Sinners On Tour 04 Wicked Beat (30 page)

Butch paused to let her catch her breath. “Okay to continue?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

“Your name wasn’t even Sticks back then,” Butch said. “What was it again?”

Rebekah strained her neck to look at Eric. He was scowling.

“Anderson,” he said finally.

“Sticks isn’t your real name?” Rebekah asked. The needle scraped over her spine again. “Ow.”

“Yeah. I had it legally changed when I turned eighteen.”

“Why?”

“Because I didn’t want my mother’s fuckin’ name anymore, that’s why.”

Apparently a testy subject.

“And that design he wanted on his back?” Butch said. “He told me it was a crack in his soul to let the pain escape. Pretty profound for a fifteen-year-old kid.”

“You have a big mouth, Butch,” Eric grumbled.

“You haven’t told her any of this stuff? No wonder she’s willing to have your name inked across her back.”

“The past can’t be changed,” she said. “The future can’t be predicted. All we really have is the present. So none of that matters to me.”

“Isn’t she perfect?” Eric murmured.

“It’s about time you found the perfect girl,” Butch teased. “You’re practically an old man.”

“Twenty-eight next week. I am gettin’ up there.”

“Your birthday is next week!” Rebekah sputtered. “How come you didn’t tell me?”

“Never occurred to me.”

“What day?”

“December third.”

She didn’t have much time to put together a special surprise for him. “Well, happy birthday,” she said. “In case I forget.” As if.

He took her hand and linked his fingers through hers. “Thanks. I never thought I’d live to see twenty-eight. Live fast, die young.”

She squeezed his hand. “Don’t say things like that.”

“Okay, all finished,” Butch said. “Take a look.”

While Rebekah admired her new tattoo in a full-length mirror, Eric helped Butch design the tattoo that would be inked on his lower belly. Butch’s assistant helped Rebekah put salve and plastic wrap over the new addition to her body, while explaining how to take care of the tattoo until it fully healed. By the time she snuggled against Eric’s back, her adrenaline rush was starting to wan and she was already thinking about where she wanted her next tattoo.

“When we first decided to do this, Eric said he was going to get my name tattooed on his penis,” Rebekah said. “Have you ever tattooed a guy’s penis before?”

“Yeah, more often than you’d think.”

Rebekah eyed Butch’s tattoos. Besides his face, and most of his fingers, there wasn’t an inch of undecorated skin on him. She wondered…

“Before you ask,” Butch said with a chuckle, “no, my cock is not decorated. At least not with ink.” He laughed at Rebekah’s wide-eyed expression.

“Pierced?” she squeaked.

“Multiple times.”

Ouch.
She glanced at Eric, who turned pale. “Don’t even think it,” he said.

She was curious about what a cock piercing would look like, and feel like, but wouldn’t admit it in front of Butch. To distract herself, she peeked over Butch’s shoulder at the design he was sketching on thin paper. Eric was showing him where to put the last few musical notes. She noticed it wasn’t the same melody as hers. “I thought our tattoos were going to match,” she said.

“It’s a duet. I’ll teach you to play it with me on the piano.”

Awww, as if he hadn’t melted her heart enough times already that day.

Eric didn’t even flinch the entire time Butch etched Rebekah’s name into his flesh. When Butch worked on the outer edges, he even laughed. “It tickles!” As Butch added the finishing touches, Rebekah leaned close to Eric’s ear and whispered, “I like my name there. I can’t wait to see it when you’re naked, with your cock all hard and thick beneath it. I wonder what it will look like when you’re buried inside me. Will I be able to read it when you’re balls deep or just on the out-stroke?”

“Oh my God, woman! Don’t turn me on when there’s a dude that close to my crotch,” Eric protested.

Butch chuckled. “Lots of people get sexually excited when they get a tattoo.”

“It’s her fault. She’s saying naughty things in my ear. Are you almost done?” Eric asked with an impatient sigh.

“Yeah, hold still.”

By the time they left The Ink Well, it was after dark. To prevent his waistband from irritating his new tattoo, Eric had to drive with his pants unfastened. This prompted Rebekah’s hand to wander into his lap frequently. She was so incredibly turned on by what they’d just shared that she couldn’t keep her hands off him.

