“You didn’t look at the paper I gave you….” My heart is pounding like mad.
“What paper?” he asks. His smile is soft and inviting, and I want to fall into him.
“The one you put in your pocket.”
His brow furrows.
“Never mind,” I say, breathless. He spent 142 dollars for a kiss he already owned in more ways than one. If I loved this man any more, it would be dangerous.
He looks down into my eyes, not moving. He’s going to kiss me, right? “What’s the plan here?”
“I’m going to kiss my girl,” he says, smiling at me.
My breath hitches.
“But you have to say yes, first.” He hasn’t let me go. He’s holding me tightly, forcing me to meet his eyes. “This isn’t going to be a one-time thing.”
I can’t even think, and he wants me to commit?
“It’s not,” I breathe.
“You promise?” His gaze searches mine like he’s going to find the secrets to the universe there.
“I swear on your life,” I say.
He chuckles. “My life?”
I nod.
His eyebrows draw together. “Aren’t you supposed to swear on your own life?”
“My life means nothing if you’re not in it.”
His hands start to tremble against my face, and he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.
Logan’s brothers start to chant, “Kiss, kiss, kiss, kiss…,” and the crowd joins in.
“You better kiss me,” I say, “or they’re going to get restless.” A tear rolls down my cheek, and he brushes it back with his thumb, his gaze soft and warm.
His eyes open, and he leans closer to me. I step onto my tiptoes to get to him because I can’t wait one more second. He stops a breath away from me, just like he did in the room. He waits. “You have to close the distance,” he says to me. He’s making me choose.
I fall into him and press my lips to his. He freezes. But then he starts to kiss me. And all the fireworks at the state fair couldn’t compare to the ones that go off in my head. His lips are gentle but urgent. They’re kind but insistent. They’re soft but firm. His head tilts, and he licks across the seam of my lips. I open for him, a whimper leaving my throat completely unbidden. His tongue touches mine, and the velvet rasp of him searching my mouth makes my knees begin to shake. I tangle my tongue with his, and nothing ever felt so right as being with him. God, this man can kiss. He steals my thoughts, taking me inside him and refusing to let me go. I don’t want to let go. I want to kiss him forever and never even come up for air.
Somewhere in the distance I hear the announcer as he coughs into the microphone, but I don’t care. And neither does Sean. He kisses me and keeps on kissing me until he wipes the memory of every other kiss I have ever experienced from my head. There will never be another kiss like this. Not for me. He’s the one. He will always be the one.
“We’re going to have to get the hose, I think,” the announcer says. I open my eyes, and Sean opens his at exactly the same time. His withdraws his tongue from my mouth and closes his lips, kissing me quickly, again and again, and then he lets me go. I wobble on my feet, and he reaches out a hand to steady me, chuckling as he does.
“You okay?” he asks. He holds onto my elbow until he slings an arm around my shoulders.
I nod. I can’t speak. I can’t gather enough wits.
The crowd goes wild. Sean takes my hand and leads me to the edge of the stage. My wobbly knees will barely carry me, but I follow. Logan and his brothers high five Sean as we approach, and Emily and Friday just laugh.
“How was it?” Emily asks.
I don’t need to answer. They can see it on my face. I look up at Sean, and he smiles down at me. He’s everything I ever wanted. I can’t imagine my life without him. “Earth-shattering,” I admit. He squeezes me, his face glowing. I narrow my gaze and smack my lips. “But for some reason, he tastes like pickles.”
“Oh my God,” Emily squeals. “So does Logan!” She shoots them a quizzical glance.
Sean flushes scarlet. There’s a story there. I just don’t know what it is. But he’ll tell me. I won’t let him avoid it.
He reaches into his pocket and pops a handful of jelly beans into his mouth. Logan does the same. Logan points to Sean’s mouth. “Dude,” he says. “That color’s not great on you.”
I look at Sean again, and my lipstick is smudged all over his lips. I laugh. I must look a sight if he looks like that. He wipes at the corners of my lips with his thumbs. “Next time, I’ll wear pink,” I whisper.
