Heart of a Tattooist: Dark Romance MC Club Alpha Bad Boy Obsession (Tattooist Series Book 3) by Lexy Timms
Authors: Lexy Timms
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I’m pretty tired and I think you could use a shower. Or a car wash.”
He ducked the fist she waved at him. She let him lead her to his truck and as they got in she asked, “So how was your day?”
“Not nearly as exciting as yours it seems. I used to be able to write a hundred songs just like that then pick the best ones. Lately I can’t write a single line. No idea why.”
“I’m sorry.”
He chuckled. “Not your fault. I sometimes think that all the time I spent in L.A. stripped the country right out of me.” He cranked the SUV and turned the air conditioner on. “I bet you’re starving. I am. Do you mind a little ride?”
She looked down at her clothes, then reached over and stuck her kit on the backseat before buckling herself in. She was not unaware, not at all, that when she leaned over the seats the shorts slid up into her ass crack and showed two very nice-sized crescents of her lower ass cheeks. She grinned a little as she looked at him. “I don’t,” she said.
He gunned the engine.
CHAPTER 11
Cara stared at the house. It could not even be called a house. It was a mansion, and a gorgeous one at that. It stood two stories tall and sat back below a long sweep of trees that lined the lovely green lawn. The windows were tall and leaded, and the exterior was a jaw-dropping stone and brick thing.
She let out a low whistle. “Wow. It looks…it looks like someone transplanted L.A. into Tennessee.”
He laughed. “Welcome to Belle Meade.”
“That’s the name of your house?”
He took her hand and they walked toward the door. “No, the neighborhood.”
“It’s nice.” Nice wasn’t the word but she couldn’t think of any other. In L.A. she had often been called on to go to celebrities’ houses to tat and she had always been overwhelmed by them. This house had a welcoming feel to it, though, and as they stepped into the door and into a long foyer she felt her tension melt away.
The whole place was masculine, almost to the extreme. No woman lived here, and hadn’t for a long time. That was clear.
It felt lived in and homey despite its size, and she smiled as she saw a rack of guitars along one wall in the massive living room. A baby grand piano stood in the center of the room and she asked, “Do you play piano?”
“Badly. Well, not great anyway. I play just well enough to write a song. I’m better at guitar.”
He led her to the long and wide kitchen and she smiled in delight as she took in the tall standing island, the white cabinets, and stainless steel appliances. “Now this is a kitchen.”
“Do you like to cook?”
She shook her head. “I never had to, not really. When I was a kid I cooked, but I couldn’t tell you if what I made was any good or not. In comparison to some of the stuff other people cooked, it was okay I guess. I make a mean breakfast and I can change Hamburger Helper into something edible, but that is about the extent of my skills.”
He chuckled. “And you were giving me a hard time.”
“I never said I could cook,” she pointed out. “I just asked when the last time you had a real meal was.”
He caught her up in his arms. Her body responded immediately. His tongue probed her mouth and her tongue met his, their bodies pushing closer together.
He lifted her up onto the island. His mouth trailed along the exposed flesh of her breasts and then the tank top was gone, pulled over her head and tossed away.
His hands lifted her hips and the shorts and soaked thong fell to the floor. His mouth found her flesh and her hands gripped the counter as his fingers delved between her legs, finding the wetness between her thighs.
Her hands clutched his hair and she lowered herself onto the counter, her legs moving up and back as his clever tongue found the hard bud below her hood and teased it until she was certain she would go mad with desire and need.
His hands stroked her thighs then two fingers entered her. Desire and sensation collided, making
He ducked the fist she waved at him. She let him lead her to his truck and as they got in she asked, “So how was your day?”
“Not nearly as exciting as yours it seems. I used to be able to write a hundred songs just like that then pick the best ones. Lately I can’t write a single line. No idea why.”
“I’m sorry.”
He chuckled. “Not your fault. I sometimes think that all the time I spent in L.A. stripped the country right out of me.” He cranked the SUV and turned the air conditioner on. “I bet you’re starving. I am. Do you mind a little ride?”
She looked down at her clothes, then reached over and stuck her kit on the backseat before buckling herself in. She was not unaware, not at all, that when she leaned over the seats the shorts slid up into her ass crack and showed two very nice-sized crescents of her lower ass cheeks. She grinned a little as she looked at him. “I don’t,” she said.
He gunned the engine.
CHAPTER 11
Cara stared at the house. It could not even be called a house. It was a mansion, and a gorgeous one at that. It stood two stories tall and sat back below a long sweep of trees that lined the lovely green lawn. The windows were tall and leaded, and the exterior was a jaw-dropping stone and brick thing.
She let out a low whistle. “Wow. It looks…it looks like someone transplanted L.A. into Tennessee.”
He laughed. “Welcome to Belle Meade.”
“That’s the name of your house?”
He took her hand and they walked toward the door. “No, the neighborhood.”
“It’s nice.” Nice wasn’t the word but she couldn’t think of any other. In L.A. she had often been called on to go to celebrities’ houses to tat and she had always been overwhelmed by them. This house had a welcoming feel to it, though, and as they stepped into the door and into a long foyer she felt her tension melt away.
The whole place was masculine, almost to the extreme. No woman lived here, and hadn’t for a long time. That was clear.
It felt lived in and homey despite its size, and she smiled as she saw a rack of guitars along one wall in the massive living room. A baby grand piano stood in the center of the room and she asked, “Do you play piano?”
“Badly. Well, not great anyway. I play just well enough to write a song. I’m better at guitar.”
He led her to the long and wide kitchen and she smiled in delight as she took in the tall standing island, the white cabinets, and stainless steel appliances. “Now this is a kitchen.”
“Do you like to cook?”
She shook her head. “I never had to, not really. When I was a kid I cooked, but I couldn’t tell you if what I made was any good or not. In comparison to some of the stuff other people cooked, it was okay I guess. I make a mean breakfast and I can change Hamburger Helper into something edible, but that is about the extent of my skills.”
He chuckled. “And you were giving me a hard time.”
“I never said I could cook,” she pointed out. “I just asked when the last time you had a real meal was.”
He caught her up in his arms. Her body responded immediately. His tongue probed her mouth and her tongue met his, their bodies pushing closer together.
He lifted her up onto the island. His mouth trailed along the exposed flesh of her breasts and then the tank top was gone, pulled over her head and tossed away.
His hands lifted her hips and the shorts and soaked thong fell to the floor. His mouth found her flesh and her hands gripped the counter as his fingers delved between her legs, finding the wetness between her thighs.
Her hands clutched his hair and she lowered herself onto the counter, her legs moving up and back as his clever tongue found the hard bud below her hood and teased it until she was certain she would go mad with desire and need.
His hands stroked her thighs then two fingers entered her. Desire and sensation collided, making
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