Love and War: Part One – Chapter 20

“How’s your neck?”

I follow him into his room, arm over chest to cover myself, since I left my shirt on the staircase. Talk about the kiss of all kisses. I can still feel the heat on my lips. My entire body is physically thirsting. I want him in the most embarrassing way. “It’s fine. It itches a little, but I’m used to the process by now.”

“Sit on the bed. Remote is on the nightstand.”

He disappears into his bathroom. “Can I borrow a shirt?” I yell, starting to get a little cold. The bedside lamp is already on. I guess this is where he’s been hibernating all evening. Today has been the most boring day I’ve had in a while, yet still full of daydreaming about one particular man and I can’t seem to shut it off.

“I like you with it off,” he says, expressionless, returning with a tube in hand as he walks toward the bed.

And then he goes and says shit like that to only make it worse. I swear, I’ve never been a girl to get all melted and stupid when a hot guy throws out a compliment, but considering his are few and far between, I’ll take it and fist pump inside. Don’t ask me why I want him so bad, because still, I have no idea.

He sits behind me and pulls my hand from where it’s being used as a covering. “You didn’t mind showing them to every damn man on the fucking planet for a little cash, so why are you being modest now?”

“Because you make me nervous,” I admit foolishly. “They don’t.”

He begins rubbing my neck tattoo down with the Aquaphor ointment, not responding. “Are you going to tell me why you went with that particular design now?”

His hand against my skin creates a hypnotic feeling. I feel like a damn dog, ready to roll over and let him rub my belly with my tongue hanging out. Maybe I’m making myself too available, but I can’t backtrack. I feel that perseverance will pay off with him; at least I’m hoping. This tattoo will forever hold meaning for me. Not because of what is there, but because it is something that came from him. It’s so intricate and beautiful, even with the red coloring. “You haven’t figured it out yet?”

His voice slowly dances through my mind, reminding me not to fall asleep. “No, but I’d rather hear your version anyway.”

“Tattooing isn’t just a job. It’s not something you do on a whim, not the talented artists anyway. Anyone that can hold a pencil can hold a gun. It doesn’t take a license to buy a kit. All it takes is access to the Internet and a credit card to purchase one. Operating it does not require special skill if you can read a set of instructions. But just because someone can tattoo doesn’t mean they should. There are too many fucking posers out there already, spreading bad tattoos like a disease, and then people like me have to figure out a way to fix it to preserve the art of ink. It’s not something you master overnight. You don’t just come to the shop, do, and go home. It’s constant research, learning, and understanding things you wouldn’t normally be interested in. It’s about respecting different cultures even if you have your own beliefs. You will have people come to you with ideas and no design. They bring you the symbolism or the story and leave it to you to create them a work of art they can live with forever. In one career you become an artist, a historian, and so many other things. You have to want to learn to be the best.”

“Okay, so tell me, why the tree?”

“A Birch Tree, in Celtic symbolism, is a symbol of new beginnings. It’s said to be highly adaptive and able to sustain harsh conditions. It can grow and start a new life where most other trees can’t. It reminded me of you. I was the forest fire that took over your life. I pulled you into conditions that most couldn’t put down roots in and start over, but you did, and you’re slowly earning my trust. To me, the tree is the most beautiful with vibrant color, and it matches your bold personality, so I went with the red leaves. It’s believed to be a sign of renewal, of going where no other will go. I tested you, and despite it being something that scared you, you stayed.”

“And the sunlight coming through the leaves?”

“Sunrise is the beginning of a new day. No matter what happened yesterday, it’s behind you. You can always start over. I found you at night living like trash. Where you wake is where you start fresh. Know your value, Delta. Just because you had a shitty beginning a few times doesn’t mean it’s your only. In many things, do-overs are possible.”

Even in monotone he’s anything but calm. He radiates a fierce aura. Always a little terrifying even when he’s at peace.

He turns my head to look at him. His jaw is working back and forth as he looks into my eyes. “Stripping and selling your body for men to use as a dick flick are for those that have given up hope of a new day ever coming. You’re better than that. You’re a fighter. Start acting like one. If you don’t, then history will repeat itself.”

“Explain the birds transforming from the top leaves and the flock creating an infinity symbol as they fly toward the sun.”

“That’s easy. Doves symbolize many different things, one of those being peace. The decisions we make create or destroy it. Flying is possible in any condition, but if your choices in life are wise, you can live in peace forever.”

I work to breathe through the emotions consuming my entire body. I’m not a deep thinker. I never have been. I think in the short term, not the long. Maybe that’s why I’ve made some of the decisions I’ve made over the years.

I don’t like feeling naked when I didn’t even take my clothes off, so I choose to go with the obvious and the path of least emotional resistance. “I thought you were tattooing your name on my body.”

His index finger runs down the center of my neck, even though he’s looking at me with my head turned toward my shoulder so that I can see him. I’ve memorized that tattoo and where everything is. He’s skimming his finger down the trunk of the tree. “Learn to read between the lines. The answer is not always laid out in the open for you. My name lies within the bark. People don’t have to notice it for it to be there.”

He doesn’t have to say it for me to get what’s being said here. Kross is my new beginning, he’s my do-over, he’s my life of peace, and he’s the path to my forever . . .

My forever.

With every little part of him he lets me see, I need him a little more. I’ve never actually felt the beginning of forever before, but I’m sure that’s what this is. I can feel it in my bones.

I stand from the bed and turn around to face him. He straightens his leg from the bent position on the bed as he repositions his body so that we’re eye to eye. I take a few steps in his direction, making my way to stand between his legs, my hands coming together at the back of his neck.

His hands immediately find my hips, the calluses leaving chill bumps. He looks up at me, his fingers folding over the band of my panties in a tight hold. I look deep into his eyes, knowing there is no real peace when it comes to Kross. I’ve only reached his border, but already, I know he lives in a state of doom and darkness I may never understand. That doesn’t mean I want anything other than to live in it with him. “Show me peace in warfare. That’s where I want to be.”

He rips my panties off my body and pulls me on his lap, lifting just enough to push down his briefs before his rough hands take hold on my body. I’m trembling inside, but it’s not in fear. My nipples are so hard they’re tingling and I can already tell that I’m embarrassingly wet.

I push up and grab his dick in my hand. He flinches and grips my wrist so tight it hurts, his breathing labored. Our eyes lock, his holding so much tension. “It’s okay. Let me touch you.”

His hold loosens slowly, before his hand finally falls away and moves to my back, gliding up toward my shoulders as I align him at my center and push down onto him. The hand on my thigh tightens when I seat myself completely, leaving no space between us. I start to ride, slowly, wanting to draw it out as long as possible, pulling every little grunt and growl out of him that I can.

I place my hand on the side of his neck as I kiss him, tugging on his bottom lip. The texture of his skin changes from smooth to a raised patch. I never stop kissing him. I never allow my body to completely disconnect from his; just rhythmically pump up and down in various ways, trying not to come already. I follow the scar I’ve never noticed since he has a large neck tattoo.

This scar is bigger than the others, dense in width, but there is no doubt what it is. As my hand reaches the end, his hand laces over mine, his lips pulling away. “Why is there a cross carved into your neck?” I whisper, almost inaudibly, a sinking feeling in my gut. “Tell me who would do that to you.”

His eyes search mine for a moment, softening, before they zone out once again and I notice the change in him instantly.

Cold.

Dark.

Stoic.

He rolls us over and forces me to turn around, standing on all fours. He says nothing. His hands grip onto my ass and he rams himself inside me. That’s when I know I’ve lost him. It’s going to be rough from here on out. It always is.