“I don’t care what you wear,” he says. His gaze is hot, and my belly flips. “I’d like to see you wearing nothing.” He looks into my eyes, his expression full of longing. He presses his lips to mine briefly. “I can’t get used to the fact that I can kiss you whenever I want.”
“Says who?” I taunt.
“That’s what boyfriends do, Lacey,” he says, as if he needs to remind me. My stomach flutters again. I step onto my tiptoes and pull his head down to mine. I kiss him, holding onto the back of his neck, until we’re both breathless, and I’m whimpering.
“Yea,” I agree. “That’s what boyfriends do.”
If you haven’t read Tall, Tatted and Tempting, Smart, Sexy and Secretive, or Calmly, Carefully, Completely, you can keep reading for a sneak peek at each of the books! They’re all part of The Reed Brothers series.
Tall, Tatted, and TemptingSmart, Sexy, and Secretive
Calmly, Carefully, Completely
Tall, Tatted, and Tempting
Book 1 in the Reed Brothers Series
Logan
I don’t know her name, but she looks familiar to me. She’s a tight package in a short skirt that makes me imagine the curves under her plump little ass. That skirt is made to draw attention, and she has all of mine. I’m so hard I can’t get up from behind the table where I’m drawing a tat for a client on paper. I reach down and adjust my junk, the metallic scrape of the zipper against my dick not nearly enough to calm my raging hard on. I shouldn’t have gone commando today. I hope Paul did some laundry this morning.
Her ni**les are hard beneath the ribbed shirt she’s wearing, and she pulls her sleeve back to show me something. But I can’t take my eyes from her tits long enough to look at them. She shoves her wrist toward my face, and I have to jerk my eyes away. Shit. She caught me. I would tell her I’m a guy, I can’t help it…or at least I would if I could talk.
I see her mouth move out of the corner of my eye. She’s talking to me. Or at least she’s mouthing something at me. No one really talks to me since I can’t hear. I haven’t heard a word since I was thirteen years old. She’s talking again. When I don’t answer, she looks at my oldest brother Paul, who rolls his eyes and smacks the center of his head with his fist.
“Stop looking at her tits, dumbass.” He says the words as he signs them, and her face flushes. But there’s a grin tugging at the corners of her mouth at the same time.
I roll my eyes and sign back. Shut up. She’s f**king beautiful.
He translates for her. I would groan aloud, but I don’t. No sound has left my throat since I lost my hearing. Well, I talked for a while after that. But not for long. Not after a boy on the playground said I sounded like a frog. Now I don’t talk at all. It’s better that way.
“He says you’re beautiful,” he tells her. “That’s why he was ogling your tits like a twelve-year-old.”
I flip him off, and he laughs, holding out his hands like he’s surrendering to the cops. “What?” he asks, still signing. But she can hear him. “If you’re going to be rude and sign around her, I’m going to tell her what you say.”
Like I have another choice besides signing. You never heard of a secret code between brothers? I sign.
“You start whispering secrets in my ear, dickhead, and I’ll knock your head off your shoulders.”
You can try, asswipe.
He laughs. “He’s talking all romantic to me,” he tells her. “Something about kissing his ass.” She’s grinning now. The smile hits me hard enough I’d be on my knees if I wasn’t stuck behind that table. She brushes a strand of jet-black hair back from her face, tucking it—along with a lock of light blue—behind her ear.
I watch her open her mouth to start to speak. But she looks over at my brother instead. “He can read lips?” she asks.
“Depends on how much he likes you,” my brother says with a shrug. “Or how ornery he’s feeling that day.” He raises his eyebrows at me, and then his gaze travels toward the tabletop. Shit. He saw me adjust my junk. “I’d say he likes you a lot.”
This time, she closes her eyes tightly, wincing as she smiles. She doesn’t say anything. But then she looks directly at me and says, “I want a tattoo.” She points toward the front of the store. She’s still talking, but I can’t see her lips move if she’s not looking at me. I want to follow her face, to jump up so I can watch those cherry-red lips move as she speaks to me. To me. God knows she’s speaking to me. But I don’t. I force myself to keep my seat. She looks back at me as she finishes talking and her lips form an O.
