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“Yes, sir. Just the back.”
He eyed her suspiciously. “I’d better like it.”
She grinned back at him. “I think you’re going to like it a lot.”
“Property of Red Dog, that’s what you should put.”
“More special.”
“Nothin’ more special than that, China Doll.”
“This will be.”
And he remembered when he’d come back from that Sturgis trip…
Dog rode home, walked in the door and Mary jumped in his arms. He carried her, kissing her as he moved through to the bedroom, kicking the door shut with his boot. Then he set her down, his eyes taking her in. She was in a short kimono robe in vivid red silk. It tied at the waist. He wanted it off her, but he was dying to see the ink she’d gotten. Especially after having stopped off at the clubhouse and seeing the little grin on Crash’s face when he looked at Red Dog.
Crash had been elected to stay behind and watch
the clubhouse, partially because he’d busted up his leg that year and was hobbling in a cast.
“What did you do?” Dog had barked at him.
“What you asked me to do.”
“And?”
“And what? It’s some of my best work.”
“I’m gonna like it?”
“How the fuck should I know?”
“Crash—” Dog started in a threatening tone.
“You better like it, that’s all I’m sayin’.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means, if you’re a smart man, you’ll tell her you love it, whether you do or not. She did it for you. Not sure what the fuck it means, but she said you’ll understand.”
And that had him worried. What if he didn’t understand? What if the tattoo’s meaning went right over his head?
So, here he stood, with her in nothing, he hoped, but that kimono, and all he could think about was that damn tattoo.
“Let me see.” His voice came out gravelly, even to his own ears.
She turned, looking back at him over her shoulder as her hands undid the sash. She bit her lip as she let the robe slip slowly off her shoulders and down to pool on the floor.
His eyes took in the colorful art that covered her back. Covered. Her skin—from her shoulders all the way down to her ass—was inked. He’d expected something small, but not this. Somehow he shouldn’t have been surprised. His Mary, he was learning, never did anything halfway.
He shouldn’t have worried about what the tattoo’s symbolism or meaning would be or if he’d get it. He got it. It’s meaning was vividly clear in a vibrant rainbow of colors.
It was an image of a peacock, its tail down, sweeping low to curl over the top of one of her ass cheeks. Yes, it’s meaning was clear to him. The dance she’d been doing the night he first met her, when she’d seduced him with those damn peacock feathers. The most erotic thing he’d ever seen. She still had a few of those feathers in a vase by her bed, ones he’d often used to stroke sensually over her soft skin on more than one occasion. So, yeah, the symbolism of her tattoo meant something between them.
As Dog’s eyes trailed down over her perfect ass, a part of him wanted to strangle Crash for having tattooed her there. He could just imagine her laid out across Crash’s table, her cute little ass half exposed and Crash with his head bent, putting a needle to her tender skin.
“Baby?” Mary called in a soft voice; shaking him from his felonious thoughts of all the ways he wanted to kill Crash.
