Page 9 of Covert
And today it's finally paying off. The ink is the first step.
I'm getting the S&S logo tattooed tonight, and then the patching ceremony tomorrow. I have a few other patchwork tattoos, none of which mean anything, but I left my inner left forearm empty, waiting for the day I earned my ink.
The night is dark behind us, but the tattoo shop is bright and warm. What I wasn't expecting, though, is the stunning beauty behind the counter. It isn't Leana. A short woman, about my age, with long black hair that is somewhere between curly and wavy, smiles as we enter. I'm not too proud to admit that the air I'd been breathing rushes out of my lungs as if it needs to get closer to her the same way I do.
Almond brown eyes squint at the sides in a genuine smile, and my heart somersaults in on itself. A cute, button nose sits above two of the most plump, kissable lips I've ever seen, and suddenly, I am questioning the loyalty to the Saints and Sinners I've just proven. If this woman told me to leave with her, I would without hesitation. I'm not sure there's much I wouldn't do for her. Kill a brother? Move to the moon?
I wipe my sweaty palms on my worn jeans and try to recall if I'm wearing a clean shirt or not. I resist the urge to sniff an armpit.
Her gaze bounces between Scar and me. "Diesel?"
Fuck. My name on her lips has my cock straining against my zipper. I slide behind Scar again and adjust it. Luckily, I'm able to tuck it down one boxer brief leg before Scar wraps his arm around my shoulders and pulls me forward. He slaps my chest with a thump proudly.
"This is Diesel. He's earned his cut and is getting his club tattoo."
Her smile widens as I frown. What the hell does this angel know about motorcycle gangs?
"That's amazing, Diesel! Congratulations. I'm sure you're proud." She looks at me like she's proud.
Heat creeps up my neck and cheeks all the way to my fucking ears at her praise. Her eyes fall to my cheek, and they shrink even further behind the apples of her cheeks, like she thinks my blush is adorable.
I clear my throat.
I don't want her to think I'm adorable. I want her to think about my head between her thighs.
"I have you with Maddox today. Let me tell him you're here." She slides gracefully off the stool, and I'm gifted with the image of the back of her creamy thighs. Lines creased in them from the stool. Her thighs crawl up into two of the most biteable ass cheeks I've ever seen.
Goddamn.
Scar shakes me again. "You're drooling."
I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, causing Scar to laugh louder. My blush deepens. He'd meant figuratively.
I fidget nervously until she comes back and sits back down on the stool.
"He's just finishing cleaning up. He'll be out once he's ready for you," she says with a polite smile. While she's beautiful being polite, I want to see her wrecked. I want to see her under me, pale cheeks flushed red, black hair spread across my pillow.
Scar strides over to the counter and leans against it. "Know much about MCs, little girl?" he asks, a flirt in his mocking tone.
"I know more than you'd think," she says, holding up her Kindle and waving it at Scar for good measure. She's not intimidated by him at all, and I'm a little in awe. "MC smut is one of my favorites."
"Smut? Like those kissing books?"
I lean forward, suddenly needing to know everything. Are the main characters in the smutty books she reads in motorcycle clubs? Doesshe love that? What does she know about MC life? Is what they write about realistic? Does that mean I have a chance with her?
She chuckles at Scar's reference. "Yep! Love me some kissing books."
"My old lady reads those. Got any recommendations that make the bikers look good?"
"Oh my gosh, where to start!? So many good ones. What are some of the other tropes your wife likes?"
"Uhhh... tropes?"
"Text her and ask!" the new girl says excitedly, and I fall in love with the glimmer in her eye. Fuck, she's cute when she's excited.
Scar pulls out his phone and types away at it.
"Three tear drops?" she asks, not at all shy about it. Maybe she doesn't know the meaning.