“Sorry,” she says. “You didn’t catch any of that, did you?” She heaves a sigh and says, “The girl up front said to see you for a tattoo.”
I look over at my brother who just finished a tat and isn’t working on anything at the moment. Friday—really, that’s her name—laughs and signs, “You’re welcome.”
I scratch my head and grin. Friday set me up. She does it all the time. And sometimes it works out well. She sends all the hot girls to me. And the not-so-hot girls. And the girls who want to sleep with the deaf guy because they heard he’s amazing in the sack. I’m the guy they don’t have to talk to. I’m the guy they don’t have to pretend with because I wouldn’t know what they’re saying regardless.
If this girl is just there to sleep with me, we can skip all the tattoo nonsense.
“Don’t even think about it,” my brother says. “She wants a tat. That’s all.”
How do you know what she wants?
I just know, he signs. This time he doesn’t speak the words. Don’t try to lay this one.
I hold my hands up in question asking him why. “She’s not from around here,” he says, but he signs, Not our kind.
Oh, I get it. She’s from the other side of the tracks. I don’t mind. She might be rich, but she would still love what I can do for her. I reach for her hand and squeeze it gently so she’ll look at me. I flip her hand over and point to her wrist. My fingers play across the iridescent blue veins beneath her tender skin, and I draw a circle with the tip of my finger asking her, Here?
Her mouth falls open. Goose bumps rise along her arm. Hell, yeah, I’m good at this.
I stand up and touch the side of her neck, and she brushes my hand away, shaking her head. Her lips are pressed tightly together.
I look directly at her boobs and lick my lips. Then I reach out and drag one finger down the slope of her breast. Here? I mouth.
I don’t even see it coming. Her tiny fist slams into my nose. I’ve had girls slap me before, but I’ve never had one punch me in the face. Fuck, that hurt. The wet, coppery taste of blood slides over my lips, and I reach up to wipe it away. My nose is gushing. Paul thrusts a towel in my hands and tilts my head back.
Fuck, that hurts. He presses the bridge of my nose, and I can’t see his mouth or his hands over the bunched-up towel, so I have no idea if he’s talking to me. Or if he’s just laughing his ass off. He lifts the towel, but blood trickles down over my lips again. I see her standing there for a brief second, her fists clenched at her sides as she watches me suffer.
Shit, that hurts.
Then she turns on the heels of her black boots and walks away. I want to call out to her to get her to stay. I would say I’m sorry, but I can’t. I can’t call her back to me. I start to rise, but Paul shoves me back into the chair. Sit down, he signs. I think it might be broken.
I see a piece of paper on the floor and it’s crumpled. I take the towel from Paul and press it to my nose, pointing to the piece of paper. He picks it up and looks at it. “Did she drop this?” he asks.
I nod. It’s damp from her sweaty palms. I unfold it and look down. It’s an intricate design, and you have to look hard to find the hidden pictures. I see a guitar, the strings broken and sticking out at odd angles. At the end of the strings are small blossoms. I turn the picture, looking over the towel I’m still holding to my nose with one hand. Paul replaces it with a clean one. My nose is still bleeding. Son of a bitch. I look closer at the blossoms. They’re not blossoms at all. They’re teeny, tiny shackles. Like handcuffs but more medieval. Most people would see the beauty of that drawing. But I see pain. I see things she probably wouldn’t want anyone to see.
Shit. I f**ked up. Now I want more than anything to know what this tat means. It’s obviously more than just a pretty drawing. Just like she might be more than just a pretty face. Or she might not be. She might be a bitch with a mean right hook that will eat my balls for lunch if I look at her the wrong way.
I spin the drawing in my hands and look around the shop. It’s late, and no one is waiting. I punch Paul in the shoulder and point to the drawing. Then I point to the inside of my own wrist. It’s the only place on my whole arm that’s not tatted up already. I have full sleeves because my brothers have been practicing on me since long before it was legal to do so.