14. Lemon
FOURTEEN
LEMON
Iwake up surrounded by Atticus, his arms wrapped tightly around me, the sticky remains of last night covering my inner thighs and pussy. Exhaling happily, I close my eyes again and snuggle down into the comfort of his body.
Sleepovers with guys aren’t something I’ve done a lot before. Perhaps if they’d felt like this, I’d have wanted to, because this sense of safety and warmth is addictive. But even as I think it, I remember that Atticus is nothing like the men I’ve dated in the past.
I love him. It feels crazy even to admit it to myself, but I feel the truth of it deep inside of me. I love him, and I’m going to marry him. Maybe in a month or six I’ll regret the choices I’m making right now, but if I do, then at least I’ve experienced this crazy, intense desire.
“What are you thinking so loudly, Princess?” he asks.
“That I love you,” I admit easily.
“Good,” he says confidently, like the idea of me not loving him hasn’t even crossed his mind. “I need to go to the studio today and set up my station for the morning.”
“Okay.”
“We can head over there once I’ve made us breakfast. It shouldn’t take me more than an hour or so, then when we get back, we can start unpacking.”
“Okay,” I agree easily, not wanting to be away from him when I’m enjoying our closeness so much.
Atticus cooks us waffles with strawberries and whipped cream, refusing to let me help even after I offer. Once we’ve eaten and cleaned up, he takes my hand and leads me downstairs, speaking briefly to Felix and Marcus before he opens the passenger door on his car and waits for me to climb inside.
It takes us less than five minutes to get to the tattoo studio, and I’m surprised to see that the lights are on inside.
“Is the studio open on a Sunday?” I ask.
Shrugging, he kills the car’s engine and gets out, walking around the hood to come and open my door. “We set our own hours, so I guess if we want to work late or on Sundays, we can.”
Taking the hand he offers me, I let him help me out of his car, smoothing down the skirt of my dress and hoping it’s not obvious that I’m once again not wearing any panties.
Truthfully, the first time he took my underwear and coerced me into leaving the house without any, I was self-conscious. But now I’ve almost gotten used to it and the low-level arousal that accompanies it.
Releasing my hand, Atticus curls his arm over my shoulders, pulling me into his side until I’m as close as I can get and still walk. A bell jingles as he pushes open the door to the studio, holding it ajar for me to step inside first.
“We’re closed,” a female voice says.
“Door’s open,” Atticus replies.
As I glance toward the staging that looks to hold several large black leather tattoo couches, a huge man stands up, blocking our view of the woman who told us the studio was closed and whoever she’s tattooing.
“The studio is closed,” the huge man growls, taking a step closer to us as he glowers menacingly.
“Octavia, is that you?” Atticus asks.
A tiny female head pokes out from behind the huge man, jet-black pigtails swinging from side to side. “Atticus Hoffman, it’s about time you got here. Stand down, Knight. This is Tori’s brother.”
“You’re Knight?” Atticus asks the huge guy.
“You’re Atticus?” the huge guy asks right back.
“My sister likes you,” Atticus tells him, his tone stern.
“Good,” Knight says, nodding.
I watch and listen to the interaction between the two men with interest. But instead of waiting for more from Knight, Atticus simply pulls me along with him as he climbs the staging.
“Which one is mine?” he asks.
“You’re next to me,” the pigtailed woman says, her attention back on the person she’s tattooing.
“Octavia, this is my fiancée, Lemon. Lemon, this is Octavia Hodkins,” Atticus says, gesturing toward the woman.
“Taylor,” the huge guy says. “It’s Octavia Taylor.”
“Stop calling me Octavia, assholes. You know I hate it. Oh, and we got married,” she says, holding up a gloved hand.
“You’re wearing gloves,” Atticus points out, his tone dry.
“Well, you get the idea,” she says, distracted for a moment before she turns off her tattoo gun and the buzzing sound that I hadn’t really noticed stops.
“There you go, Ian. You’re all done. Let me just wipe this off, and you can go and check it out in the mirror,” she says, spraying something on the guy’s back, then wiping it before she pushes her chair back.
No one speaks for a while as the guy unfurls from the couch and heads over to a long mirror mounted on the wall. Octavia follows him over and hands him a mirror so he can look at his back.
“Jesus, Octy, you’re a fucking artistic genius,” the guy says, spinning and moving like he’s going to hug her.
“No,” Knight, the big guy, says, moving faster than I’d have thought him capable of and putting himself between his wife and the guy.
The guy lifts his hands up and chuckles uncomfortably.
“Let’s get you wrapped up, then I’ll get you checked out,” Octavia says, walking back to her station and grabbing a roll of Saran Wrap.