“Who needs weddings when you can get a tattoo together?” he said.

“Much more permanent than a few spoken words,” she agreed. Her breath caught. “We could have our vows to each other tattooed on our bodies.”

He chuckled. “I’d love that. You know getting tattoos can become addictive. You don’t want to end up like Butch, do you?”

“No. I just want one more.” She slid her hand into his open pants again and stroked the silky skin of his hard shaft. “Maybe two.”

***

Eric pulled the car into the garage and shut off the engine. He didn’t even bother opening his car door, just scrambled out through the convertible top. He took Rebekah’s hand, but instead of following him into the house, she pressed him against the hood of the car.

“I can’t wait,” she said and unfastened her jeans. Shimmying them down her thighs, she pulled them off and kicked them aside.

He yanked her shirt over her head and tossed it on the floor. Her bra followed. When she was naked, he filled his hands with her curves, wanting her, needing her, loving her so much he couldn’t breathe. He wanted to see it. The proof that she loved him. His name across her lower back. Symbolic of her commitment. Her devotion. She was his. Just as he was hers. Forever. He wondered if she had any idea how much that tattoo meant to him. He wanted to stare at it as he filled her.

He turned her to face the car, and she bent forward without hesitation. His breath caught. She looked so beautiful leaning over the hood of his treasured car. Her skin caught the low light coming from the fixture near the door. The soft globes of her ass were presented invitingly. Unfortunately, his name was scarcely legible beneath the plastic wrap covering her tattoo. He gently peeled the wrap away so he could see it more clearly and carefully stroked the skin above and below the design. He wanted to kiss it, lick it, bite it, remind her that it was there, but he knew it would be tender for a while. He’d wait until it healed before he showed too much enthusiasm.

Hands splayed on the hood of his car, she rocked backward and squirmed against his thighs impatiently. He shed his clothes and then spread his legs so he could sink low enough to possess her. When he sank into her hot body, they shuddered in unison.

“God,” she gasped. “I don’t know if I’ve ever been this hot for you.”

He was so turned on, he couldn’t even speak his agreement. He held onto her hips and began to thrust into her. He watched his cock slide in and out of her silky depths, the name across her lower back never out of his peripheral vision. She rocked back to meet him, encouraging him to thrust harder. Deeper. His balls slapped against her mound with each stroke, contributing to the ache, the need for release.

“Oh,” Rebekah gasped. “Eric!” Her back arched, and her pussy clenched around him as she cried out. Eric gritted his teeth, fighting the urge to follow her over the edge. He didn’t want it to end. Never wanted his time with her to end. He bent over her and kissed the center of her back tenderly, thrusting gently until her quaking body relaxed.

“Let’s go inside,” he whispered. “I want you to see it.”

She looked over her shoulder. “See what?”

“Your name.”

Her smile made his breath catch. He pulled out and took her hand, hurrying into the house and upstairs to his bedroom. He turned the lights on and laid on his back on the bed. He pulled the wrap covering his tattoo free and waited for her to join him. She crawled onto the bed beside him. Stroking his skin lightly, she trailed tender kisses along his lower belly.

“I never knew my name was so sexy,” she murmured. “Must be the surrounding view.” She ran a finger down the length of his cock and he shuddered.

Rebekah straddled his hips and took him inside her. Just as he had been, she seemed fascinated by the look of her name on her lover’s skin. Her tiny hands pressed against his belly as she rode him, looking down where the action occurred, obviously enamored by his new tattoo.

He let her possess him, consume him, gave himself to her until he was convinced they weren’t separate people any longer. When he knew he couldn’t hold his release for another second, he reached between their bodies to rub her clit so they could let go together.

She squeezed her eyes shut. Her mouth dropped open. Her body arched back in abandon.

He followed her this time, spasms of pleasure gripping him so hard, so deep, that his vision blurred and he had to cling to the comforter with both hands to keep himself grounded.

She collapsed on top of him, breathing hard. He eventually found the strength to lift his hand and cradle her head against his chest.

“Wow,” she gasped. “Why didn’t you tell me getting a tattoo was so fucking sexy?”

