But the sense of satisfaction was nowhere as near as complete as it would have been had he come inside Tammy. He knew that. But what he didn’t know was if he ever would—ifshe’d ever recover enough from her ordeal to be a sexual woman again.
Of course, she will.
He shampooed and lathered up with shower gel. The memory of their kiss came back to him. She’d certainly seemed into it, into him. The honeyed taste of her had been like a drug, he’d wanted more. And holding her, it was as if his arms has been made for her.
“Ah, shut the fuck up,” he muttered. He was getting soft. Damn idiot.
He rinsed and yanked off the faucet. Once out, he scrubbed the drips from his hair, gave his torso a quick onceover with the towel, and then wrapped it around his hips. He needed fresh boxers, and they were in his bag in the living area.
He pulled open the door and wandered along the short corridor, past the kitchen, and to his bag. The curtains were closed as usual.
It wasn’t until he’d found fresh underwear and a t-shirt that he noticed Tammy sitting on one of the stools at the kitchen counter. She was watching him silently.
“Hey,” he said, straightening.
She didn’t answer. Her gaze wasn’t on his. It was on his body, his tats again.
He rubbed his dark right arm and then up and over his pec.
Still, she didn’t speak.
“You wanna closer look?” he asked, his voice low.
She stood from the stool. “Your back,” she said in almost a whisper. “What is that?”
He curled his finger in a come-hither motion.
She stepped toward him. When she was just in front of him, he turned. “It’s the Devil’s Barbarian tattoo. Only fully fledged club members get it.”
****
Tammy stared at the huge tattoo. It was a hooded grim reaper with a skull face and blacked-out eyes. His skeletal hands were offered forward. In his palms, he held bright red, yellow, and orange flames that licked up Jayden’s back. Arced over the top were the wordsDevil Barbarian Until I Diein scrawling script.
It was the biggest tattoo she’d ever seen and the detail in the cloak and the bones were incredible. It was almost three-dimensional.
“It must have taken ages to create,” she said.
“I’ll be a Barbarian ’til I die, like it says, so that don’t matter.”
“Did it hurt?”
“Nah.” He slowly turned.
She looked up at his face, but only briefly because then she became fascinated by the tangle of images spreading over his pec, around his nipple, and down his torso. The images seemed to ooze over his hard muscles, dipping in and out of the rises and falls of his toned body.
“This one,” she said, pointing at an RIP gravestone jutting from a mass of thorny stems. “Who was Nix?”
“A good friend who was destined to be forever young.”
“I’m sorry.” She looked up at his face. “He died, right?”
“Yeah. He played with fire. Folks get burned when they do that.”
She nodded and returned her attention to the ink. “And this one.” This time, she touched the snarling wolf on his right shoulder.
He tensed a fraction, but she kept her finger over the creature’s mouth. Drool dripped from its canines, and its eyes held a hint of yellow.
“When I was a teen,” he said, “I came face to face with awolf.”