Inked In (Tattooed Love) (2 page)

Miranda packed everything up, then went over to Todd. He was counting wads of crumpled cash, the only kind nomads carried.

Todd laughed gleefully, a greedy glint in his eyes. That's when he was happiest, when he had money in his hand. “We made more today than I do in two weeks at the shop. Just in a single day!” he said, slapping his knee. “I wish I had brought another artist. I would have if I had I known we were going to be this busy.”

Miranda was tired and thirsty, it made her impatient. “Can I have my share now?”

Todd stopped counting and scowled. “What's your hurry? Let me make sure it's all here first.”

“You know it is,” Miranda said with a snarl.

“Okay, okay.” Todd counted out a third of the money and hesitantly handed it to Miranda, as if he was surrendering his first born child. Miranda took it and recounted it herself. “That's thirty percent, as agreed. Twelve hundred dollars. Not a bad pay day.”

Miranda felt the warm, ruffled bills in her hand. Ink on skin or on cotton, it all excited her.

“So...” Todd said. His eyes became heavy, lingering on her lips, then her neck. Slowly, they travelled down to her breasts, then her stomach. Todd ran a wad of bills down her neck, gazing at her fiercely with his icy blue eyes. “What do you say we go out and celebrate? Like old times. I could go get some of that edible paint, and we could go out into the desert and brush each other’s bodies under the light of the moon. You remember how much you liked that?”

She did remember. It was a tempting offer. Miranda had always been attracted to Todd. He was tattooed from head-to-foot. The precious blank ink ran from his neck all the way down to his toned little backside. Even his cock was tattooed, the shaft of it anyhow. He was proud of that one. Not many men were brave enough to do it. It was big, too. It was more than a handful and got red hot. A good, firm cock, and he knew how to use it. Todd could definitely show a lady a good time, and he usually did.

Then, Miranda remembered how she had found him, only weeks before. He was in bed with another woman, her lips still wrapped around his cock. The image filled her with rage.

“I am going to celebrate,” she said, hopping on her bike, “just not with you.”

She hopped on her bike, revved the engine, and sped off. Her stomach still brimming with longing, her body quivering with lust. She tried to focus on the cool wind, not the moistness between her legs. A drink, that's what she needed. That would make her forget all about it. Forget about the long day and the perilous night. She parked her bike outside a bar called
Custard's Cove
.

At the entrance, a few bikers were standing and smoking, the cherry of their cigarettes smoldering in the night. One man had a teardrop tattooed under his right eye. Both bikers looked like trouble, which was exactly what Miranda was looking for. “You boys know where a lady can get a stiff drink?” Miranda asked, as she approached them.

They all examined her for a moment. The one with the teardrop tattoo spoke first and said, “Not here. This bar is for real bikers. I don't see any patches on you, and I don't think you've got what it takes to earn one either.”

Miranda's heart was pounding in her chest. There was a dangerous glint in the man's eye. It made her feel vulnerable and wet, very wet. “Maybe I do,” she said with a shrug, trying to stay cool.

She wanted revenge on Todd. She wanted him to know how it felt to see someone you cared about with somebody else. She wasn't doing this for him though, she didn't want him back. It was for her.

“Are you serious?” the biker asked.

Miranda nodded. “I saw your gang ride in this morning. You're the Braves, right? A heavy outfit, and I like your style. I want in.”

One of the men grinned and moved forward. He clamped his hand over her ass, squeezing it. “Sure honey, I'll give you what you want.” The man with the tear tattoo grabbed the other one’s wrist.

“You know the rules. We have to bring her to the war chief first. She's his property, until he says otherwise. You know better than that Ramsey.”

Ramsey scoffed, wriggling out of the tattooed man's iron grip. “To hell with the war chief! I'm tired of his sloppy seconds. I want some fresh meat,” he said, moving towards Miranda again.

It happened in a flash. The tattooed man buried his fist in the side of Ramsey's face. There was a sharp crack, and Ramsey fell limply to the pavement. Then, the tattooed man reached into a cooler next to him and brought out two frosty beers. “Here,” he said, giving one to Miranda and another to the other biker, who was gawking at Ramsey. “Give this to Ramsey when he comes to his senses and tell him he's lucky. If the war chief had heard him say that, he would have gotten a lot worse.” The other biker nodded.

“Alright, hot stuff. Follow me,” the tattooed man said, beckoning her into the neon glow of the bar.

Miranda took a sip of the beer. It was cool and refreshing. The bar was packed with bodies who were clad in leather. It smelled like leather, sweat, and smoke. Strangely, it turned Miranda on.

“Hey, war chief!” the tattooed man yelled over the noise.

A man swiveled around in his stool at the bar, and Miranda's heart froze. It was him! It was the man she couldn't stop fantasizing about. There he was, in the flesh, right in front of her. He was wearing the same leather jacket. It was unzipped, baring his beautiful body. On his left peck was a cross tattoo, the one she had sketched on herself. He had a square jaw, peppered with stubble, and a scar that ran across his left cheek. His eyes were brown and had laser-like focus. When they fell on her, she seized up. Suddenly, she felt hot. It was as if those eyes would make her burst into flames.

“Diego,” he said with a smile, flashing pearl-white teeth. “What can I do for you?”

Diego shook his head. “Not for me, war chief. For her,” he said with a nod. “She says she wants to be a Brave. She wants to be patched in.”

