Page 35 of Savage Hate
I snap my eyes to his. “Do what?”
“You have these walls erected around yourself, and any time anyone says or does something nice, you respond with humor or anger.”
My cheeks flush because I know he’s right. “I don’t know, honestly. I guess I’m still trying to come to terms with the fact that you guys don’t hate me. The kindness throws me off.”
“Kindness?” he asks, trailing a finger down my bare arm. “You think we’re being kind?”
I shrug, ignoring the way my skin pebbles at his touch. “I don’t know–”
“Would someonenicesay that they want to fuck you, Lennon?”
I keep my breathing even as heat flares through me. “What makes you think you even have the chance to fuck me?” I ask, taking a swig of my beer to calm my nerves and leaning against the counter.
He smiles and takes a step closer. “Trust me, Lennon…” He trails off, lifting my chin with his free hand. His eyes, they’re so dark, they’re nearly black. I could stare into them for hours, days even. His wild, dark hair is swept up into an artful mess atop his head, and he smells like cherries. “If I wanted you, I could have you.”
“Is that a threat?” As the words leave my mouth, in the tone that they do, I realize I’m flirting.
My eyes stay locked on his, trying to seem completely unfazed by the lust rushing through me.
“I’d sit you up on this counter and fuck you so hard that you’d forget what day it is,” he says, his voice low and rough. “I wouldn’t be gentle. Do you still think I’m beingkind?”
Just as I open my mouth, Lola comes back into the kitchen. “Do you guys have any more of that guacamole?” she asks, setting down a glass of water.
Damon shakes his head and takes a step away from me, flicking his tongue between two fingers and winking before turning to Lola.
I’m not repulsed in the slightest, instead I try not to notice how long his tongue is…
“There was a whole bowl in there. Look in the back.”
She grunts and ruffles through the fridge, so comfortable here–in this house, and with them. So they can’t be complete asses.
“You guys all live here?” I ask. I’d never thought of their living situation. I guess I always assumed they still had apartments in Boston.
“Temporarily,” Damon muses, turning and walking back toward the door to the basement. He looks at me over his shoulder. “Let’s go.”
twenty
Silas
Lennon and Damon walk down the stairs just as I’m setting up my station. Smirking, I lay Fran down on a pew so that she’s on her stomach, and Lennon’s eyes widen when she realizes that Fran is topless.
I look down at Fran and clean her back off–first with a wet wipe, and then an antibacterial wipe. I see Jude hovering over Ben, his tattoo gun already in his hand. A couple of Ben’s friends are smoking a joint, and Fran’s partner, Avery, is near her feet, rubbing them. When I glance back up at Lennon, she’s still standing by the stairs. Her eyes meet mine, and I smile.
“Still look like a sleepover to you?”
She shakes her head, and her hand brushes her hip bone. “I’m not sure yet.”
Jude snorts. “Take a seat. I’ll give you a go with the gun if you want.”
Lennon stills. “The–the gun?”
Ben looks at Lennon with a hungry expression, his eyes traveling down her mile long legs, and something hot and possessive works through me.
“Don’t even think about it,” I growl, and he turns to face me. “You fucking touch her, and you’re a dead man.”
Lennon frowns as she sits near me, and I begin on Fran’s back. As I go through the movements, I explain to Lennon about how we have these parties sometimes, where our friends willingly act as the canvases for the things we want to create. Sometimes the mundaneness of owning a tattoo shop really takes the creative edge off of everything, and we use these nights to fill our artistic wells again. She just watches us as we work, and soon, Damon takes his place behind Avery and begins to ink the back of her hand.
The night wears on, and after a couple more beers on Lennon’s part, she kicks her shoes off and begins to talk with Lola and one of Ben’s friends. I keep my eye on them, nearly messing up Fran’s back in the process. Damon and Jude must feel the same way I do, because Jude excuses himself and says something to Lennon, whispering in her ear before heading upstairs.
