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Tac’s a dirty bastard, he works, plays, and fucks hard, but he’s had my back from the day we met, and he taught me a skill that expresses the only talent I possess.
I spend all my free time sketching, putting together tattoo ideas for the brothers and studio clients. I haven’t done a lot of work on skin, but Tac is becoming more and more trusting. I’ve even inked him a few times. And after he saw the work I did on one of Jessie’s less than willing volunteers a few months back, he was impressed. Slowly he’s starting to give me more responsibility.
A few weeks ago, Jessie asked me to sketch him another design. He’d already trusted me to ink his old lady's name on his chest and wants his next one to be in memory of Hayley. Him and Prez’s daughter had been like brother and sister. Everyone around here knows how deep he hurts from losing her. So there’s a lot of pressure on me to do it justice.
I figure now is as good a time as any to get started. It might take my mind off Ella Jackson and the expression her face made as she shuddered against my lips and fingers.
If I’m gonna get this task done for Prez, and survive long enough to get my cut, I’m gonna need to get a grip. I’ve tried telling myself all day that the only reason I want her is because I can’t have her. It ain’t hard to dip your dick around here, even if you ain’t a fully patched member. Females come far too easy.
But no one touches Prez’s daughter, doesn’t matter that her hair bounces as she walks, or that her hazel eyes burn into your soul, sucking you so deep that not even death scares you enough to resist her.
She is off fucking limits.
I throw my keys on the table and sit on one of the chairs, tracing my bottom lip with the finger I’d touched her with. I desperately seek out the taste of her, but any trace has vanished. So, picking up a pencil and flicking to a clean page in my sketchbook, I set to work.
When I look down at my sketchpad, it’s her eyes staring back up at me.
Instead of the portrait of Hayley I should have been sketching for Jessie, I’ve etched out every flawless detail of Ella’s face, captured every curve in the smile she’d shot me with in class this morning. I regret not smiling back at her now, but at the time it felt wrong. I don’t deserve Ella’s smiles. I’m the shadow of a lifelong lie that hangs over her perfect little world. The plague of a secret who has been sent to watch her and report the private details of her life back to a man she doesn’t even know exists.Ella Jackson will probably never know who her real father is, and I take comfort in the fact we have at least that in common ‘cause apart from that, we couldn’t be any further apart.
He’d stood like an angel, white fabric blowing around his body while his eyes burned like hot embers. I don’t want to wake up, my skin still tingles, and I feel strangely satisfied. I touch myself between my legs, and I’m… I’m wet. Jesus, I thought only boys had this kinda thing happen to them.
Shooting out of bed I strip out of my shorts and underwear, throw on a robe and head straight for the shower. My reflection blushes back at me from the bathroom mirror.
How am I ever gonna face Nyx now? It’s hard enough as it is.
I've never really tried touching myself before, despite Abby telling me I should. I wasn't even sure exactly how you were supposed to do it. Clearly just the thought of the new guy had been enough to get me off in my sleep.
My dream had felt so real with his surprisingly soft lips touching mine. I’d sensed his fear, and that’s how I know it was all in my head. I don’t know anything about Nyx but I’m sure that he doesn’t know anything about being gentle, and I’m certain that he fears absolutely nothing.
What I imagined last night must have been my own creative version of him. Yet the shiver that had climbed up my spine when his hand had touched between my legs had felt very, very real.
My cheeks flush, and I splash them down with cold water before I recollect any more of my dream. I blush just from the thought of seeing him at school, knowing I’m going to burst into the flames of shame the moment he walks through the door into English class. But thought of seeing him also stirs a strange kind of excitement in my stomach.
"You look pretty, Miss Jackson." Penelope smiles at me when I get downstairs, handing me a plate of eggs with some turkey rashers on the side.
"Thanks." I smile back taking a seat at the table. I’d hoped my extended efforts in front of the mirror weren’t gonna be quite so obvious, but then Penelope does have a habit of noticing absolutely everything.
She’s more than a housekeeper to me, she’s a friend. It was her who took the time to explain what was happening to me when I got my first period and freaked out. My first instinct had been that there was something wrong with me, and I tried to hide it from Mom. I was ten years old, and even back then I didn’t want Mom to worry about me. For as long as I can remember she’s been on the verge of a breakdown.
Penelope noticed the change in me, and sat me down and explained that everything was normal.
She always has a way of knowing when I’m feeling down, and cheers me up either with my favorite breakfast or by rearranging a towel on my bed the same way they do in fancy hotels.
"The annual Mother and Daughter Luncheon at the club is only two weeks away, darling. I thought we could go to the mall this weekend and pick out something to complement each other." Mom looks at me across the table, popping a strawberry into her mouth from the fruit salad that Penelope prepares for her every morning.
"Do you really need me to go this year?" I sigh. Every year for as long as I can remember, Mom has dressed me up like a pretty doll and paraded me in front of the people at Father’s gentlemen’s club. I’d hoped that turning eighteen would have freed me of that kind of obligation.
"Darling, you love the luncheon. You have since you were a little.Besides it wouldn’t be much of a Mother-Daughter Luncheon if I turned up without my daughter, now would it?" she laughs nervously, side glancing Father and expecting a reaction.
"It's just not really my thing anymore, Mom," I tell her. Immediately feeling guilty when her eyes sag in disappointment. Guilty enough to put my feelings aside and tell her that of course, I’ll go with her. Just as I open my mouth to speak, I get silenced by a heavy fist slamming the kitchen table.
"You will do as your mother tells you." Father's voice is firm, and only raised a little more than his usual tone, it’s his eyes that threaten. They dare me to argue back, and it isn’t until he’s convinced I’m not going to, that he releases me from his stare.
"Besides, who will keep Abby company if you don't go. You wouldn't leave her to socialize alone with those wretched Hannigan sisters, would you? Heaven knows how their father ever became a member of the club. It just proves that money can buy anything," Mom rambles, acting as if Father's outburst didn’t just happen.
I pull together a fake smile especially for her.
“Of course I’ll be there,” I promise, getting up and kissing her cheek before I leave for school. I don’t bother with a goodbye to Dad. He probably wouldn’t respond anyway.
