her thigh…maybe some black and gray under one of her breasts. Then my gaze jacks up, locks with those mismatched peepers and I’m done. Fucking done.

I reach for her, around her, and cup her ass. The second I lift her up, she wraps her legs around my waist and grinds her wet pussy against the base of my shaft.

I groan. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been inside you,” I say, my eyes tight with hers. “And yet I remember every inch. How you feel, how you smell, how tight your pussy squeezes my cock when we come together.”

“Oh, god,” she breathes, her eyelids getting heavy. “Rush, don’t make me wait any longer.”

We’re face to face, breath to breath, and as I lean in and take her mouth again, I lift her sweet ass in the air and set her right down on my cock.