Chapter 12 Maya #2
I collapsed against him as he filled me and pumped me full of his hot threads of cum.
I panted for air as his fluids dripped from my entrance, coating my ass and my thighs.
I was marked by him. Marked by the man my brother was hunting.
Marked by the mysterious man with the intricate tattoos and the lies that fell from his tongue.
But his passion wasn’t a lie. His body wasn’t a lie. Those growls weren’t a lie.
Because the evidence seeped down my skin.
He pulled out from between my legs and helped steady me onto my feet. My head fell back against the door as his body relaxed against mine. My face barely fell into his chest, he was so tall. Or maybe I was so short. Either way, I felt blanketed by him. I felt comforted and safe.
I’d never felt that way with someone before. Not with the life my parents led. Certainly not with the life my brother led.
The life I was trying to run away from.
“Hi,” I said breathlessly.
Notch chuckled. “Hello, Maya.”
I moaned softly as my name fell from his lips.
“Can I ask you something?”
He slowly backed away from me, the question filling the space between us.
“Sure,” he said.
I quickly reached down for my clothes and got dressed, and he followed my lead.
This wasn’t the kind of conversation to have while naked in my apartment.
I stole glances at him and found him staring at me.
He winked every time I caught his eye, and it made me blush, grin, and giggle, like a damn schoolgirl.
“I like your laugh,” he said, smiling.
“I like your tattoos. Could I know more about them?” I asked.
He paused. “That’s the question you wanted to ask?”
I shrugged. “Is it a bad one?”
“Not really. Just not what I was expecting.”
“What were you expecting?”
He paused before he spoke. But that pause told me everything. He was thinking. Conjuring. Planning.
Which meant he was about to lie.
“I honestly thought you were going to ask for my number,” he said, chuckling.
I shrugged. “Not really necessary. Whenever the shop is shut down, my work phone forwards things to my cell. You technically already have my number, if you need it.”
He grinned as the two of us finished getting our clothes on.
“What tattoos are you wanting to know about?” Notch asked.
“Any of them, I guess. The pile of dust with the date. The blazing Phoenix on your left shoulder blade. That one that says, ‘Lost something or other?’” I asked.
His eyes snapped over to mine as he pulled his leather jacket onto his body.
“‘I Am A Lost Boy’?” he asked.
“That’s the one. Kind of an odd saying. I was wondering where it came from,” I said.
“Comes from nowhere, hence the statement. I come from nowhere, and I will end up nowhere.”
“But you’re an EMT. Surely, you’ve ended up there, right?”
“You trying to be my therapist now?”
I shrugged. “I’ve done it for other clients. Listened to their weary woes.”
“And you want to hear about mine?” he asked.
“Does that bother you?” I asked.
“Why do you want to know so much about me?”
I furrowed my brow. “Because I’ve only seen you in my shop. And you keep coming back. I like to get to know my repeat customers. Especially after…”
I waved my hand around, signaling to what had just taken place between us.
“Don’t you think it’s a little late to get to know me, so to speak?” Notch asked, grinning.
“I don’t think it’s ever too late to get to know someone,” I said.
“And that’s it. That’s all you want to do,” he said.
“Should I want to do something else?”
He eyed me carefully, and I wondered what it was he really wanted to say.
“Well, there isn’t much to know about me. But I have to go,” Notch said.
“So soon?” I asked.
“I told you I’d be back to finish what we started. We finished. And now I need to go.”
I smiled. “That why they call you ‘Notch’?”
He glared at me. “‘They’?”
Fuck. Shit. Holy hell, I couldn’t believe I’d let that slip.
“Your friends, Notch. The guys you work with? Notch can’t actually be your mother-given name,” I said.
“I have to go,” he said.
“Notch, please. Don’t go. Just—stay?”
“No,” he said plainly.
I wrapped my arms around myself and moved me off to the side. And before I could stop him, he flipped the lock and bounded down the stairs.
“Notch!” I called out.
But my voice only echoed after him as he strode through my shop.
I ran down the stairs, trying to keep up with him.
I jumped over the railing of the last flight, landing on my feet.
I chased him through the shop and saw him throw the front door open.
And as he stepped out into the light, I finally got a glimpse of the massive patch on the back of his leather jacket.
The patch I’d only caught a glimpse of the first day he stepped foot in my tattoo shop.
It was a massive emblem with yellows, oranges, and blues—the colors of San Diego—topped with a line that stopped me in my tracks.
The Lost Boys: Where The Lost Are Finally Found.
The engine of his motorcycle cranked up as I slowly walked toward the front door of my shop.
I watched him speed away, and it only gave me a better look at the emblem.
And slowly, things dropped into place. The tattoo on his arm.
The article I’d found online. What my brother had said to someone over the phone.
Notch wasn’t an EMT. He was in a biker gang.
A biker gang my brother’s own damn gang was trying to track down.
“Shit,” I hissed.
What the hell was I going to do?