“Nope, I’m going to shower.” I turn and glare at them. “Alone, no dick time, go make me food and coffee.”
As I turn and strut away, I hear Garrett laugh. “She was a lot less demanding when she hated us.”
“I still hate you,” I call, as I flip him off over my shoulder. “I just like your dicks!”
After I’ve showered and feel more human, still on a self-imposed dick ban, which is harder than it sounds with two horny, hot as hell men around, I find them in the kitchen. They are busy cooking, but Garrett hands me a mug and turns back to carry on, but he hesitates before spinning on his heel, leaning over the counter, and kissing me hard.
My pussy actually clenches as he pulls away, grinning to himself. Fuck, ban? Maybe I should rethink that. He winks like he can hear my thoughts, and Diesel laughs. “Cure his dick, and now he’s fucking Sir Charming.”
“You’re just jealous.” Garrett snorts and Diesel narrows his eyes.
“Oh yeah? You call that a kiss?”
Oh fuck.
I try to get away, but he leaps over the island and grabs me, dipping me as he kisses me hard, his hands twinning in my hair. It’s over quickly, and he helps me stand as I pant. Screw the dick ban.
They can fuck me right here and now if they want.
He laughs and saunters away, asshole. “That’s a kiss,” he tells Garrett.
“I hate you both,” I mutter, as I sip my coffee. “Fucking Vipers, more like fucking children.”
They both laugh and ignore me. Finally, the food is ready and we sit at the island today, but I miss us all eating together. It twinges in me, but I push it away, knowing they are busy. They have a lot to do, it makes sense they can’t do that every day.
After I’ve finished eating, I sit back. “So what now?”
“I could tattoo you,” Garrett suggests, and I freeze.
“Really?” I grin, perking up.
He shrugs. “If you want. Didn’t you say you had one that needed to be finished?”
Diesel grins. “Fuck yes, let’s do that.”
“Why are you so happy?” I snort.
He grins, running his eyes down my body. “I remember our conversation, don’t you, Little Bird?”
I frown for a moment before it clicks. I gulp, fuck, I do. He found out I got wet during tattoos, that I enjoyed the pain…maybe this isn’t a good idea.
“What conversation?” Garrett queries, confused.
“Nothing!” I blurt, as Diesel laughs.
“You’ll find out. Go on, get your shit, I’ll get it set up down here,” Diesel tells him, as he downs some coffee.
They both rush off and leave me in the kitchen. Fuck, I didn’t think this through. Hot as hell Garrett tattooing me while Diesel watches?
This dick ban is going out the window, I can feel it. Stupid vagina and its dick obsession.
I’m lying on one of the sun loungers from outside, which we pulled into the living room, in just my knickers and a crop top. My outside leg is exposed, with me positioned on my side, so he can look at the existing tattoo while I explain what I want. “I can do free hand if you trust me,” he murmurs.
“No dicks,” I snap, as he cleans the area. I’m shaved at least, so there’s no need for that.
He smirks but doesn’t respond. Diesel is behind me, his eyes locked on my ass. The dirty bastard. He’s watching for me to get all hot and bothered so he can tattle to Garrett.
“What about a snake?” he asks, and I freeze. He looks up. “You can say no, but I could put a viper in there.”
“Just do it.” Diesel grins.
The fact that he asks makes me sigh. Diesel’s right, they could have just done it. After all, they still class me as theirs. But the idea of having a viper on me is actually appealing. I imagine their eyes lighting up when they see it, and Ryder’s and Kenzo’s reactions…hell yes. Plus, it doesn’t mean anything, right? It’s just a snake, nothing else. “Sure.” I shrug. “I trust you.” And I mean it, I do. Garrett would never hurt me. He’s an enforcer for a living, but in here? His home? He’s a protector.
I lay my head on my arm as the buzz of the needle starts, and he draws closer, one hand braced on my thigh as the other presses the needle to my skin. He does a tiny line then stops and watches me, clearly expecting me to wimp out. “Babe, I’m covered in tattoos,” I remind him, and he smirks, starting back up again.
I watch him for the first part. The concentration on his face and the way he bites down on his lip is adorable. He seems relaxed, which is a first, comfortable. Is this what he does to escape? Like Kenzo’s mother’s grave and Diesel’s torture? Maybe, either way, I’m happy to help, and as the pain sinks into my bones with the humming of the needle, I try not to shift or give any indication that it’s getting to me.
Because, fuck, it is. Having him so close to my pussy, his scarred, tattooed knuckle touching my skin as he inks me? It’s hot as hell. Those same hands, capable of such death and destruction, are creating beautiful artwork on my skin, mixing with the pain. Yeah, I’m wet.
I’m betting Diesel knows as well, but Garrett seems oblivious as I shift awkwardly to try and relieve the pressure on my pussy. I close my eyes and imagine anything else, but with each swipe of the cloth and each buzz of the needle, I’m aware of how close he is. How near his hand is to my pussy. Of the pleasure he can bring, even now as it hurts. I bite my lip to stop my gasp from escaping, restraining myself from tilting my hips as my pussy clenches, my knickers dampening with need.
“Okay there, Little Bird?” Diesel questions, and I can hear the amusement and desire in his tone. The asshole is probably getting a kick out of this. Wait, of course he is—this is torture for me, he would love that. I’m surprised he’s not bloody stroking his cock, though Garrett might hit him if he did.
“Fine,” I reply breathlessly.
The buzzing stops, and Garrett lifts his head, frowning at me. “You sure?” he asks, obviously thinking I’m in pain.
Fuck me.
“Yes, Little Bird, you sure?” Diesel laughs.
Garrett seems confused, and I sigh. “Dude, I’m fine, Diesel is just teasing me because I like the pain of tattoos.”
Garrett frowns harder, watching me, and then it seems to click, and his eyes widen and his mouth drops open, making me grin. “I bet you don’t get that with this lot, do you?” I tease.
He actually blushes, which causes me to laugh harder. “I don’t—fuck, baby,” he rasps, looking from my face back to my tattoo. “Now I’m going to be hard while I try to do this.”
“Well then, we’re both struggling.” I snigger.
He takes a deep breath, but then groans again. “Fuck,” I hear him mutter, and then the buzzing starts up. I stop trying to hide my reaction, because honestly, watching him struggle is fun.
When he covers a particularly sore patch, a moan slips free, and he swears, his head whipping up as he glares at me while Diesel laughs. “I swear to God, you do that again, and I’ll screw the tattoo and just fuck you instead.”
“Nope, tattoo first, big guy,” I counter, as he moves my leg around to get another angle and starts again, but every now and then, his gaze drifts up to my eyes, and when he turns to dip the needle in the ink, he stares at me knowingly.