Tattooed on My Soul
PIERCE
The moment my lips found hers back at the club, I wanted to drag her into whatever free room I could find and have her then and there. But the thought of one of my brothers hearing her come on my tongue and around my cock took that option out of the running.
Her hand caressed my thigh the entire drive back. Leaving teasing touches ghosting against the straining outline of my cock—only making the situation worse.
She’ll pay for that.
The front door slams shut behind our hurried footsteps. I reach for her and somehow—six months pregnant and usually unable to move gracefully—she spins out of my reach just in time.
“Come here, Princess.” I stalk closer to her, but she takes off at full speed.
Her melodic laughter filters through the room. “You’ll have to catch me first.”
The carefree look she throws me over her shoulder before she disappears into her room halts my progress. It’s breathtaking. She’s breathtaking. I haven’t seen the light dance in her eyes like that for months. I guess tonight is exactly what she needed.
She knew better than to lock me out, leaving the door cracked just enough to let the light shine through. When I shove it open, the wood bounces against the sheetrock, nearly puncturing a hole.
She’s not here. Her bed’s empty. The closet’s pitch black. When my eyes scan the space, landing on the bathroom door, the water starts beyond it.
Shucking off my cut, I quickly fold it and drop it on the top of her dresser before going to get my girl.
Steam billows from the glass box enclosing her body. The water falls rhythmically, cutting out every few seconds as she moves. The blur of her pale skin and long blonde hair should be an impressionist painting hanging in a museum.
Walking to the edge, where she’s left the door wide open, I pull up against the wall, propping my boot up to watch.
Her head’s thrown back; water cascades across every beautifully swollen curve I can’t wait to get my hands on. I’m too busy taking her in, I don’t see her gaze drop to mine, until her words pull my attention.
“Pierce,” she says seductively.
“Lexi,” I mock, knowing that stalling across the room is not what she had in mind when she came rushing in here.
Her eyes narrow, her hands falling to her hips. “Are you just going to stand out there watching me? Or are you going to come join?”
“I’m enjoying the view. If you didn’t want me to watch the show, you shouldn’t have made it so damn hard to look away.”
“This is an interactive experience, Pierce. Come play.”
The little minx tweaks her hard nipples, and my control snaps.
“What are you doing!” she squeals when my arms wrap around her, pulling her naked body into mine.
“You said come play, and baby, I plan to do exactly that.”
Her hands slap at my soaked T-shirt. My jeans get heavier the longer we stand under the spray.
“I expected you to strip down first, you psycho. Who gets in the shower fully dressed?”
“A man who can’t wait another second to have the tantalizing goddess before him in his arms.”
That second-trimester resurgence of a sex drive I read about must have hit her full force, the way she attacks me. Her lips slam into mine with a feral force that sends me stumbling back a step.
I’m here for it.
I let her take everything she wants, enjoying the revelation that I finally have her back. This is it, the moment I demanded of her. The one that my brain needed before my heart would finally drop the drawbridge and let her back in.
She pulls back, sucking in oxygen as if she’d forgotten about it before this second.
“Fuckkk, Princess. I need to taste you.”
I don’t hesitate, spinning her around and pushing her gently to the stone bench. My knees hit the hard shower floor, my arms wrapping around her thighs, pulling her legs wide to settle on my shoulders.
“Pierce, please,” she whines.
I missed the way my name sounds from her lips when she’s drunk on lust and desperate for me.
“Say it, Lexi,” I demand.
“Please lick my pussy and make me come for you,” she begs.
I groan and my cock pulses, liking that idea, but it’s not what I want from her.
“Not that, baby. Tell me what I want to hear and you’ll get everything.” The way my tone hangs on that last word gets my meaning across.
She tries to pull her legs away to sit and create some distance between us, but my fingers lock onto her supple thighs, refusing her the comfort.
“Come on, Princess. You and me. That’s how it was always meant to be.”
The shower pounds against my back. Thick steam billows from the ground, coating everything in a layer of humid heat. I’m dying here, overheating by the second, but it’s worth it to see the tear drop from her lash line and the soft nod of her head that follows.
“I want it.” It’s so quiet, muffled by the water splashing close to my ears. “I want you. I want the house and the family. I want us back, Pierce. I still love you.”
I let her legs slide off my shoulders, reaching for her cheeks and pulling her face a hairbreadth from mine. “I’ve always loved you, Lexi. Always.”
Our lips clash, a release from years of pent-up yearning to have her back in my arms washes into it. It didn’t matter how angry I got after she broke things off; my heart could never fully excavate her stamp there. It was branded—on my heart, on my soul.
Her tears flow freely, my thumbs brushing them away as quickly as they fall. I want to reassure her, but that would mean parting from her enough to take a breath.
Her hips scoot forward, rotating and seeking friction. This isn’t enough. The shower’s too small, too limiting to the pleasure I want to bring her.
I finally find the strength to pull away. Standing and shucking my clothes from my body at record speed. She sits transfixed, watching every moment until my hard cock bobs free. The piercing gleams in the light, my tip leaking for release.
“Bed, now.” I hold my hand out to help her from the bench and watch her supple ass sway, and she walks from the bathroom to the bed.
She freezes just a foot away from the mattress, not climbing on eagerly as I’d anticipated. My fingers trace up her damp skin, moving her soaked hair off her neck. I leave a path of soft kisses from her shoulder all the way to the shell of her ear.
“What is it?”
“I…” She stops, her hands moving forward to shield her changing body.
“Talk to me, Princess,” I coax, following her fingers’ journey to hold her against me.
“It’s just… I’m not… What if.” She can’t get out whatever’s got her choked up, but I have a feeling I know exactly what issue’s short-circuiting her mind.
Shifting her around to face me, my fingers grip her chin. The happy tears from the shower have brightened her icy blue eyes into a glacial stream.
“Hear every word I’m about to say to you. You are beautiful. I have never wanted you more in my life than I do right now, Lexi. Anything other than that in your mind right now is a lie. I promise.”
She gives me a sharp nod and lets her body fall back on the mattress.
It might take me months, hell, maybe even years, to tattoo myself over all the scars he left on her psyche, but I will, even if it takes the rest of our lives.
She’s an angel on display. Her wet blonde hair spilling across the mattress.
The curves and valleys of her body mine to explore.
Something about the ample swell of her stomach where our child rests only heightens my need for her.
I’ve never been the type of guy to look twice at a pregnant woman, but Lexi carrying mine stirs something primal in me.
“Pierce, you’re staring again.”
Her breathless observation pulls a smile to my face. It’s been doing that a lot more lately with her back in my life. I can’t help it. The staring. The smiling. She pushes the darkness that was starting to consume me away, inch by inch.
“Yeah, I was. Shoot me.” I shrug.
Her eyes roll, and she shakes her head, but it lightens the mood, and that’s what she needs to relax. I trace my fingers lightly up the inside of her bent leg, and still them against the small tattoo just above her bikini area.
The tiara is old and faded. The lines are a mess, and the image is squished, no bigger than a quarter. Stick and pokes don’t last the same way a professional tattoo does. But I still know the outline like the scars on the back of my hands, because I put it there.
“You didn’t get it covered?” I say, genuinely shocked.
“I couldn’t erase you completely—erase us.”
That makes no sense, but I can’t dwell on it when her foot slips off the bed, tracing up my leg to the same spot on my groin. Its twin is still there, surrounded by newer pieces of higher quality. But our tattoo is always the one that stands out when I look in the mirror.
“You’re unerasable, Princess.”