Page 38

Samantha

I love seeing him so shaken, seeing that confident smirk turned into a look of bewilderment that borders on cute. With wide eyes, a confused quirk to his smile, an upraised eyebrow. No, it doesn’t just border on cute — it is cute.

But, cute or not, I love the feeling it gives me to have this powerful man thrown off his game because of something I do. That he looks at me like he can’t believe how beautiful I am, that he can’t believe the things I’m saying, that he can’t believe that things I’m willing to do for him… or to him. All because, what, I don’t look like the typical person he dates, so I can’t enjoy sex just as much as he does? That I have to be innocent because I enjoy helping people? Please. Sex is fun, he is hot, he knows what I want, and we’re alone in a room with pieces of furniture that are close enough to beds that they’ll work, plus, we might just die tomorrow — of course I want to have sex with him. Right now.

Still, it’s a bonus that he looks cute.

“Calm me down?” He says. “You expect this to calm me down? You keep saying that word, but I do not think it means what you think it means, Samantha.”

I shake my head. “No, I know exactly what I’m saying, Diesel. But maybe I need to explain it to you.” I pat the tattooist chair. “Why don’t you take a seat, maybe lie back, so I can give you a long, in-depth explanation?”

That smirk returns. It isn’t his cute, bewildered smile that looks so out-of-place and yet so perfect on him, but it’s still damn handsome.

“In-depth, huh? Because I feel like this is going to take a lot of explaining,” he says, as he eases himself into the chair.

“It wouldn’t be the first time, would it? That someone has had to sit you down and explain something very basic to you?”

There’s a remark on his lips — probably a retort — that dies the second I put my hands on his belt. “Whatever you say,” he murmurs.

“I could get used to hearing that.”

With a few flicks of my wrists and twists of my fingers, his belt, his pants, everything standing between me and him is out of the way, and I tease him with the tips of my fingers, a gentle touch that brings him to full hardness.

“And I could get used to—”

His words end in a moan as I take his thick, hard cock into my mouth.

I swirl my tongue around the head, savoring his taste and the way he twitches beneath me. His hands find their way into my hair, not pushing or pulling, just resting there as if to ground himself. I take him deeper, relishing the weight of him on my tongue, the way he fills my mouth.

"Fuck, Samantha," he groans, his voice husky with desire.

I hum in response, sending vibrations through him that make his hips buck involuntarily. I place my hands on his thighs, steadying him as I continue. I alternate between long, slow licks along his shaft and taking him deep into my throat, reveling in the sounds he makes—soft moans and whispered curses.

When I feel him getting close, I pull back, meeting his eyes with a mischievous grin. His chest is heaving, pupils blown wide with lust.

"Why'd you stop?" he asks, voice rough.

I stand, slowly shimmying out of my pants and underwear.

"Because I want you inside me when you come."

His eyes roam hungrily over my naked body as I straddle him on the chair. I position myself above him, teasing us both by rubbing my wet heat along his length.

"You're incredible," he murmurs, hands coming to rest on my hips. “All this over that tattoo?”

“No. All this because I love you.” I lean down to kiss him deeply as I finally sink onto him, both of us moaning at the sensation.

I move, rocking my hips slowly at first, savoring the delicious stretch and fullness of him inside me. His hands grip my hips tighter, guiding my rhythm as it builds in intensity. Our lips meet in a heated kiss, tongues tangling urgently as the pleasure mounts between us.

"I love you too," he gasps out between ragged breaths. "God, Samantha..."

Those words spur me on and I quicken my pace, riding him harder, taking him deeper. The old tattoo chair creaks beneath us, but I barely register it, too lost in the overwhelming sensations. Electric tingles spread under my skin everywhere we're joined. The pressure inside me coils tighter and tighter, pushing me toward the edge.

Diesel's hands roam my body, caressing my breasts, my thighs, gripping my ass. I arch into his touch, my head falling back as I grind against him feverishly. He sits up suddenly, changing the angle, hitting a spot so deep inside me I cry out sharply.

"That's it baby, let go. Come for me," he urges, his voice strained and desperate.

His words are my perfect undoing. The coil snaps and my orgasm crashes over me in intense, body-shaking waves that rip a low, burning moan from somewhere deep in my chest. I clutch him tightly, my walls clenching rhythmically around his throbbing cock, pulling him over the edge with me. He buries his face in my tits, kissing, licking, worshiping while his cock twitches and releases inside me and each spasmic shake of his ecstasy pushes me further, deeper, into bliss.

We cling to each other as the aftershocks slowly ebb, hearts pounding, skin slicked with sweat. Diesel places soft, reverent kisses along my collarbone, up my neck, across my jaw until he reaches my lips. The kiss is slow, deep, saturated with unspoken emotion.

When we finally part, I rest my forehead against his, savoring this perfect, intimate moment, knowing all too well how fleeting such peace and pleasure can be in this unpredictable new world we inhabit. His fingers trace idle patterns on the small of my back as our breathing gradually returns to normal.

"You know, if this is how you're going to react every time I consider getting a questionable tattoo, I might have to rethink my stance on what makes a good tattoo," Diesel says with a crooked grin.

I swat his chest playfully. "Don't you dare! I'm not sure my heart, or other parts of me, could handle it."

"You sure? I bet we could get real creative with the designs..." He raises his eyebrows suggestively.

I can't help but laugh. "I think I'll stick to admiring the artwork you already have, thanks."

