Tattoo

By Amarinda Jones

Seamus stood for a moment and watched Sian sleep. He caught his breath, as he always did, when he looked at her. They could have been parted for days, hours or even seconds yet it wouldn’t matter. Each time it was like the first time of attraction and hope. No other woman called out to his soul as she did. He was in love with her. It was simple, true, real. It was a love requiring nothing more than being close to each other and reveling in the sanctuary each provided the other. He was very tempted to go back to bed, to take her in his arms once more and drive Sian crazy with what she needed. He’d never met a woman who enjoyed being made to submit as much as Sian. It drove him on to do crazy things to please her.
“But not yet.” He had to deal with someone he had always known, one day, would become a problem. He turned from the woman he loved and walked naked to the window and looked out. That it was cool, he barely noticed. He had other things on his mind. It had been hard pretending the simple conversation Sian had with him about the woman she saw with the same tattoo as hers could have been just anyone. He knew who she was.
Seamus saw a shape move in the darkness. He knew it was her. The dark woman. Meredith. He blew out a breath. “This is so bloody complicated,” he muttered softly, hearing Sian murmur in response. He smiled quickly. That was the way with them. They were attuned to react instantly to each other. “Hush, baby. All is well.” She sighed and drifted off once more. Seamus rubbed at the pain in the back of his neck where a tattoo exactly like Sian’s was scored into his flesh. His had been done as a ritual. It was to do with family. Tradition. Honor. It always burned when there was trouble.
The tattoo was a simple design. It was his family crest dating back centuries. It was Celtic in origin and a knot made up of two individual strands that could not be broken nor could a break or a join be seen in each carefully inked line. It symbolized entwined souls destined to be forever. It was what the McDonagher house was built on. Strong partnerships with people who knew no fear. He looked over at Sian. She was fearless. She was also the one he wanted. Meredith? She was so long ago and he felt nothing for her.
“But she won’t let go.” And she had to. They both knew it. Lust and infatuation was not the material the bound souls together. Meredith was wild and exciting. Once she had fired his blood to the point of frenzy. He hadn’t been able to get enough of her. Like a great hunger he craved her to the point of madness. His great Aunt Cassiopeia had seen that and warned him.
“She’s not the one for you.”
“But I feel so alive with her.”
“Death and life are very much alike, nephew. They’re opposite signs of the same coin yet one cancels out the other and neither can sustain the other.”
“You don’t understand.”
“Oh but I do. Passion can drive you mad. It makes your body wild with desire, your heart pounds and you want to believe the one who drives you on is your soul mate because only she could make you feel that way. But she isn’t. Soul mates are more than just sex—and yes, nephew, I remember very well what sex is like.”
“Aunt—”
“True love comes only once to a man. And oh yes, I’m sure you’ve thought yourself to be in love with many but has one left you breathless?”
“What?”
“Has a woman stopped your breath and made you look at her like she was something you’d never seen before and scared if you let her out of your sight she’ll be gone forever and you’d perish because of it?”
“’Sounds overly dramatic to me.”
“That’s because you haven’t met her yet so you don’t understand.”

• Language: English
• Publisher: Scarlet Harlot Publishing
• Release date: May 20, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301523719

Amarinda Jones

Amarinda Jones believes anything is possible and sometimes just asking for the impossible will surprise someone enough that they will give it to you. Writing is like that. Put it out there and wait for a response. There is always the possibility you may fall on your arse, but after all, that's what cellulite is for. Amarinda believes in taking chances, speaking her mind and aging disgracefully. Twenty years from now she plans on being the neighborhood witch that all the kids are scared of. But then, everyone has to have a hobby.

Book preview

Tattoo

By Amarinda Jones

Published by Amarinda Jones at Smashwords

Copyright© 2013 Amarinda Jones

Smashwords Edition

Tattoo

Amarinda Jones

Chapter One

Oh god, she murmured breathlessly as she dropped backwards from him onto the bed. Her heart was pounding and her skin was slick with their mutual sweat. As her back hit the sheets, his dick slid out of her. It was wet from her juices and he was still stiff. She knew he would want more. He always did. She knew he would force himself on her until she gave in and let him do whatever he wanted. Her body was his. She knew the rules. It was the game they liked to play. She stopped. He took over and finished it hard. The harder the better as far as Sian Rossiter was concerned.

