CRASH: An Evil Dead MC Story (The Outlaw Series) (31 page)

“Kiss
me,” he ordered.

She
went up on tiptoe, her hands lightly touching his abs to keep her balance, and
she pressed a soft kiss to his lips. It wasn’t bad as kisses go, but it wasn’t
nearly what he’d had in mind. She dropped back down.

“Like
you mean it, Shannon.”

Her
eyes moved from his eyes to his mouth, and this time her soft hands came up to
cup his face, determination to meet his challenge clearly written on hers. She
tilted her head to the side and opened her mouth over his lips. He opened,
inviting her inside. After a moment’s hesitation, her tongue slipped inside,
tentatively at first, then with more boldness.

He
let her lead, let her set the pace, following wherever in this dance she wanted
to take him, taking whatever she gave, but not asking for more. He could sense
her uncertainty when he broke off this time. She’d expected him to take
control, which was exactly why he hadn’t. “Ask me, Shannon,” he demanded.

“What?”
She frowned, confused.

“The
game, it’s your turn.”

“Truth
or Dare?”

“Dare.
And make it good, Shannon.”

“Kiss
me. Kiss me the way
you
want it.”

He
grabbed her face in his hands this time and pulled her face up. His mouth came
down on hers. A moment later, his arms slid around her, one pulling her hips
against him, the other sliding up her back—his hand sifting into her hair. His
fist closed over her hair, and he pulled her head back giving him more access,
taking control of the kiss. His mouth plundered, his tongue sweeping inside. It
was a long time before he came up for air. When he did, they were both
breathing hard.

He
stared down into her bewildered face, wondering if the kiss had affected her as
much as it had him. “Truth or Dare, Shannon?”

“Truth,”
she whispered, wondering what he would ask.

“How
long has it been?”

She
cocked her head to the side, questioningly.

“When
was your last time?” He didn’t know why it was important to him, but it was.

She
suddenly pushed out of his arms and spun around. “I don’t want to play this
game anymore.”

Crash
wasn’t sure exactly why the question had upset her or what had caused her
sudden mood swing, but he wasn’t about to let it slide. “Did I hit a nerve,
Shannon?” He moved in close behind her and trailed his finger down her spine
from her neck to where her silky tank started at her bra strap. She arched her
back in reaction, and he watched from over her shoulder as her breasts thrust
out.

“Quit!”
she snapped.

“Ticklish?”
He did it again, mostly to watch her chest pop out again. Fuck that was hot. She
spun around, slapping at his hand. He grabbed her hand. “So, you didn’t answer
the question. Are you taking the dare?”

“Fine.”

His
eyes slid past her to the pool table, and he nodded toward it. “Play a game of
pool with me,” he challenged, dying to see her bent over the table in those
short shorts of hers.

“Pool?”
She glanced over at the table. “All right. Sure. Why not?”

“You
haven’t heard the rest.” He quirked a brow. “I get to choose the stakes.”

“Stakes?”

“Yep.
Gotta place a wager on the outcome of the game, otherwise it’s no fun.”

Shannon
rolled her eyes. “Okay. Fine. What’s the bet?”

“You
lose, ink of my choice anywhere on your pretty body I want to put it.”

“Ink?”

He
tapped one of the tats on his arm. “Yeah, a tattoo. Ink. I lay ink anywhere on
your body I want to put it.”

“You?
You know how to tattoo?”

“I
got a lot of talents, Princess. I’m an artistic guy. Sculpting’s not the only
form I know.”

“Really?”

“Absolutely.”

“Hmm.”
She glanced at the table considering and then back at him. “And if I win?”

“Same.
Any ink you want. Anywhere on my body.” He saw her reaction, and the corners of
his mouth pulled up. He watched her eyes drop to his chest and skate over his
body, and he knew her imagination was running wild. “I can see that got your
interest.”

“It’s
kind of…hot,” she admitted in a whisper.

“Princess,
there’s no ‘kind of’ about it. It just plain
is
hot. You in?”

“Yes,”
she agreed, the word coming out in a breathy voice he liked a hell of a lot.

His
grin turned lascivious. “Rack ‘em, love.”

He
gave her first shot, and she broke cleanly. Parking his ass on a barstool he
pulled over from the island, he watched as she sank three balls before missing
a shot. He had to admit she had some skills. “You’ve played before.”

She
straightened from the table as he got up to take his shot. “Some. My father had
a table.” She took the barstool he’d vacated.

He
raised his chin in acknowledgement. “I see. You’re not bad.” He leaned over the
table and sank two balls in separate pockets with one shot.

“You’re
not bad yourself,” she observed.

He
sank another ball and glanced over, catching the look on her face as she
worried, her lower lip caught between her teeth. He decided to prolong the game
and purposely missed the next shot. “You’re up, Princess.”

She
slid off the barstool and walked around the table, studying the available
shots.

He
sat on the barstool, his cue clenched between his fists and watched her as she
moved. She came around to his side of the table and leaned over to make a shot.
Crash’s eyes fell to her ass which was thrust up so prettily right at him. He
was so caught up in studying her ass in those short shorts that he didn’t
realize he was getting in the way of her stick.

“Excuse
me.”

He
looked up to see her eyes looking back at him over her shoulder as she bent
over the table. She moved her cue forward and back an inch, and he saw he was
blocking her shot. He scrambled off the barstool, pulling it out of her way.
“Sorry, darlin’.”

She
made the shot and straightened, walking around the table, contemplating her
next shot. She bent and sank another ball, then missed on her next shot.

Crash
stood up and chalked his cue. His eyes met hers. “So, you decide yet what ink
you want to put on my body if you win, Princess?”

