28. Pasha
28
“We’re being followed.”
Daphne pretends to laugh at something I told her and uses the opportunity to glance over her shoulder. “How do you know it’s them?” she asks.
“Unmarked cop cars always have that stupid spotlight on the sideview mirror.”
She pulls out her phone to take a selfie. When I glance at the screen, I see her zoom in on the car parked across the street behind us. The woman learns quickly, that’s for sure. “Ah, would you look at that? Huh. Crazy.”
I resist the urge to take another look. It’s a different model of sedan from the local police fleet, so I’m ready to bet good money it’s SAC Smithson. Sitting in that car, eating a fucking hotdog, watching us like a creep.
I almost feel bad for the bastard. Clearly, he’s got nothing better to do.
“So… what do we do if they get out of the car and want to talk to us?”
“Demand they call your lawyer, then shut the hell up.” I make a note to myself to get her a panic button key fob like mine. Maybe a secondary one in a bracelet, too.
“Do I have a lawyer?”
“We have a lawyer. We have several, actually. Any one of whom will tear that smug asshole a new one.”
I didn’t mention it until now, but Smithson has actually been following us for a while. Along the boardwalk, across the bridge, down into this neighborhood.
Daphne tenses up as she glances around. “Where are we, by the way?”
I grin in the gloom. “You don’t trust me to keep you safe?”
“I trust you. It’s the crazies with guns and knives I don’t trust.”
“Crazies are easy to overpower and disarm. It’s the calm, level-headed ones you have to be wary of.”
I feel her nudge me. “So, you, basically.”
“You’re starting to get it. If your name isn’t Daphne Chekhov, then yes—be very, very wary of me.”
I spot the place I was looking for and lead Daphne across the street.
“A tattoo parlor…?” she says in confusion.
I press a finger to her lips. “You’ll see soon enough.”
It’s clean and cozy in here, with dark wood floors and golden lamps suspended from the ceiling. All the waiting area seating is real leather, and I know for a fact that the coffee table is hand-carved mahogany.
I know because it’s a gift from me. The owner of this shop once did me a favor, so I sent a little token of my gratitude once everything calmed down.
She suddenly spins on her heels to gape at me. “Are you getting a tattoo?”
“I think it’s time to commemorate my family. Get something for you and Tatyanna. On my chest, maybe. Over my heart.”
“Oh, no,” she purrs with a wicked grin. “I want my name where everyone can see.”
The way she says it sends a rush through me from head to toe. Moya plamya. My little flame.
I grin back at her. “H.R. might be upset. But I think you’re right. I want my wife’s name where the whole fucking board of directors can see it.”
The tattooist comes out with a bright smile and respectful nod. When I nod back, she starts setting up the chair and equipment for us.
“I’m thinking… here.” Daphne softly strokes her fingertips from the right side of my jaw down my neck. “Something that wraps me around you.”
“Are you both getting a design? Or just one of you?” the artist chimes in.
I’m about to say it’s just me, but Daphne stops me with a hand on my arm. “I… I kind of want to get something, too.” She blushes. “If that’s alright.”
I can’t resist the growl of aroused approval as I rest my hands on my sexy wife’s waist. The thought of her walking around with my mark permanently on her body, permanently visible for everyone to see she belongs to me… I like it.
I tip her head to one side to see the hickey I left on her neck last night. It’s right under her jaw. Right where I can taste her moans when she comes apart on my cock.
I trail my thumb down her neck to her collarbone. “Something beautiful, but delicate. Like you.”
“You think I’m delicate?”
“I think you want people to think you’re delicate.” The concept gives me an idea. “Do you trust me?”
Daphne sucks in a breath and blinks up at me. “Always,” she breathes.
I turn to the design pad and grab a pencil. As I sketch out our family symbol, the Chekhov crest, I make a mental note to find the necklace I gave her. She hasn’t worn it in a while—and she hasn’t needed to, with my rings on her finger and my name on all her paperwork—but it’s still a beautiful piece.
I add some filigree to wrap around the crest like the vines of her namesake. Our name will be on her neck, but the curving leaves on swirling tendrils will dance along her skin down to just above her breast.
I can’t wait to trace each detail with my tongue.
This design gives me inspiration for my own tattoo, so I flip to another blank page and start sketching that one, too. Daphne peeks around my arm and blows out a low whistle.
“Damn. If you ever decide to change careers…”
“I just might. From Mob Boss to Bauhaus: The Pasha Chekhov Story.”
She giggles and slaps me on the arm, and it occurs to me, not for the first time, that I’d like to spend the rest of my life hearing that sound.
The room is set up with two chairs for us to use and a few hooks on the wall to hang any clothes we need to remove. I don’t think twice about peeling off my shirt and hanging it up.
Just then, the door reopens and both artists enter. The young woman I don’t recognize approaches Daphne to discuss the designs and placement, while the shop owner, Trev, saunters over to me with a broad grin and extended hand.
“Pasha, what’s up, my man?” He holds up the sketchbook from the front desk. “I see you’ve been at it again.”
