Tongue's Target (Ruthless Kings MC Las Vegas #10) - K.L. Savage Page 0,4
flare. He pops his thumb out of his mouth and the skin shines with his saliva. Before I can blink, his hands are around my neck and his wet thumb presses under my chin. I gasp, trying not to get turned on by his dominance and rage.
“And when have you ever known me to lie to you?” He sits forward and hovers his lips over mine. “I’m livid that you think I would.” He nips at my chin, gliding his thumbs to my mouth and tracing my lips. “I should punish you for saying such a thing.”
“I was only kidding.” I stretch my neck back to give him more room to explore.
“I don’t like jokes like that. They aren’t funny.”
Tongue isn’t the kind to find amusement in jokes. He doesn’t seem to understand what is funny or what causes laughter. I don’t hear him laugh or see him smile much, hardly ever; but every now and then I’ll catch him looking at me and the slightest of grins will tilt his full lips.
And then, poof. It’s gone.
But I get to be the lucky one to witness it.
“Tongue.”
“Yeah, Comet?”
“Kiss me,” I beg him, since he is the reason why my body is on fire right now.
“Not until you tell me about your dream and why you think you need to see Doc.”
“That’s blackmail.” I lift my hand and caress his bare chest and over to the puckered scar from where he got shot a few months back. “How’s your arm?”
“Don’t change the subject.”
He knows me too well, but I am worried about him. Even with physical therapy, he hasn’t gained all the strength back in his arm. The heaviest thing he can lift right now is a gallon of milk, and even then, his bicep shakes. Some days, he is fine, because everyone has good days, but there are days where it’s limp at his side. Doc says it’s normal, but I can’t help but worry. A part of Tongue’s persona that I know he needs is his strength. He acts like it isn’t affecting him, but I know better. I see him looking at himself in the mirror, flexing his hand and trying to lift his arm above his head, but he can’t manage just yet. He’s struggling and he won’t let me help.
“Tongue, I don’t want to talk about it because it scares me, and I don’t know what’s real anymore. And when I don’t know what’s real, I start to look at everything like it’s a symptom of my psychosis.” I tilt my head down, the desire on pause as I fiddle with the frayed edge of the blanket. “I need to know that everything around me isn’t a version of something morphed and completely—”
“—Fucked up?” he finishes for me, rubbing his hands down my sides until they land on my hips. He gives a quick squeeze before roaming up my body again and pushes the long brown strands of my hair behind my shoulders.
“We’re all fucked up here, Comet.” He wraps his fingers around my wrists and drags my hands down his chest. His abs ripple under my touch and the ‘Unscarred’ tattoo comes to life as if it is trying to jump off his skin.
“You feel that? I’m real, Comet. This is real. And whatever you have to tell me,” his voice is a rasp after speaking so much. Talking isn’t one of Tongue’s favorite things to do. He has scars all over his tongue; sometimes when he speaks his words slur from overuse. “Whatever you tell me, I’ll tell you what’s real or not. You can always count on me for that, okay?”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah, Comet. You know you can always count on me to tell you the truth. Please, talk to me. I don’t like that you’re having nightmares and waking up sweaty the last few nights.”
“I want to see Doc because I don’t know what my dreams mean. I keep having the same nightmare.”
Tongue presses a kiss against my collarbone, causing sparks to scatter along my skin. “Yeah?”
I nod, pinching my brows together as I piece together what I remember from the dream. “It always starts off with me holding the only Barbie I ever had. My mom got it for me. She worked long hours at the diner, and we could hardly afford anything growing up. In my dream, dad was an alcoholic and mean, so damn cruel and—”