She
shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe my name in big block letters across your chest.”

He
chuckled and leaned down to make his shot. “That’s not very original. Come on,
baby, you can do better than that.” He sank the ball and moved to another.

“Where
did you say the most painful area was? Your ribs? Maybe I’ll put it there.”

“Ouch!”
he said around a grin as he sank another ball. He looked up to see her studying
the table. He had only one ball left and the eight ball. He could finish her
off right now, but he was really curious to see just what she’d pick if she
won, so he decided to give her one last shot at it. He sank his last ball and
purposely missed on the eight ball.

When
he looked up this time with an, “Oops,” he saw she was on to him.

She
slid off the barstool with a smirk, moving up to him. “You want to give the
game away, I’ll take it. Maybe you enjoy pain.” She cocked her head sideways,
her eyebrows raised as she slid the tips of her fingers down the ink on his
ribs.

His
eyes bore into hers as her touch set a flame tearing through him. “Go ahead.
Finish me off, and we’ll see. Otherwise, it’ll be me putting my mark on you.” He
watched her swallow, and he smiled.

She
moved to take her shot. She sank the first of the two balls she had left on the
table easily. Moving to the eight ball, she realized how tricky a shot it was
going to be. She had to stretch across the table to get her cue in position.
She was practically lying across the felt, her ass once again in the air. She
glanced back and caught his eyes moving over her ass and legs again, and he
watched her as she trembled.

They
exchanged a look that said it all. In another minute, one of them was getting
ink.

She
pulled back her stick and tapped the cue ball. He watched as she scratched, and
her head dropped to the table. A moment later he was leaning over her, his
chest pressed up against her back, covering her, his arms coming to rest on the
felt on either side of her. He whispered in her ear, “I know just what I want
and where I want it, Shannon.”

“Oh,
God,” he heard her say into the felt and chuckled.

“You’re
not gonna wuss out on me now, are you? That’s called welshing.”

“I’m
not a welsher.” She turned her head to the side.

“Prove
it,” he said in her ear.

“Fine.
Let’s do it.”

He
lifted off her and pulled her up and around to face him. Then his eyes moved
past her to the pool table and the light hanging above it. “This is as good a
place as any. The lighting’s perfect.” His hands went to her waist, and he
lifted her up and set her ass on the pool table.

She
looked up at him, startled. “Crash, what are you doing?”

“Gonna
lay my ink on you. Here’s as good a spot as any. Lie back, darlin’.” She stared
up at him, and he could see the confusion and maybe a little fear in her face.
He lifted his hand to her cheek, cupping it and looked into her eyes. Stepping
closer, he pushed between her knees. “I don’t want you to be afraid, Shannon. I
can’t promise you it won’t hurt, because it will. It’ll sting like a bitch, but
I’ll go easy on you, sweetheart. That I promise. All right?”

She
looked up at him, and he could swear he watched the fear slide right out of her
eyes. And then she nodded, gazing up at him trustingly.

“That’s
my girl. Lie back for me, baby,” he coaxed softly. She did as he told her, and
he found himself standing over her, his hips wedged between her spread thighs,
her knees hooked over the wide table bumper.

“What…what
are you going to put on me?” she asked him in a hesitant voice.

“You’ll
see when it’s finished.”

“Where?”

He
stared down at her, and then his hands moved to the snap of her shorts. “I’ll
show you.”

Her
hands clamped over his, stopping him. “Crash.”

“Princess,
trust me. Okay?”

Her
hands released his, and he undid the snap and zipper, spreading the placket
wide. His thumb traced along the edge of her panties. “Right here, I think. Low
enough nobody gets to see it unless you want them to.” His eyes met hers, and
he could see his touch was having an effect on her. Her chest was rising and
falling with her accelerated breathing. He needed to get started before she
freaked. “Stay right there. Let me get my stuff.”

He
moved off and returned in a few minutes, laying his tools out on the felt
beside her. He watched her eyes fall on the equipment as he plugged it in and
returned to the table. Scooting the barstool up, he sat between her knees. Then
he snapped on a pair of black surgical gloves and picked up a marking pen to
sketch out his design in freehand on her belly. He paused, looking up. She was
staring down at the pen poised over her belly. “Na-uh. No peeking.”

She
rolled her eyes and looked away, but a moment later they returned to his hands
as she jumped at the first stroke of the pen tickling her belly.

His
eyes met hers as he leaned over her. “Babe, you jump like that when I got the
needle to your skin, it’s not gonna be pretty.”

“Sorry.”

He
started the sketch again, his eyes flicking up to meet hers. “You’re watching.”

“Sorry.”
She looked away.

He
tossed the pen down, getting up.

Her
eyes came back to his. “What are you doing?” She followed him as he moved
around the table.

“Solving
this problem.”

“What
problem?”

“You.
Not being able to keep from peeking.” He returned to the table with one of her
scarves in his hands.

Her
eyes fell on it and got big. “What are you going to do with that?”

“Blindfold
you. Make sure you can’t peek again.”

“Oh,
no you’re not.” She started to scramble up. He pushed one open palm to her
chest and gently pushed her back down.

He
grinned to reassure her. “Relax, Shannon. It’ll help you relax if your eyes aren’t
darting all over. Now close your eyes, calm down and trust me.”

Reluctantly,
she did as he asked, and he tied the scarf over her eyes. “You okay?”

“Yes.”

He
dropped back on the stool, and leaning over her, he slid his fingers in the top
edge of her panties and tugged them down a bit. She gasped in a breath and
wriggled against the felt. “You gonna punch me in the head when I break out the
needles, darlin’?”

“Maybe.”

His
murmured a warning. “This is going to feel cool and wet.”