The war chief's eyes fell on Miranda again. They traced around her frame. Miranda did not shy away from them this time. She took another swig of her beer and stared right back at him. He was so muscular and broad, such an imposing figure and the height of physical perfection. “Is that true?” he asked her directly. “You want to be a Brave?”

Miranda nodded. “I do.”

The war chief nodded slowly, considering. Finally, he spoke. “Diego, give me a minute would ya?”

Diego nodded solemnly. “Yes, war chief.” Then, he disappeared back into the crowd without even a second’s hesitation, as the war chief beckoned for her to sit down. She did and was greeted by the same intoxicating scent she still dreamed about in the comfort of her bed, while her fingers slid deep inside of her.

“Do you have a name?” he asked.

“Do you?” she retorted.

He laughed. “Oh, a tough chick, eh?”

“Tough enough,” she responded.

“Brady, Brady Long is my name. Ever heard of it?”

She had, on the news. Brady Long was a notorious gang leader, one who was suspect to over a hundred different crimes, including drug trafficking and multiple homicides. He was the real deal, a genuine nomad from the ground up. He truly lived free. “Maybe on a few wanted posters,” she said.

He cocked an eyebrow. “You're not scared of me?”

She shrugged. “Should I be?”

“Only if you're smart,” he responded.

“Never was.”

He shook his head. “You look like a Barbie, but you talk like one of my soldiers. What's your name?”

“Miranda.”

“I don't think you know what you're getting yourself into, Miranda,” Brady said, draining the shot of whiskey in front of him. “Maybe you should just run home, get back to your husband, your kids. We don't need any weekend warriors here looking for a cheap thrill.”

Miranda shook her head. “I don't have a husband or kids. I am looking for a thrill though, but nothing cheap.” That got his attention. His eyes fell on her breasts, tracing her cleavage. His stare was so powerful it almost felt as if he was actually caressing them. Miranda could see the lust ignite in his eyes.

“I can't make you a Brave, but I might be able to give you something to remember us by,” Brady said with a smirk.

Miranda leaned in. “I sure hope you can fuck as hard as you talk,” she whispered, and next thing she knew, they were in his hotel room, tearing at each other’s clothing.

Miranda pulled off his leather jacket and smelled it, filling her nostrils with its rich scent. Then, she ran a hand down his chiseled chest, tracing the outline of his tattoo. “I sketched this on to you. A few weeks ago. You probably don't remember,” she said.

Brady peeled her shirt off her back. “You want to know a secret. I did. From the moment I saw you this morning, I had a feeling you'd show up again.”

Miranda smirked. “You just couldn't stay away from me.”

Brady shrugged. “It was a good tattoo,” he said, as he snapped the bra off of her. Her breasts spilled forward, her nipples erect. They scraped across his hard, hot body, and Miranda grabbed a fistful of the hardening cock right beneath his jeans. Her panties were so wet they were gliding off of her, working their way down her thighs.

Brady slipped off his jeans and underwear, standing naked in the dim light of the lamp. His hard cock was thick and engorged. It hung long and low, a perfect complement to his big arms and lean torso. Veins ran along his biceps and down his abdomen. She wanted him so badly. All those fantasies had been building up to this one moment, and now, they were ready for release.

Brady pressed his hot body against her own. The heat sent shivers that started in between her legs and radiated outwards. Then, he threw her on the bed, heels still on, and pushed her legs apart. Her insides longed for him. She wanted him to bury his cock inside of her, but he would not. He was teasing her. It only made her want it more. She felt a light brush on her side.

“What are you doing?” Miranda asked.

“You think you're the only one that can sketch? I'm returning the favor.”

Miranda looked down at the side of her stomach. He was sketching Gothic lettering across her ribs and abdomen. When he was finished, it read,
Brady's Brave
.

Finally, he put her heels on each one of his shoulders and sank his cock inside her. Miranda shuttered in pleasure, moaning as he stuffed himself inside her, filling her to the brim. She almost cried out in pain, instead she whimpered in pleasure.

Brady thrust deep into her. “Who do you belong to?” he demanded, pounding her harder with each thrust. Miranda held her breasts, as they bounced up and down from the impact. “Who do you belong to?” he asked again, pulling both of her legs high into the air, ramming her g-spot over and over.

“You, you!” Miranda moaned, as her face flushed a deep scarlet. The heat was spreading all across her body. It was utter ecstasy. Each thrust plunged deeper inside of her, stretching her insides. She felt helpless against his hardness. He gripped her ankles with such force she thought they might snap. The pleasure bombarding her made her too helpless to protest. She was drowning in sensation, all other feelings going silent.

“That's right. You belong to me. Now, give me what's mine,” Brady said, wrapping a powerful hand around her throat. That sent her over the edge. Miranda's body spasmed, and something awakened inside her. An eruption, like a volcano, sent surges of liquid hot magma through her veins. Then, her mind went blank, as she battled a storm of sensuality that she thought would never end. She felt a warm gel fill her insides. Finally, the storm passed, and the world came rushing back.

Brady pulled out of her and rolled to the other side of the bed. Miranda just laid there, sinking into the mattress. She felt as if she was melting. Her orgasm had lasted so long and peaked so hard that it had sapped her of all energy. It was all she could do not to fall asleep right there. Finally, she forced herself up and saw that Brady was almost fully dressed, putting his boots. “Where are you going?” she asked.