Page 1 of Patchwork
Chapter 1
HERO
Rainpoundsonthewindow and I drum my fingers absently on the counter while my last client of the night makes her payment. She glances down at the sunflower I just finished tattooing on her arm. Even with the skin a little red and swollen and the image slightly distorted by the cellophane bandage wrapped around it, she smiles, and I feel a swell of pride in my chest. There are a million reasons I love this job, but seeing someone light up when they look at the work I did, the art I permanently etched onto their skin, is definitely at the top of the list.
When she’s done, I hand her the printout of home care instructions and walk her to the door so I can lock up behind her. The rain taps a little harder at the front window, letting me know that I’m either going to have to hunker down a little longer or deal with riding my Harley home in this mess. Hanging around the shop another hour to wait out the rain isn’t exactly appealing after a long-ass day with my stomach rumbling and my back aching for somewhere soft to sit, but getting soaked through andrisking a crash isn’t the way I want to end my night either. I swallow the urge to grumble, putting on a smile and waving to my client as she hurries to her car.
I hold the door open for an extra minute to make sure she gets to her car alright. Not that there’s much of a risk here in Fall Crosse of anyone coming out of the shadows to give her a hard time, but old habits die hard. Too many years working and living in Milwaukee before I moved to this small, cozy town where nothing much ever happens. She gets into her car, and I’m starting to close the door when I notice a familiar, beat up old Mustang pulling into the lot. My stomach jolts and a smile jumps immediately to my lips.
I blink a few times to make sure my eyes aren’t playing tricks on me, but I already know they aren’t. Even if it doesn’t make much sense, and even if the asshole didn’t tell me he was coming to town, I would know that Mustang anywhere. It pulls into the parking space directly in front of the shop, the headlights blinding me momentarily before they cut off, along with the engine. The wind shifts and raindrops start to pelt my face and arms, quickly soaking through my shirt, trying and failing to chill my rapidly heating skin.
The car door swings open, and I swear I feel like a dog waiting by the front window for its master to come home, my metaphorical tail wagging and a dumbass grin stretching wide across my face. With only the shop light illuminating the parking lot, he’s nothing but a shadow for a minute, but just like the car itself, I would know that shadow anywhere. The relaxed set of his shoulders, the way he shakes his head in an attempt to dispel the rain, even the husky laugh when he realizes how pointless it is to try to shake the rain off while he’s standing in it, it’s all etched deeply into my memory in a place that could never be erased.
“Would you hurry the fuck up? I’m getting drenched here,” I call out, and I get another one of those rasping laughs in return.
He jogs towards the shop though, coming out of the shadows and into the glow of the lights, looking even better than all my memories. I sweep my eyes over him, looking for any new tattoos in the patchwork on his arms, even though he promised me years ago that no one would touch him except me. Not with a tattoo needle, anyway. A possessive feeling brews in my chest and I lose my patience when he’s still a few steps away. Letting go of the door, I lunge for him, the two of us crashing together in a way that’s so fucking familiar it vibrates in my bones as soon as we connect.
I drag my fingers through his wet hair, pushing it off his forehead as his forest green eyes meet mine. The rain continues to pelt us both, cold water on hot skin on a warm spring night, running down his long, dark eyelashes and dripping off the tip of his nose.
“Long time no see,” he says with a laugh.
“Eight goddamn months, Onyx.” I shake my head, but I still can’t stop smiling.
“I told you I’d be back.” His tone is flippant, just like it always is. Like it’s no big deal that he makes me wait around for him for months on end, like I have nothing better to do. I guess I don’t though, because every time he leaves, I wait by the door like a puppy all over again, counting down the days until Onyx Hart will saunter back into my life with his signature rock god swagger and that mouth I can never seem to get enough of.
“And here I am, still fucking waiting for you,” I mutter with a laugh before I slam my mouth into his, groaning with relief the second our lips touch. It’s like I’ve been holding my breath since the last time I watched him drive away, and I can finally breathe again.
The warm metal of his lip ring drags against my bottom lip and his soft moan vibrates between us. I fist a handful of his wet hair, and his hands find their way underneath my drenched t-shirt, groping at my slick skin as rainwater drips between our lips like it’s trying to dilute our kiss. I lap every droplet off of his mouth though, savoring the flavor of his skin in each one before I slip my tongue between his lips to kiss him deeper.
“Anyplace less wet we can do this?” Onyx pants, grinding his hard cock against mine through our clothes and nipping my bottom lip.
I laugh, flicking his lip ring with my tongue and promising myself I’ll get reacquainted with it in just a minute. With one arm looped around him, I untangle the other from his hair and awkwardly tug open the door to Ink Slingers so I can pull him inside. Our wet shoes squeak and leave puddles on the tile floor, our tongues tangling and our shared laughter rumbling between our hot, wet lips.
“Why didn’t you text me?”
Onyx shrugs. “Thought the surprise would be more fun.”
My cock throbs and I drag him in for another deep, tongue-heavy kiss. He’s got a point there. The surprise was definitely fun. I guess that’s been part of the thrill of this thing we have going from the start. Never knowing when I’ll see him next or for how long. It’s exciting, even if it does mean this isn’t likely to turn into anything more than it is right now: Tattoo sessions, sex, and the occasional night spent talking about everything and nothing until the sun comes up.
What else would anyone expect from a goddamn rockstar?
“I fucking missed your hands on me,” he groans, tugging on my sopping shirt while I reach over to flip the light off.
“Your horny groupies don’t know how to work the shaft like I do?” I tease, tugging his lip ring between my teeth again before sucking his whole bottom lip into my mouth. He still tastes likerainwater, and all I can think about is licking every inch of his body.
Eight months really is too damn long.
He laughs around my tongue. “Don’t be a fucking idiot, Hero.”
That’s always his answer when I bring up other people. I’m not under any illusions that this thing we have is exclusive, aside from the tattoo part. I will fully flip my shit if I see someone else’s ink on him. But any time I mention anyone else to him, he says that same damn thing. “Don’t be an idiot.”
It’s easier to take his advice and leave it alone. I don’t really care anyway. He can do what he wants, and I’ll keep being his eager little puppy, just waiting for him to come home. Until this thing eventually runs its course, anyway. I keep waiting for the time he doesn’t come back, telling myself that’ll be easier than a real breakup when it happens. It won’t be a breakup at all, because this has never been anything more than a patchwork of moments tattooed onto the last four years of my life.
ONYX
There’s nothing like the heat of Hero’s mouth against mine after endless months in hotel rooms and stuck on the tour bus, going to sleep alone every night with my hand around my own dick and thoughts of him playing on repeat in my head. My skin hums with the music of his touch, the familiar chords exploding in my head as he chases my tongue and groans against my lips.
I’ve never been good at saying shit like that out loud though, so I show him the only way I know how—by coming back again and again. Maybe one day he’ll figure it out. Or maybe one day I’ll learn to use my words like a fucking adult. Half the fun is in not knowing which will happen first.