“It usually isn’t.” And now that her full weight was on him, the only thing registering in his new tattoo was stinging pain, like that of a bad sunburn. He carefully shifted her onto the bed beside him and then cuddled against her back. Their names were pressed against each other. Even though it was mildly uncomfortable, he liked the reminder that no matter where she happened to be, her name would always be a part of him, and his would be a part of her.

The next morning Rebekah woke alone. Her clothes were in a pile on the floor beside the bed. Apparently, Eric had retrieved them from the garage. She applied more salve to her tattoo before slipping into her clothes and going in search of the man who consumed her thoughts, her heart, her body, her soul.

She didn’t find him with his musical instruments or in the kitchen or in front of the TV. He wasn’t on the porch swing or in the garage. Neither was his car. He’d deserted her without letting her know where he was going. And because her car was still at the restaurant where she’d met him the night before, she was pretty much trapped. The Camaro wasn’t even close to running yet.

She returned to the kitchen and found a pot of coffee waiting. Under a clean mug, she found a note.

I’ll be back soon. Make yourself at home. Eric

She still didn’t know where he’d gone, but she was feeling a little less abandoned. At least he’d thought to leave her a note and make her coffee. She gulped a mug of black java and started thinking of all the things she wanted to do for his birthday. She was determined to make it the most special day of his life. Bored and more than a little lonely, she eventually went to the garage to tinker with the Camaro. The sooner she got it running, the sooner she could drive it. She was quite a mess by the time Eric returned a couple hours later. He climbed out of the car with a huge smile.

“You’ve got grease all over your face,” he told her, stroking her cheek with the pad of his thumb.

She had her hand deep in the engine compartment, tightening a bolt. He eased her T-shirt up and kissed her lower back inches above her new tattoo. “How does it feel?”

“A little sore. But not bad. Yours?”

“It’s a constant reminder of you.”

She grinned and stood upright to kiss the cleft in his chin. “Then it’s perfect. So where have you been all morning?”

He reached into his vest and retrieved a thick piece of paper from the inside of his vest. “I had this printed up,” he said and showed her a short music score. It only had two lines of music. One line was labeled as
his
and the other as
hers
.

“Is that from our tattoos?” she asked.

“Yeah. Let’s go play it together.”

She lifted her greasy hands. “I’m a mess.”

“It’ll wash.” He peeked into the open engine compartment. “Any hope for the Camaro?”

She smiled, bouncing on her heels with excitement. “Yeah. I think it should start now. I switched the plugs, the distributer, and the carburetor. You should have seen the muck in the old one. I think a squirrel died in it or something.”

He laughed and opened the creaky driver’s side door for her. She climbed behind the wheel. Anticipation killing her, Rebekah pumped the gas pedal twice and turned the key. Though it started, the engine was a bit hesitant from sitting idle so long. Once it got going, it ran strong and loud, with a few knocks and pings beneath the rumble, but it probably just needed to run. Rebekah gunned the gas pedal, and the car emitted a satisfying
vroom
.

“I can’t believe you got it started,” Eric yelled over the roar of the engine.

She beamed at him. “Hop in, we’ll take it for a spin.”

“And then you’ll play our song with me?”

“Of course. I can’t wait.”

Eric hit the button to open the garage door as he made his way around to the passenger side. Once he climbed into the car beside her, she backed out of the garage and turned around to take the long, winding drive.

The power of the engine was exhilarating, especially on the loose gravel.

“Yeah!” Eric shouted as Rebekah hit the gas, and the car fishtailed before gripping the road again.

At the end of the driveway, Rebekah spun onto the blacktop and pushed the car faster. She shifted into third, and the engine whirred in neutral before catching with a harsh shudder. “Transmission needs some work,” she said.

She turned her head to find him staring at her.

“What?”

He just smiled and shook his head slightly. She turned the car around at the end of someone’s driveway and headed back home. She’d just entered their driveway when there was a loud squeal followed by a snap. “I think that was the fan belt.” She stopped the car, and it died.

“I guess she’s not quite ready for street racing yet,” Eric said.

