Scraping a hand over my head, I murmured, “Don’t pack anything until right before we’re due to set off. You don’t want to clue him in to the fact you’re…” Was it stupid that I didn’t want to jinx it by saying it aloud?
She sent a look my way, the first time she’d dared stare right at me, and murmured, “I won’t.”
Twenty minutes later, when Keys and Kenzie left, they didn’t take the bad feeling I had in my gut away with them.
I felt like crashing, but I knew the bed wouldn’t have been allotted for me since I was too low in the ranks. It called to me, though, and I forced myself to leave the room and head back to where the party was.
The last thing I wanted was to be in the middle of a fucking rave. I didn’t want to see clubwhores sucking and fucking, didn’t want to see the drugs being snorted up bitches’ and brothers’ noses, didn’t even appreciate the lap dances some chicks were giving a few of the guys.
Nope, I just wanted to fucking sleep.
And those had to be the most pussy-whipped thoughts I’d ever had, because if I wanted to see anyone sucking, fucking, stripping, or even goddamn snorting, it was Ama.
Jesus.
I was fucked.
But hopefully, in the best possible way.
❖
Ama
What was it with family?
They always butted in at the wrong time, making things harder, making a delicate situation a thousand times more fragile.
I wanted to both strangle my grandfather while also kissing him on the cheek. The two discordant reactions were thanks to the mortification I’d initially felt at his blurted-out remark, but also, because when I looked in Ink’s eyes, I saw my granddaddy wasn’t wrong.
He did want me.
He wanted to claim me.
And either prospect wasn’t something I’d ever planned on actually happening. It had been relegated to the land of dreams.
Of course, I’d wanted him. But I didn’t want to be kidnapped and I’d wanted to go to RISD too. Shit happened and sometimes, life didn’t work out the way you planned. I’d thought I’d spend most of my years pining over the man who’d gotten away. Able to watch him while I worked in the tattoo parlor, wishing that we had more than the relationship we had.
It didn’t seem possible that one of the doors to my dreams was opening, and yet, here I was, sitting on his lap. And not because I was having a nightmare.
But because I wanted to.
And because he wanted me there.
With the call between my grandfather and I disconnected, I turned to face Ink. Of the three men I loved, his was the most lived in face. It was craggy and rough. At the corners of his eyes, there were lines that came from too much sun and exposure to the wind while riding. And on his temple and between his brows, there were frown lines gathering. But beyond that? He was rugged and raw, so handsome that I could have stared at him for days and still have found something new to draw.
Though I was nervous, I was also happy, and it prompted me to lift my hand, raise it to his cheek, and cup him, feeling his flesh against mine and testing the stubble against my palm.
It felt so fucking good.
So damn right.
And I shuddered in response. I actually shuddered. It was better than when I touched my clit on a night, better than when I slipped my fingers between my legs in the bath and got myself off.
Just knowing that I could do this? That he wanted it too? It was like fireworks in my veins.
“I’ve wanted you for a long time,” he rasped, his voice low and husky, hoarse with unspoken emotions that even his eyes, ever eloquent with their smoky, ever changing hazel hue couldn’t keep hidden. They flashed between gray and green, smoky brown and light flashes of amber. It was a trick of the light, I knew that, but still, it made me want to paint them.
“How long?” I answered, my gaze twitching back to my fingers that were stroking the lean line of his jaw before they dipped down and began to explore his throat.
“Longer than I should have. But not long enough that you’d think I’m a pervert.”
Because he said it wryly, dryly even, I snorted out a laugh. “You’re not a pervert,” I told him.
“You sure? I’m eighteen years older than you. I feel