Maci
I winced as Digger pulled out. So damn big, he left me empty. Aching.
“Be right back,” he said.
A shuddering inhale, and I relaxed completely, spent and smiling, my gaze on Digger’s flexing ass as he walked across the bedroom toward the bathroom. I’d been in control of everything for so damn long, it was nice to give over to someone else. His sexy-ass body and grim demeanor cherried the top of that damn cupcake.
Holy fuck, I could totally fall for the guy. Badass or not, he got me going. Knew how to cook. Knows how to care for a woman, too, I thought as he returned with a hot, wet towel to wipe between my thighs and ass.
“You okay?” he asked, his dark eyes roaming over my face, reading me most likely. Couldn’t blame him for questioning me like he had. In his shoes, I expect I’d have done the same.
“Yeah. I’m good.”
Lips in a flat line, he retrieved a switchblade from his bed stand, and within a few flicks of his wrists, unbound my arms and legs. Calloused, yet gentle hands helped me scoot down on the bed, and I stretched, taking stock of my joints. The ache in my ass.
Digger sat beside my legs and picked up my foot, his fingers kneading into my muscles.
I moaned and smiled. “That feels so damn good.”
His lips didn’t twitch, but I recognized the smile in his eyes. Exactly how he took his coffee … dark and sweet. I stretched my arms overhead while he massaged up my leg, kissed my bare mound, and worked down the other side.
One would think the silence between us would feel awkward. Uncomfortable, even after his questions, but I loved every second just being near him. Whatever connection linked us together, no longer flared or simmered with heat, but comforted like a warm blanket on a winter’s day.
“What do you usually do on Saturdays?” I asked as he neared my foot and the end of my massage.
“I work out for a couple hours then head to my shop.”
“Shop?”
“Tattoo place a few miles away. Don’t have anyone scheduled for tonight, though.”
I lifted up onto my elbows. “You’re a tattoo artist?”
He nodded, glancing up at me.
“I’ve always wanted a tattoo. Mom doesn’t—didn’t—approve of them.” My voice caught, but I smiled. “Would you ink me?”
“What do you want?”
“I…” I frowned while considering and laying down flat again. “If you’re going to permanently mark your body, it ought to be something special, something important that defines you, shouldn’t it?”
Digger shrugged and finally put my foot back on the mattress. He stretched out beside me, propped on an elbow. “Doesn’t have to. Could just be something you like.”
I ran my gaze across his chest and down one of his arms. Skulls, a badass bike with demon horns for handle bars, chopper engine parts—if I had to guess—the word “LOYAL” across his right hand’s knuckles … and don’t forget the yin and yang, the knife. The “67” on his neck.
“I like all your ink,” I said, trailing my fingertips along the barbed wire circling one of his biceps.
“You do?”
“It’s sexy as fuck, same as the rest of you.”
I ran my hand over his thick pecs, over his collarbone and defined shoulder with its bulging muscle.
“My scar doesn’t bother you?” he asked, his voice quiet. Unsure.
My gaze followed my thumb as I swiped over his lower lip and up along the puckered skin leading to his ear. “Not even a little. It means you’re a survivor. A fighter.” I finally met his gaze.
Dark eyes, open and vulnerable peered at me.
“You don’t believe me,” I said.
“Hard to imagine someone can find this—” He grasped my hand and pulled it away from his face, “—something other than hideous.”
I cupped the other side of his face and leaned up. “Maybe if I say it often enough…” I kissed him, hoping like hell he’d keep me around long enough to convince him of his hotness.
****
Too sore to fuck, I offered to make him lunch before heading into his tattoo shop. With cupboards and fridge almost bare except for protein powder and beer, we ended up going out for a roast beef and fries—with the sedan on our ass.
Whoever followed Digger, put him on edge. Wary eyes, pursed lips… God, how I wanted to make him smile.
Stuffed, and walking a little bow-legged, I followed him into his hole-in-the-wall shop. Dark walls covered in drawings and pictures of tattoos and people he’d inked met my appraisal while turning a three-sixty. He flicked on a few lights, better illuminating the small space. A couple chairs lined the wall, but only one made for a customer sat at the room’s center.
“Isn’t much,” he muttered, coming to stand beside me.
“You do great work.” I meandered closer to an eight-by-ten of a man’s back. Colored wings spread over his shoulders, the angel they attached to held his head in his hands, tears visible on his face. “Holy shit…”
“One of my best.”
“I love it.” I stepped back and breathed deep as Digger placed his hands on my hips. “Wings. Fly free.” I turned into his arms and lifted my face. “That’s what I want, but on a much smaller scale.”
He palmed my ass and pulled me tight against his body. “Where?”
“Inside of my wrist?”
Lowering his head, he murmured his assent, and kissed me gently on the lips. The brush of his mouth, the soft whiskers, his sweet breath…
My knees grew weak even though he kept the kiss sweet, unhurried. I wound my arms around his neck and leaned fully against him, giving over to the connection, the crazy feelings he stirred throughout my entire body. Craving beyond lust. Desire beyond the mere need to experience a climax like only he could wring from me.
Pussy damp and throbbing, I stepped back and smiled up at him. “Kiss me like that, and you’ll never get rid of me.”
The heat in his eyes flipped my stomach in the best way possible. He rubbed his thumb over my parted lips.
I wanted him to say something. Anything. Kiss me again. He continued to caress my face and stare into my eyes. Reading me? Gaging the truth behind my words? The man was intuitive and observant beyond the norm of anyone I’d ever met. Even if I hid behind a façade, I felt sure he’d read me like an open book. Let him. I had nothing to hide, nothing to fear.