“Not yet. But soon!” They left the car in the driveway and walked hand in hand to the house. He kissed her knuckles when they entered the kitchen. “Wash up, and meet me at the piano,” he said.

“Don’t I get a good morning kiss?”

“It’s almost noon.”

“So I’ll take a lunchtime kiss too.”

He kissed her. Twice. Neither kiss long or deep enough as far as she was concerned, but she could tell he was anxious to play their short duet, and she was anxious to hear it.

She scrubbed as much oil and grime from her hands as she could with lava soap and examined her nails with a grimace. She really could use a manicure, but she’d just end up breaking them off while working on the car anyway. She wondered if Eric regretted falling for a less-than-feminine woman.

She found him sitting at the piano bench in the family room, staring at the piece of music as if he were trying to set it on fire with his eyes. She slid onto the right half of the bench beside him.

He shifted closer so that her body was against his from calf to shoulder and slid his right arm around her lower back. He placed the fingers of her right hand on the proper keys and showed her the sequence of the notes. There were less than thirty notes in the little piece of music, but it moved her so profoundly she could scarcely breathe. She knew it was weird, but it sounded like
her
. Like who she was on the inside. If she had been a song, this joyous, hopeful little melody would be it. She couldn’t believe he could capture it so perfectly in a few notes.

“Do you think you’ve got it?” he asked as he helped her play it for the tenth time.

“Yeah,” she said breathlessly. “How did you do that?”

“What?”

“Capture me in a piece of music.”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. It just sort of came to me. Keep playing. I’ll add mine now.”

His left hand moved to a lower octave, and he joined her hesitant playing with a different melody. It sounded entirely different from hers. Still upbeat, but a little darker. It sounded like Eric. And when the two melodies were played together, they complemented each other perfectly.

“This is why we work together,” he said. “We’re different, but harmonious.”

She nodded in agreement, too awed to form words. The man really was a musical genius. He should be writing concertos and symphonies. No, she decided, he was where he belonged. He made Sinners’ music phenomenal and rocked millions.

She stopped playing her little string of notes and reached up to cup Eric’s cheek. He looked into her eyes. When she didn’t do anything but stare, he lifted an eyebrow. “What?”

“Why don’t you take more credit?”

“Credit for what?”

“For writing Sinners’ music.”

“Because I don’t write it all. I arrange it.”

“What would they do with Brian’s disjointed solos and Sed’s words if it weren’t for you?”

“I’m sure they’d think of something.” He laughed. “It would probably sound like shit, but they’d think of something.”

“You’re a genius, baby, but you act—you act like a goofball most of the time.”

“Yeah, well, who wants to hang with a genius? Boring.”

“There’s nothing boring about you.”

“I have written a few things,” he said, avoiding her gaze.

“Really? Can I hear them?”

“They’re not ready yet.”

“Are they for Sinners’ new album?” she asked.

He shook his head. “No. They’re more alternative rock than metal. Much too soft for Sinners.”

“I’d still love to hear them.” She grasped his hand.

He looked up and smiled. “Yeah?”

She nodded eagerly. “When they’re ready.”

He lowered his gaze, suddenly looking nervous. “You’re probably going to be mad at me for doing this,” he said, “but…”

He reached into the inner pocket of his vest and pulled out a little plastic bubble—the kind they filled with novelty “prizes” (aka junk made in China), so kids could hound their parents for quarters at grocery stores.

“Here.”

“What is it?”

“It took me nine tries, but I finally got one I liked,” he said. “Open it.”

She quirked an eyebrow and popped open the container. A small, black spider dropped into her hand. She shrieked and tossed it into the air before tipping backward and almost falling off the piano bench.

Eric grabbed her to save her from a certain concussion and released her only once she’d regained her balance. He retrieved the plastic spider from the piano keyboard and extended it in her direction. She cringed. Even though she could tell it was fake and part of a cheap plastic Halloween ring, it still gave her the willies.

“You don’t like it?” he asked.

“Did you expect me to?”

“It reminded me of the time I rescued you from the spider in the hotel shower. Remember that? It was the morning after our first time. The day I started believing that someone could love me for me. I thought your engagement ring should be significant in some way.”

