Page 72 of Ink

“That!”

“What?”

“Evan walked in on us!”

Ink doesn’t say a word, but he doesn’t need to because the bed is shaking instead.

The butthead is laughing.

“She didn’t walk in on us.”

“I hope for one second you don’t think that I know you’re not smiling right now. There’s nothing funny about this, Ink!”

“Bunny, her man is the president of a one percenter motorcycle club. You think she’d blink an eye at someone gettin’ felt up under the covers? This ain’t fuckin’ high school.”

He’s completely missing the point.

“It’s her house.”

“So?”

“So?” I echo, still not understanding how he doesn’t think this is weird.

“Yeah, so?” he asks, his brow raising.

“It’s rude!”

A loud laugh burst out of him, startling me. “I’ll remember that the next time I walk in on them.”

I sigh and roll my eyes. I’m done with this conversation.

“Besides, if anyone should be pissed here, it’s me. Now I got to go into the shop with a massive case of fuckin’ blue balls.”

Once again, I roll my eyes as I climb over him to get out of the bed. “I think you’ll be okay.”

“I don’t know if I will be.” Ink smirks as he relaxes back against the headboard with his arms crossed behind his head. I can feel him checking out my ass as I bend over to dig through my bag as I try to find my work clothes. I haven’t had a chance to unpack yet, and I wasn’t sure how long I’d be here honestly. I didn’t want to seem presumptuous. “Did I tell you how much I like seein’ you in my shirt?”

“I think you mentioned it once or twice.”

I pull out a pair of khaki pants before digging my hand back in to try to find a pair of panties. Feeling the lacey material between my fingers, I assume it’s what I’m looking for. I quickly whip it out and tuck it in between my clothes before Ink can see.

I can let him grind against me and feel me, but something about him watching me pick out panties seems more intimate. And if I’m being honest, I’m so confused about what’s going on with him.

“Don’t wear that shit.”

“What?”

“Don’t wear that shit.”

My mouth gapes open as I look back at him. “It’s not crap.”

Ink’s smirk grows. “Crap.” He laughs more to himself than to me as he rolls off the beds and kneels on the floor next to me. Pushing my hands out of the way, he rummages through. “What else did you bring?”

I’m too stunned for words as I watch him pull out a pair of denim shorts I haven’t worn in at least five years and a solid black tank. I’m not sure why I even packed them. They probably don’t fit me anymore. I was in such a rush when I was escaping Zach’s house that I threw anything I could find into bags. Something in me knew I wouldn’t be back and on the off chance that I’m dragged back, none of my stuff would be there waiting for me.

“There,” Ink says as he proudly hands me the clothes.

I look between the clothes and his face in disbelief. I know I’m slowly coming into me but… “I can’t wear that.”