Dedicated Ink Page 9

  “I’ve been thinking about that. Why don’t you go ahead and move in with me?” He’d been thinking about it a hell of a lot, actually.

  She turned to stare at him, even leaning forward in her seat a little. “You want me to move in with you? Now?”

  Why did she sound so surprised? Surely she’d realized it was the only reasonable solution, that it would have to happen sometime within the next few months.

  “It has to happen soon anyway. We’re together – it’s not like we were going to live under separate roofs, shuttling the babies back and forth for no reason. You’re almost halfway through this pregnancy, and I think it’d be pointless to wait any longer.”

  He wanted her where he could keep her safe, wanted to give her a home that wouldn’t be a burden to her.

  When she didn’t answer immediately, he looked away from the road to meet her eyes. “Is it what I told you in the hospital – does that change things?” Doubt crept into his mind, tinged with the sticky shame that had clung to him as he’d revealed his not-so-distant past.

  “What? No, of course not.”

  He shifted his gaze back to the road. “I thought it might.”

  “It doesn’t.”

  She was silent for a moment, then her lips quirked in a sudden smile. “About me moving in… You just want me in your bed every night.”

  “Damn right I do.” He laid a hand on her thigh and squeezed. “I’ve had enough of lying alone, wishing you were there.”

  * * * * *

  “Glad you could make it,” Sam said, walking beside Abby with a hand against the small of her back, guiding her through the restaurant’s darkened interior.

  Cohen waved from a corner where three tables had been pushed together. “Over here.”

  Nearly two dozen people lined the tables, most of them familiar faces from the department. The few he didn’t recognize looked like significant others he’d never met before.

  As they approached the table, all eyes shifted to Abby, gazes settling in unison on the perfectly round bump of her belly. She was in her second trimester and carrying twins – there was no mistaking her pregnancy now, and the purple dress she wore draped nicely over her figure, showcasing curves without being too tight.

  “Hey, happy birthday, man. This is Abby – my girlfriend.” Sam kept a hand on the small of her back as he introduced her to Lieberson and the woman sitting to his left. “Abby, this is Lieberson and his wife.”

  “Sara,” Lieberson’s wife said, extending a hand. “What a pretty dress.”

  Abby beamed. “Thanks. And thanks for the invitation, too. This is the first chance I’ve had to meet Sam’s co-workers.”

  She smiled at everyone Sam introduced her to. He noticed several looks of surprise, which were probably due to her pregnancy, or maybe the brilliant ink scrolling down her arms. Still, a small part of him wondered whether those who’d met his ex were shocked at the sheer contrast between Abby’s friendliness and the general bitchiness his former girlfriend had brought to most occasions.

  He had to repress a grin at the thought. He still hadn’t explained to any of his fellow officers what had happened between him and Trish. He didn’t plan to, though maybe he should’ve talked to someone he trusted months ago; finally confessing to Abby at the hospital had left him feeling like he’d cut an anchor chain and was finally moving far and fast away from the wreckage of the shitty year-long relationship that had ended in betrayal.

  Let them think what they wanted about the stupid decisions he’d made in the past – that was all behind him, and his future looked brighter than he’d ever imagined it.

  * * * * *

  Abby wove her fingers through the party favor’s silver fringe, holding the plastic mouthpiece in her palm. The sparkling noisemaker was part of a glittering bounty she’d brought home from Jed and Karen’s place in Allegheny West; she also had a plastic purple top hat and some kind of wand that flashed red, blue and yellow when waved. She was saving all the party favors – which Jed assured everyone Karen had selected – for Ava. She’d bring them along next time she met with Natalie.

  Hopefully, that would be soon. She was almost done with her artwork for Book 2. Really, she only had one last illustration to complete, for the final scene. She sat in the recliner – Sam’s favorite chair, though he always insisted she take it – with her sketchbook in her lap and a pencil in hand. In a few minutes, she transferred an outline from her imagination to paper, a silhouette of a fox surrounded by his animal friends.

  She’d finish the drawing the next day; the important thing was that she had the basics down. For now, she didn’t have the energy to make her best illustrative efforts, and the recliner wasn’t exactly the best place to work from, even if it was the most comfortable seat in the house. Besides, it was almost midnight – the ball was about to drop.

  She paused to stare at the TV screen and watch the scene in Times Square, knowing that the others were probably watching it too, back at Jed and Karen’s place. She’d originally planned to watch it with them but had tired after a couple hours there and worried that if she hung around until after midnight, she’d be too exhausted to drive home safely.

  If only Sam knew that she’d come home before midnight. He’d warned her to be cautious driving that night, and she’d sensed his worry, though all he’d said was, “Be careful. There’ll be all kinds of drunks leaving parties and bars by the time you’ll be ready to head home.” He would’ve been relieved to know she’d come in early, though she knew he’d be too busy for her to interrupt with a phone call.

  Guilt crept over her as she glanced down at her sketch book, then at the TV screen, where thousands of people were packed like sardines in Times Square, cheering. Sam didn’t get to enjoy the holiday like others did; for him, it just meant extra work.