While we watch, she covers the guy’s tattoo in Saran Wrap, tapes it in place, then heads over to the front desk and waits while the guy puts his shirt on and grabs his cell and wallet.
Knight stands like a soldier at her back, watching with threatening eyes until the guy leaves and the bell over the door heralds his departure.
“Sorry about that. I’m Octy, not Octavia,” Octy says, holding her hand out to me.
Reaching out, I take her hand, trying not to make it obvious that I’m looking her over.
“I’m Lemon,” I tell her, surreptitiously taking her in.
She’s wearing a babydoll-style dress with puffed short sleeves and layers of netted underskirt that make me want to reach out and swoosh it.
Her nails are painted black. She’s wearing thick platform-soled boots that are laced with pink ribbons up to her knees and matching bows in her hair.
“Gothic Lolita,” she says amusedly.
“It suits you.”
“I know.” She grins, turning to Atticus. “Did I hear you right? Did you call her your fiancée?”
Atticus nods, drawing me back to him and pinning my back to his chest.
“Congratulations. Betty didn’t tell me.”
“She didn’t know,” Atticus says.
“Wait,” she says. “I thought Cody renovated that warehouse you bought?”
“He did.”
“It’s new,” I say quickly. “We just got engaged yesterday,” I tell her.
“Oh. Well, congratulations.”
“Sit,” Knight growls, interrupting our conversation by lifting Octy off her feet and carrying her over to the chair at her station.
“I’m barely pregnant, Knight. You need to chill out. Standing for more than five minutes won’t hurt the baby,” Octy snaps at the big guy.
“You’re pregnant?” Atticus asks, clearly surprised.
“Yep,” Octy says, placing her hand on her stomach. “I’m five months now.”
“I can’t believe you’re having a baby,” Atticus says, his tone softening. “Congratulations. I’m happy for you both.”
“I’m just starting to show, although my dresses pretty much hide my bump.”
A grumbling growl vibrates from Knight, and Octy looks over her shoulder at him and smiles. “Knight wants me to be as big as a house so everyone knows I’m taken.”
“Ring on your finger, baby in your belly, and your man standing guard…I’d say people will get the message,” Atticus says, nodding approvingly at Knight.
“Urgh,” Octy says, rolling her eyes. “Lemon, are you just visiting, or have you moved from the Big Apple to this tiny town in Montana for this guy?”
“Oh, I’ve been living in Rockhead Point for almost two years,” I tell her.
Blinking, she swings her gaze from me to Atticus, then back again. “Wait…” Her lips purse in thought, then curve into a grin. “You guys met here?”
I nod.
“When?” she asks, still grinning.
My cheeks heat, and I feel myself tensing for her judgment.
“Does it matter?” Atticus growls.
“Oh my god, you guys got hit by the Barnett legacy, didn’t you?”
“The what?” I question at the same time that Atticus says, “Only Barnetts I know are Betty and Cody, and I’m confident they aren’t the reason we’re engaged.”
“Lemon, if you’ve been here for a while, you must know about the Barnetts,” Octy says.
Shrugging, I shake my head. “To be honest, I haven’t put as much effort as I should have to get to know people here,” I admit.
“God, I fucking love how crazy this town is,” Octy gushes.
“Okay, so the gist is that Daddy Barnett met Mama Barnett and knew the very first time he laid eyes on her that he was going to marry her. He said it was instantaneous, that he knew she was his, and they got married right away and had seven baby boys. After both of their parents died, all seven Barnett brothers were confirmed bachelors. They all lived in the house their dad built for their mom up on the mountain, man-whoring about, but never settling down. Then, one by one, they got struck by the family legacy, and they found their women. All seven of them tell the same story—that the moment they saw their future wife, they knew she was theirs and that they were meant for each other.”
“I’ll tell you what I told my sister,” Atticus starts. “I’m not a Barnett.”
“Neither were all seven smoke jumpers,” Octy says smugly. “But it all happened to them too, and now it’s happened to you. I swear I fucking love this town.”
“You think some mystical family myth from a family neither of us are related to is why we’re together?” I ask dubiously.
“Trust me, I know it sounds crazy, but I swear it’s true.
It happened to Betty, it happened to Tori, it happened to me, and now it’s happened to you guys.
God, I really hope that Cyrus is next.” Chuckling, she jumps out of her seat and is immediately scooped into the arms of her husband and gently placed back into the chair again. “Knight,” she gasps impatiently.
“Sit,” he growls without an ounce of remorse.
“I’m not an invalid.”
“You’re growing our baby, so you’ll sit,” he says, his tone stern and unyielding. But despite his demanding behavior, his touch is gentle, reverent even.