“Why ‘fly free’?” he finally questioned.
“It’s what I told my mom right before she passed.”
“And she gave you freedom in return.”
My throat tightened, and I nodded, guilt swarming in to squeeze my chest.
“What was her favorite color?”
“Blue,” I whispered.
“And yours?”
“Green.”
Digger dipped his head and stepped out of my personal space. He nodded to the chair and moved across the room—gathering supplies, I noticed while sitting down.
“Afraid of needles?” he asked without turning.
“Nope.”
He settled onto the rolling stool beside me, and I sat back, closed my eyes, and remembered Mom while he marked me with her memory. We chatted pretty much non-stop while he worked. Conversation came so easily between us, a sharing of not just stories, but of hearts and minds. I’d never met such a self-aware man, one who knew his mind, his inner workings, and wanted to grow as a human being. Every moment, I fell harder, until my heart swelled, ready to break.
****
I cried when I finally opened my eyes and saw the art he’d created on my body. A blend of blue and green shaded the angel’s wings, the scripted words in their center hitting me in the chest.
Freedom. A complete and utter lack of responsibilities other than caring for myself. I laughed through my tears, desperate to squash the lingering guilt.
“Tell me you like it,” he said, his voice low. Uncertain.
“I love it.” I glanced up into his eyes, grabbed his whiskered cheeks, and kissed him. “It’s perfect.”
The corner of his lip twitched. Gaze lightened. His idea of a smile, perhaps, but I wanted more.
“Hungry?” he asked as I returned to study his work while he cleaned up.
“Starved.”
“Want to hit the club? Grab some burgers?”
I glanced over at him. Back to me, broad shoulders hitched, he hinted at more insecurities. “As long as Capone is cooking and you alone take me upstairs afterwards.”
He exhaled, his shoulders lowering. “I’d rather take you home, strip you naked, and stay that way the rest of the night.”
I bit back my smirk as my pussy spasmed and nipples sprang to attention. “After burgers?”
“After burgers,” he agreed with a nod.
Fifteen minutes later, we pulled into the darkened parking lot at the club. The sedan had disappeared sometime while we’d been in Digger’s shop, erasing most of the palpable tension in his huge body. Tucked under his arm, I ambled alongside him toward the club.
Jam packed, music blaring… I grinned. So used to silence and sickness, the life and noise of the club filled me with excitement I hadn’t felt for years. People. Alcohol. And don’t forget the hottest man on the planet beside me. Definitely flying free, but good old guilt snuck into my brain like a wisp of smoke. Living—because Mom had passed.
I fought to keep my grin in place as Digger found us seats at the bar. Two of the club whores—ones I’d recognized from my dates with Capone—gave me the stink eye, but I ignored them. Probably jealous because Digger’s cock belonged to me for the night.
Hopefully, a hell of a lot longer. The thought made my smile easier to hold in place.
Digger flagged down the guy working the bar.
Piercings in his eyebrows, lip, and big-ass gauge earrings—definitely a younger punk than most of the other Gliders in the club. Vibrant green eyes and a killer smile, he turned his attention on me for a split second before giving Digger his full attention. “What can I get ya?”
“Maci, this is Rucker. Rucker, Maci.”
Green-eyes turned toward me—as though he’d been given permission—and dipped his head. “Good to meet ya.”
I smiled. “Same.”
“My usual,” Digger said, drawing Rucker’s attention again. “For both of us.”
“You got it.” Another flash of his killer smile, and Rucker moved off.
“You okay?” Digger asked, his lips close to my ear so I would hear him over the ruckus of the club.
I nodded. We drank our beers as the club rocked around us. Capone escaped the kitchen with our burgers a short time later, a big grin showing off his pearly whites. He gave me a wink when setting my plate in front of me and dipped his head at Digger.
Zero discomfort, zero tension between the two. My smile came more readily, and we set to eating.
When we exited the club a good twenty minutes later, no car sat two blocks down where Digger had told me the sedan usually parked. Our breaths fogged in the cold air, and I crowded closer to him as we walked to his truck.
Tension stiffened Digger, but he continued onward. He peered at the entrance of a darkened alley one block down. The glow of a cigarette was the only indication someone stood in the shadows, but I swear the gaze of whoever puffed on the cancer stick watched us. Intently.
Without a word, Digger helped me into his truck, rounded the front, and climbed in, slamming the door shut.
“Who do you think it is?” I asked, sure the person in the alley had been what put him on edge.
“No fucking clue.” He put the truck into gear and pulled out onto the road, his gaze on the rearview mirror. “No tail,” he murmured a few minutes later after taking a couple random turns.
My brow furrowed as I considered who or what agency kept an eye on the club. As a motorcycle gang, I felt sure the Gliders had plenty of enemies—including the law they didn’t pay off. Digger had admitted to being a bad man, so surely he had a few out to get him personally. A shiver rippled down my spine, lifting my hairs in its wake.
He reached across the console and untangled my clasped hands, wrapping one in his own. “Sorry.”
“For what?”
“For being so damn suspicious of everyone and everything.”
“Better to be that way than complacent, considering who you are.”
He dipped his head, taking another turn. “Do you have any reason for the law—or anyone else—to be after you?”
I snorted a laugh. “Hardly. The worst I’ve done was drink and drive. Once.”
Digger inhaled a deep breath. “Had to ask.”
“Quite all right.”