  Since moving in with him, she’d realized just how hard the rotating shifts could be. Tonight, he was working overtime. Thinking about it made the plush arm chair seem uncomfortable. Since moving in, she’d also been taking less and less appointments, tattooing mostly for her regular clients and doing her best to make time for anyone who was in need of her specialty – cover-up tattoos.

  She was six months along now and her belly made it look like she was farther. The strain on her joints and body made it feel like it, too. Despite her hopes, her fatigue had hardly ebbed after the end of the first trimester and she was still no stranger to nausea, either.

  She’d gotten permission from Jed to seek out guest artists to fill her chair, some days, during the two months after her due date, and had had some success, but that did nothing to help her personal financial situation.

  Overall, she was working half the hours she used to, and spending most of her time at the house – she still thought of it as Sam’s house – passing the hours by working on her art and sometimes just sleeping. It was a relief when she did go into Hot Ink, even though it drained her energy. At least then she was doing something. Something she was good at, something that supplied her with an income … unlike the art she’d been spending so much time on while at home.

  A tiny part of her dared to hope that Natalie would succeed in snaring a publisher’s interest for the illustrated children’s book series they’d started working on more than a year ago, but it wasn’t likely that would happen, let alone that they’d make any money. The books were a passion and a pastime, something that brought her closer to her sister … but they weren’t real work, and her stomach knotted up as she sat there with her paper and pencil in hand, knowing Sam was out on the streets, running on too little sleep, dealing with criminals.

  If she herself felt guilty, how could he not resent her for taking it easy in his home while he worked so hard to pay most of the bills and finance the things they’d need to buy before the twins arrived?

  * * * * *

  The party favor tumbled from the chair and landed on the carpet, sparkling. Its tinsel-y shine caught Abby’s eye as she blinked, conscious that the room had grown wa
rmer and the chair harder while she’d slept.

  “Glad to see you made it home from the party okay.”

  The heat and hardness cradling her was Sam. Attempting to stretch, she found herself caught in his arms. “You’re back. What time is it?”

  “Late. Or really early, depending on how you look at it.”

  The darkness kept only partially at bay by the TV’s glow assured her that he meant AM, not PM. “Missed you.”

  “How was the party?” He spoke evenly as he carried her in the direction of the bedroom, not even winded. His hard biceps pressed into her shoulders and her body began to tingle all over, retaining his heat.

  “Fun. I came home early. I was afraid I’d be too tired to drive home if I stayed ‘till midnight.”

  A little of the tension went out of his muscles, as if knowing that she hadn’t been out as late as she’d planned to be could erase any of the worry he was sure to have wasted on her while at work.

  When he lowered her onto the bed, she missed the support of his hard body. “Where are you going?”

  “To take a shower.” He was already unbuttoning his uniform shirt. “I come into contact with some disgusting people on nights like these. Maybe I shouldn’t have carried you without cleaning up first.”

  “I liked it.” He looked fine, and she longed to feel his embrace again, no matter what he said. “You won’t be in the shower for too long, will you?”

  Even in darkness relieved only by the glow of a streetlight filtering through the blinds beside the bed, she could see a gleam pass through his eyes. “Not if you don’t want me to be.”

  “I’ll wait up for you.” Sitting up and swinging her legs over the edge of the bed, she began to undress. She’d fallen asleep in the recliner, still in the jeans and shimmering purple maternity sweater – that had been a Christmas gift from Sam – she’d worn to the party.

  As she pulled her shirt over her head, he sucked in a breath, like she’d hit him in the gut with something heavy. A moment later he exhaled, hard. “I’ve been thinking of you all night.”

  Her earlier feelings of guilt and unease had been obliterated by sleep; they’d barely begun to come creeping back by the time he’d stripped down to the waist, leaving the upper half of his body bare. She breathed a little more quickly too as she let her gaze rake over his broad shoulders, hard pecs and a torso that was ridged in all the right places. Desire sent other emotions fleeing to the backburners of her mind as she removed her bra.

  Her nipples were already hard, but they stiffened a little more as his gaze settled on them, almost a physical weight.

  “God, you’re killing me Abby.” He untied his boots, unbelted his pants and proved his claim by stripping bare. His cock stretched toward her, thick and as hard as the rest of him.

  She ached to wrap her hands around it, to run a thumb over the velvet-smooth skin at the head. But she also ached to have him inside her, and she knew that wasn’t going to happen until he showered. “Hurry, then. I’ll be waiting.” She smiled as she kicked off her jeans, her desire boosted, as it always was, by the fact that he seemed just as attracted to her now as he had that past summer, when she’d been slender and in possession of a flat stomach.

  He breathed a sigh and retreated to the bathroom.

  She didn’t know where to let her gaze settle as he walked away – his shoulders drew her eye, but she couldn’t resist following the tapering trail to his hips, and then there was his ass, muscular and perfectly shaped. Taking it all in, she slipped out of her panties and knelt on the comforter, letting the cool air chill her skin, turning her nipples to stone-hard points and lending an edge of desperation to her desire for his touch.