She looked up at the overhead ceiling fan. Sian would have preferred to have the air conditioner switched on but he didn’t like it. I like the feel of your heat upon me. She smiled. He always said the nicest things. Her feet were flat on the bed and her legs were still spread open from riding her man. Sian liked crawling onto his lap and spearing herself down upon his dick and taking what she wanted. For that one moment, she was in control. She loved how, at the right angle, with his body rubbing against her, she could come. He never came until he was ready and then on his terms with her pinned beneath him and unable to escape. She shivered with the knowledge that would happen soon.

Sian’s gaze when to her man, and he was that. He may be the dominant one in the relationship but he knew their ownership of one another was mutual. He was lying on his side on an angle to her. She glanced at his long, thick dick and smiled. It was twitching with suppressed need. Soon, she thought, very, very soon. She would no more deny him than she would deny chocolate. Both were her weaknesses. Sian could almost reach out and touch his short, dark, tousled hair. But she didn’t. His was the next move. And I want it hard. So very hard.

He ran his hand over the back of his neck. A dark Celtic cross tattoo was etched into his skin. It always looked sexier in the half light of their bedroom, almost as if it was a living being all of its own that became more powerful with every thrust of his long, lean, hair roughened body in and on hers. She loved to look at and stroke the inked flesh. Sometimes, Sian could almost feel the skin radiate with a life of its own.

I saw this woman today. She didn’t bother to close her legs. They would be opened again soon enough. Sian knew he would be looking and contemplating his next move.

And you fancied her, he responded as if the thought was not offensive to her. There’s nothing wrong with that, baby.

Sian had a live and let policy. People could do what they wanted sexually. It was none of her business. Her other stand was she didn’t do women. Ever. It wasn’t her thing. I like dick.

He chuckled. I thought you loved it. That’s what you said when I pinned you down on the porch last night and fucked you.

Sian closed her eyes and knew she was blushing. Last night. After work. She had parked the car and walked up the short flight of stairs to the house they rented. It was barely dark so it hadn’t been hard to see her man on the porch near the front door waiting for her. Naked. Where anyone could see. She had pretended not to see him and allowed herself to be grabbed roughly from behind. Stranger fantasy. He knew she liked that. She had struggled and cried out as she was supposed to. Her clothes had been torn from her body and he had forced her down on the rough, pine boards—the same boards the realtor said looked ‘charming’ and gave the house ‘character.’ They gave her splinters in her ass as each thrust from his dick drove her into those boards. She was pretty sure she didn’t imagine the camera flashes from her neighbor’s house. She knew their perverted neighbor was photographing her being taken hard and without mercy. She wasn’t embarrassed. Sian liked the idea of someone watching.

I love your dick. That was a given. She rolled towards him, the tattoo she had on her left thigh was an exact copy of his. Celtic. Dark. Brooding. Like her man. She frowned as her mind went from sex and back to the gym. The woman I saw also had a Celtic cross tattoo, just like mine, but hers was on her shoulder. Sian had looked twice at it. The first time she thought she imagined it. The second, she swore it was identical to her own.

I’ve inked plenty of those. I doubt it’d be exactly like yours.

Possibly. He was a tattoo artist and undoubtedly could tell the difference between inked artwork on bodies. He had done hers. She was beautiful. That was a fact. Dark hair, pale translucent skin and a body Sian doubted needed much work at the gym. Unlike her own chunky curves. She pushed her shoulder length mop of brown hair from her neck.

You were jealous?

No. She was in bed with him. Not her. What was there to be jealous of?

He lifted to his knees and looked at her. Get up.

No. Let the games begin.

Baby, you only make this more difficult for yourself when you disobey me. He moved towards her.

I’m tired. She rolled on her side away from him. Sian clamped her legs and arms around her body tightly. She didn’t want him to see the trembling excitement starting to take hold of.

Sian.

Go away.

He raised one