“It significantly freaks me out,” she said. And then the enormity of his words sank in. “My engagement ring?”

He dug in his pocket and produced another plastic bubble. He took her hand and folded it around the novelty. “Maybe this one will be more to your liking.”

Her heart thudded. She was almost afraid to look. If another plastic spider tumbled into her hand, she was totally going to lose it. She shook the container slightly, and the prize inside rattled loudly. This one had some weight.

She popped the bubble open and a thick, platinum band tumbled into her palm. A full-carat princess-cut diamond seemed to be suspended in the ring’s setting by magic. She’d never seen such a unique yet beautiful ring in her life. It wasn’t too girly or too strong. It was just right. She looked at Eric, trembling so hard, she feared she’d need some of that CPR he used so capably.

“Oh…” she whispered.

“Do you like it?”

Unable to form words, she nodded. He released a breath of relief.

“Will you wear it?”

She nodded again.

“And you promise to marry me?”

Nod.

He took the ring from her hand and slid it onto her left ring finger. It felt heavy. And cold. And foreign. And substantial.

And real.

“Tomorrow?”

Tomorrow… She almost nodded, but changed her mind and shook her head. “After my MRI.”

“When’s that again?”

“In ten more days.”

“A ten-day engagement sounds just about right. I guess Brian’s record of three days still stands.”

Rebekah chuckled. “You guys compete over everything, don’t you? If you have your heart set on beating Brian, you can take the ring back and ask me again eight days from today.”

“I’d rather not,” he murmured and lowered his head to kiss her. “I’m too fuckin’ stoked that you accepted it to ever take it back.”

She gazed at the sparkling ring on her finger. Its beauty almost drew her attention from the grease under her fingernail. “I need to get my nails done. It’s so gorgeous, and my hands look terrible.”

“Your hands look perfect,” he said. He lifted her knuckles to his lips. “Perfect.”

Just beneath his lips, the diamond of her engagement ring sparkled in the light filtering through the curtains.

Her
engagement
ring. Engagement ring.

Rebekah’s vision blurred with tears. She couldn’t breathe. Her heart rate accelerated out of control.

“What’s wrong?” Eric asked breathlessly. “Why are you crying?”

She was crying? That would explain why her cheeks were wet and her nose was running. Why she couldn’t see his face or anything but smears of color. She squeezed her eyes shut.

“Rebekah?”

She needed a minute to collect herself. Putting her head between her knees would probably be her best bet. She flipped forward and banged her head on the keyboard with a discordant
blam!

She was going to get married! A dream she had all but given up on. She hadn’t thought any man in the world would want to marry a woman who could never give him a family, and here she was engaged not to
any
man, but the most wonderful man she’d ever known. The man she loved so much she couldn’t imagine a single day without him. The man who probably thought she’d lost her mind.

“Reb?” he whispered as he tried to pry her forehead from the keyboard.

She gulped air.

“Look, if you changed your mind about getting married—”

No!
She sat up abruptly and lifted her hand to cover his mouth, but managed to accidentally hit him in the nose. Her hand was shaking so hard, she was surprised it found his face at all.

She shook her head vigorously. “Of course I d-didn’t change m-my mind. I’m j-just so… so… h-happy.”

Eric hesitated and wrapped a comforting arm around her lower back. “You don’t look happy.”

She turned to face him on the bench, wrapped both arms around his neck, and sought his mouth. Good thing he had better aim than she did. He kissed her deeply, passionately, lips tugging hers with a gentle suction, tongue brushing her upper lip.

“I love you,” she whispered, trailing kisses along his stubble-rough jaw.

“Forever?”

“For the rest of my life,” she said breathlessly. And her mortality reared its ugly head again. What if she had to leave him alone before she was ready to go?

He kissed the tears off her cheeks. “Forever,” he said, holding her hair in tight fists so he could tilt her head back and kiss her lips. His kiss was hard and deep, almost punishing. “It has to be forever, Rebekah.”

“But if the cancer comes back, if I die…” She took a deep, ragged breath. She didn’t want to talk about these things, but they couldn’t hide from these real possibilities. That’s why she wanted to wait to marry him until after her MRI. “I don’t want you to be alone, Eric.”