“It’s a special occasion. Gotta make it good.”
Daphne glances over at us in the middle of removing her sweater.
Normally, I’d be wary of her stripping in front of people. But Trev doesn’t even look in her direction and I know him to be a decent guy with a strict code of professionalism. I can trust him.
“Your man here is quite the artist.” Trev lays tracing paper over the design and gets to work transferring it for the inking process. “I’ve made some good money off his designs.”
“Loose tongues get cut.” I give him the tiniest smile so he knows I’m joking.
Mostly.
Trev shakes his head, but he doesn’t reveal any more of my secrets.
I position the chair so I can watch the process unfold on Daphne’s shoulders. God, I want her.
It’s not just the fact that she’s growing into this confidence, this aura. It’s not just the fact that she’s getting my family crest permanently inked onto her skin.
It’s also the fact that she’s never been tattooed before. Not a single mark on her body other than a splatter of freckles where the sun has kissed her.
And here she is, half-naked in a tattoo parlor on the other side of town. Her first tattoos will be the names of her husband and her child.
She’s changing so fast I can hardly keep up.
We make small talk with Trev and Kayla as they work. Just like how Trev keeps his focus on my neck and shoulders, Kayla maintains her gaze on Daphne and I can tell it’s putting my wife at ease.
As if I’d ever see anyone but her. It takes a couple of hours to finish the preliminary outline of my wife’s name on my skin. Trev positions the design for Taty over my heart in a way that flows into the flickers of the fire now embracing my shoulder and kissing my neck for the rest of my life.
A fire named Daphne.
“You know the drill, man.” Trev finishes pressing the plastic wrap to the fresh ink. “I’ll send home the instructions for reminders, though.”
“Sounds good. And it looks great, as usual.”
He chuckles and shakes his head. “Nah. This is all you, man. I’m just the copy-paste machine.”
I hand him a thick stack of cash as he cleans up. He knows without asking what it means. Wordlessly, he gathers up his tools and helps Kayla do the same. The two leave the room to us.
“What do you think?” I turn my head as much as I can to study the swirls of fire enveloping Daphne’s name on my chest. “I’m getting the rest of it?—”
Warm, soft, hungry lips capture mine and cut off whatever I was about to say.
The chair shifts under me. It takes me a second to register the fact that my wife has climbed on and is now straddling my lap.
“I want you,” she breathes. Her fingernails scrape down my sides and pull a low groan from my chest. “Fuck, I need you.”
“I’m right here, baby.” My hands find her ass and grab hard, pulling her onto my lap so she can feel how much I need her, too.
We make out just like that, grinding and panting together until we’re both wild with aching desire. Daphne is ravenous—careful to move around the wrapped ink, but not so careful where she nips and scratches and marks me with her passion.
More.
I want more.
It’s like she can read my mind. One moment, she’s straddling my lap; the next, she’s kneeling between my thighs and working my jeans open.
Her mouth wraps me up in that wet, velvety heat and I damn near crush the chair’s arms in my grip.
“You’re grabbing the wrong thing,” Daphne gasps between sucks. “You’re supposed to pull on my hair instead.”
Fucking hell.
If she’s not careful, I’m going to shoot my load straight down her throat. This woman has me on the edge and I’m losing my goddamn mind.
Per her request, I tangle my fingers in her hair and relish the moans that make her lips and tongue vibrate on my cock. She wants me to grab her? Fine. I’ll fucking grab her.
I guide her head up and down my shaft at the pace I want. I roll my head back when she sucks me even harder. Uses that wicked tongue to work magic along every inch.
Daphne pulls herself off right when I swear I’m about to bust. “Not yet, baby,” she teases. “We have so far yet to go.”
I want to argue. I’m going to.
But then I see her shimmy off her pants and panties and I change my mind.
She climbs back on top of me. Kisses me hard. Straddles my hips. And, without so much as a please, seats herself balls deep on my dick.
“You’re mine.” She leans down to kiss and suck on the other side of my neck. “All mine. Only mine.”
“All yours, baby.” I smooth a hand up her back. “Only yours. Fuck. Just like that… goddamn…”
I’m used to stealing the breath from her lungs.
This time, the tables are turned.
She’s the one making me gasp for air. She’s the one making me forget everything and anything but her.
“Daphne…”
I feel her ripple and shudder around me. Her breath catches as she buries her face in my neck and sinks her teeth in to mark me as she comes apart.
“I’m gonna…” I try to warn her. I promised I’d be careful, but she’s the one calling the shots.
Which doesn’t help me hold back.
“Do it.” Daphne pants and groans her command in my ear. “Give it to me. Come in me. I want it.”
The sensation is indescribable. Every inch of me shatters for every inch of her. I’m flowing into her and falling apart around her.
Words escape me. All I can think, all I can feel, is that she is the most perfect woman—the most perfect wife—for me.
I hope Smithson, rotting in his squad car somewhere out in the darkness beyond the shop walls, knows he’ll never, ever take this from me.