  When he’d disappeared from view and the noise of water hitting the tub floor sounded from a distance, she slipped a hand between her thighs and dragged one fingertip over her swollen clit. At least one second-trimester prediction had come true: her libido had surged. Sometimes, even when she thought she was too exhausted to want sex, a simple touch from him, or even a memory of another time together, would change her mind irrevocably. She might not have the energy to work full-time, but she almost always had the energy for him, and he was the one thing she absolutely couldn’t have stood to neglect.

  Moisture dampened her fingertips as her hand strayed below her clit. She pulled her fingers away, letting her hand rest on her thigh. Her touch was no substitute for his; there was just something about him that set her senses on fire, exciting her every time.

  The chemistry had been all-consuming the first time they’d slept together, and the sparks hadn’t faded; whenever they were in bed together, they were happy. That fact had managed to make more than a handful of difficult days bearable, so far. Despite her worry over how leisurely her new life seemed compared to his, it was undeniably amazing to know that no matter what happened, she’d curl up next to him at some point every day.

  He returned from the shower with a towel wrapped around his waist, his torso gleaming with dampness. In the dim lighting, the tattoo that spanned his upper left arm looked like a mass of shadows, sprawling black over hard contours of muscle. As he moved closer, their familiar pattern became discernible: a dark design, tribal and vaguely Celtic in style, providing a backdrop for a thin blue line that cut through it all, circling the widest part of his arm. Words had been inked between the spirals, an entire quote. She knew it by heart, now: I have wrestled the hilt from the enemies’ hand, avenged the evil done; it is what was due.

  She’d Googled the phrase months ago, eager to know where it had originated. Her search results had been a surprise; the quote had been taken from Beowulf and modified slightly, then inked permanently into his skin. She’d given it a lot of thought, especially lately, and the words sent a shimmer of wariness across the surface of her mind every time she read them.

  Those words, inked above a thin blue line, obviously embodied the necessity he viewed his law enforcement career as, the way he seemed to equate enforcing justice and avenging wrongs with goodness itself. He was a good man – an exceedingly good one – and it stung to think that all his concern, all his readiness to accept and support their soon-to-be family, might be a compulsion for him, as much a part of his nature as putting on his boots and badge every day.

  She admired his sense of duty and self-sacrifice, but she didn’t want to be a sacrifice. And she especially didn’t want to think that his acceptance of their babies might be his way of trying to right the wrongs his ex had inflicted on him.

  CHAPTER 8

  Warm water dampened Abby’s arms and breasts as Sam sank onto the bed, pulling her into an embrace. Her round belly bumped his flat one, and the head of his cock slid firm and hot against the curve of it as the towel slipped from around his hips. Just like that, she closed her eyes and refused to think of what his tattoo said, surrendering to the temptation he offered instead. This – tangling together like they were one being, not two – was the one thing that drove all thoughts of being a mere burden or duty from her mind.

  She slipped her hand over his thigh, following the firm guidelines of muscle toward his hip and letting her fingertips drift over the ridge of bone there before wrapping them around his shaft. He was hot against her palm, and a thrill went through her, causing her pussy to draw up tight in anticipation.

  The memory of the first time she’d gripped him that way was still vivid in her mind; that July night, she’d reached for him in semi-darkness in this same bedroom and had felt moisture slicken her skin, dampening the panties he’d had yet to pull off of her. Then, she’d only been dreaming of what would come next. Now, she knew and could feel her pussy growing wetter again.

  He slipped a hand between her legs, like he’d been reading her thoughts. His fingertips – much thicker than her own – slid against the folds of her pussy, teasing before delving between them and sinking knuckle-deep inside her.

  She stiffened, every muscle in her body growing tense as the anticipated shock of penetration rippled throug
h her, making every inch of her skin tingle as her internal muscles tightened, begging him to go deeper, to give her more.

  He dragged his fingertips down her inner wall, lingering at a spot that made her squirm.

  “Easy,” he breathed, though there was a distinct note of satisfaction in his voice as he wrapped his other arm around her, lowering her onto her back and pressing his face against her breasts as he continued to push his fingers slowly in and out of her.

  She arched her back when he closed his mouth around one of her nipples, drawing it deep into his mouth. His jaw was hard and pressing into the swollen curve of her breast, the stubble he hadn’t shaved yet scraping and tickling her sensitive skin.

  Just waiting after watching him undress, her mind whirling with visions of his naked body, had had her achingly ready. Now, she tipped her head back against the mattress, her neck bowing as her mind and body worked and writhed together to process the sensory overload. The scent of soap and his clean, damp skin swirled into her lungs as she drew in a deep breath, suddenly light-headed.

  He pulled his fingers from between her legs when she was on the edge. Gasping, she gripped his wrist, willing him to realize his mistake, to press two fingers inside her again, quick, before she went crazy.

  Ignoring her wordless plea, he shook loose from her grasp, scraping her nipple lightly with his teeth before raising his head and rising onto his knees.

  Her breasts ached and her pussy throbbed, each left painfully wanting in the absence of his touch. With a moan of frustration, she reached for him, wrapping her fist around his rigid cock. She was way too ready to play games; caressing him from base to tip, she resolved to push him to the edge too, to make him want more so badly that he wouldn’t be able to resist burying himself inside her.