Page 85 of Stitch
“Jesus.”
I slapped him on the back and glared at the two people who’d still voted no. I’d be speaking with those assholes later, although Jock’s perspective was probably based around the fact that he’d lost his old lady, and clearly wished he’d gone with her. Micro, though. I wasn’t sure what his fucking problem was, but I was about to find out if it was Reacher or Ally specific.
“Okay, assholes. Second vote is for me, and the old lady I want to fucking ink up. Any objections to Camille?” The glare I sent around the room should have made it clear how serious I was, but again a majority vote won out, but with the same two naysayers. I saw Reacher absorbing that fact too. Maybe it’d help to know he wasn’t alone. Clearly those two had some kind of issue with old ladies ingeneral.
“Okay, well you know what comes next. We’re gonna plan the inking ceremony asap, Has, Rocket, get your shit together. Oh, and since I’m not dying, we’re gonna fucking party for that too.”
As soon as the room cleared, and the door crashed closed after the last person, I leaned back in my seat and focused on Reacher.
“You good?”
He smoothed his hand over his beard.
“They have an issue. We need to figure out what it is.”
I shrugged. “Jock is in hell since his old lady passed. I reckon it’s nothing more than him grieving and either lashing out, or maybe thinking he could spare you or me that suffering. I’m not too worried about him. Micro, though. What the fuck is his problem? Did you see his face, when we started each vote?”
Reacher nodded, resting his palms on the table.
“Give him a few days and we’ll have a little chat. Maybe he’s just got a bee in his bonnet about women at the club or something. He’s a bit more old-school than most of the other members. I think he’d be just as happy if the club was still what it used to be.”
“He wasn’t even here then. He’s barely been with us a year.”
“Yeah, we’ll figure it out. In the meantime, let’s go give our old ladies the good news, yeah?”
Our old ladies.Fuck yeah.
Cammy
Stitch was practically bubblingwith excitement when he came back up to his room. Lissa had gone a few minutes ago, and Elise hadn’t returned yet.
When he grabbed me and threw me down on the bed, I was instantly distracted enough that I wasn’t sure if he’d even had the presence of mind to at least lock the door.
“Married fucknumber… Jesus… what number are we on now, babe?”
I tried casting my mind back, shrugging lightly.
“Eight? No… yeah, eight, I think. Does it matter now?”
He grinned as he pulled my t-shirt up and over my head. I opened my mouth again to mention the door, but his next words pushed every thought from my mind.
“Fuck yeah. Only now we’re gonna go for a thousand. This year.”
Jesus Christ. “You’re out of your mind, Stitch. We’re already in the middle of the damn year.”
He laughed, wrestling me out of my jeans.
“God yeah… we gotta keep at it, babe. It’s not a race, it’s a goal. Fully planning on fucking you in the bar tonight too. That little corner I mentioned. It’ll be so hot.”
Oh god. I pulled at the button and zip on Stitch’s jeans, and giggled when he shoved them down, with his underwear, and dropped down over me.
“We’re getting inked, babe. We have an hour to kill then it’s tats, and celebrating and stuff. First though… tits.” He caressed my boobs, squeezing them together in his hands and sucking hard on each nipple in turn.
“My god.” My body arched up, offering said tits for whatever the hell he wanted.
Stitch lifted his head. “Kinda wanna see my name all over these beauties, but if one of my brothers has to touch your tits, I’ll have to kill him. It’s a real dilemma, babe.”
“Nobody is tattooing my damn breasts, Stitch! You’d have to not touch them for… I don’t know, days… weeks?”