"Your loss," he shrugs, smirk still firmly in place. "But I'm holding you to that 'admiring' later."

"Mmm, that can be arranged. And let’s make it mutual." I slide off his lap reluctantly, legs more than a little unsteady. "But first, let’s get back to our deal. We have work to do, and not much time to do it in.”

“We can wait until after all this Moretti business,” he says. “There’s plenty of time.”

Moretti business?

What a casual way to put a violent war.

A violent war that could have my brother right at the top of the casualties list.

That idea hurts me more than the risk to my life; I’m making my choice to stay here with Diesel, to be his ol’ lady, but my brother is off there alone, and he doesn’t have a choice. He barely has a prayer, and that’s to hope that he makes it here, to safety, before Moretti catches him. I have no regrets about calling Jake. Someone has to stand up for him, and I’m all he’s got.

Momentarily, I think about reminding Diesel about what really is happening within hours — the guns, the violence, the death — but I forgo it because I know he’s offering me an out, a chance to re-think the idea of permanently marking myself as his. Except the more the idea sits with me, the more I like it; whether I’m going to die tomorrow as a casualty of the club’s war with Victor Moretti is irrelevant to the fact that I love Diesel and I want to be his ol’ lady, now and forever.

“No, this can’t wait.”

Naked, I position myself on the tattoo chair and point to a spot right above my heart. “Right here, please.”

It doesn’t take long. It doesn’t hurt much, either, but I think that’s because Diesel’s both excellent his art and he’s clearly trying like hell to be gentle; there’s a look of concentration on his face like he’s suddenly found himself in the final round of Jeopardy .

“Done,” he says, looking down at the spot above my heart and sparing only a passing glance for the magnificent Boise Buffalos tattoo on my ankle. I love them both. “Be careful with these the first few days. There’s a sheet of care instructions right over here…” He pauses and turns away from the chair, rummaging through a stack of papers on a nearby table. “Fuck, where are they? I put the whole fucking thing together just last week and told Rafe to make sure they had copies on hand…”

I blink. Even though I’m riding high at just having marked myself as Diesel’s, there’s something in his tone that cuts through my surprising post-tattoo glow, and my smile wavers. “You wrote the sheet? Why? Do you work here?”

“No, I don’t work here. Borrow a chair sometimes when I have someone that wants me to do some work on them,” he says as he shuffles through another stack of papers. Then, in the most off-handed, casual tone like he’s talking about last week’s weather, he adds, “But I’m planning on buying it. Even took out a loan from the bank and borrowed some money from the club.”

I look to the ‘For Sale’ sign and then back to him. “You’re buying this place?”

“Hunter’s here. He’s my brother. Tank… well, he’s my brother, too, and he’s… somewhere. You’ll meet him whenever he comes out of whatever hole he’s hiding in. Club’s here, too. They’re all my family. It’s time for me to settle down, and all this is part of who I am.” He gestures to the tables, the ink, the needles. “My home’s here, now. And it’s time I put down real roots. At least, that was my plan.”

“Was?” There’s a note in his voice that puts me on edge. That takes the hopeful, proud smile on my face at the idea of the man I love building something real for himself to go alongside our relationship, and turns it downward. “What do you mean ‘was?’”

Something thoughtful flashes through his eyes, a mix of doubt and hope. “I’ve been wrong about many things in my life, and I just realized this is one of them. You’ve got us marked into your chest, Samantha. You’re part of my family, too. And that’s why I can’t buy this place.”

My voice rises in pitch, and I sit up straighter. “Diesel, I don’t want to stop you from doing something that’s important to you. That’s exactly the opposite of what a partner does.”

“I know that, Samantha. And that’s not what this is about. You’re my ol’ lady, yes, but I’m your ol’ man, too. You take care of me, and I take care of you. You’re family. And that extends to your family, too.”

“What are you saying?”

“I want to help your brother, too. He’s important to you, that makes him important to me. I can put off buying this place from Rafe — he knows me, he’ll hold on to it until I’m ready. Right now, I’ve got money, and your brother’s got debts. Now, I’m not giving a fucking cent to Victor Moretti, but I imagine he’s not the only one your brother owes money to, am I right?”

Something frantic enters me. Something frantic and unbelieving. It simmers in a spot just below my stomach, making my insides boil with nausea as thoughts of my betrayal — my call to my brother — bounce in my skull.

“He does. I don’t know exactly how much or to who, but I’m sure he does. But, Diesel, you don’t need to—”

“I do. And I will.”

“Diesel, I…”

My words die beneath the intense, loving gaze of the man whose hold on my heart sits freshly tattooed on my chest. I want to stop him, I want to warn him, I want to tell him the truth about what I did and why I betrayed him, but every ounce of honesty withers in my throat beneath the weight of his look.

“Samantha, what’s wrong?” He says. “I thought you’d be happy, but you look like someone just kicked a puppy right in front of you.”

I should tell him. I have to. I must.

All I need to do is just open my mouth and b honest about what I did, and then call Jake and tell him to find somewhere else, somewhere safe, to hide until I can convince Diesel and the rest of the club to take my brother in the right way.

Diesel shouldn’t sacrifice his dream of owning his own parlor and putting down roots, not when I’ve lied to him and everyone else.

But for everything I know I should do, everything I want to do, I can’t find the words to speak the truth and wipe that look full of love, respect, and pride off Diesel’s face.

Instead, I clear my throat, and I smile.

“No, nothing’s wrong. I think that’s a wonderful idea.”