Home > Ignite (Men of Inked : Heatwave #5)(3)

Ignite (Men of Inked : Heatwave #5)(3)
Author: Chelle Bliss

Always wanting to prove me wrong, he pulls me farther back until my body is flush against his. “My shoulder may be injured, but the rest of me isn’t.”

I turn my face up, staring into his gray eyes. “It’s only been a few days, and the doctor said you need to be careful so you don’t rip the staples.”

He runs his fingers down the side of my arm, causing my skin to break out in goose bumps. “What does my shoulder have to do with my cock?”

“No strenuous activity, buster. Not until you’re cleared by your doctor.” I place my hand on his chest, toying with his piercing.

He moves his fingers from my back to my spine, making a beeline for my ass. “You know what isn’t strenuous?”

“What?” I ask, squirming when his fingertips move over the swell of my ass.

“You ridin’ my cock.”

I giggle and slap his chest. “Stop. We’re not fucking.”

“Sit on my face, then.”

I shake my head, biting down on my lip. God, I’d do anything to be riding his face right now instead of arguing about Morris while he has a hole in his body.

“A few more days, okay?” I beg, wanting him to have every chance to heal without any complications. “You want another pill? It’ll help you sleep and get your mind off things.”

“Have you ever taken one of those things?” he asks, brushing his lips against the skin of my forehead and breathing me in.

“No. Not those specifically, but something like them.”

“Those pills…” He pauses and sighs. “They give me the craziest dreams.”

I move out of his embrace and prop myself up, still in the crook of his arm. “What kind of dreams?”

“Sex dreams.” He smirks again. “Wild sex dreams.”

“Wild ones?” My eyes widen. From what I know, Mammoth’s never had a tame sex life.

So, what in the world would constitute a wild sex dream?

He nods. “So, if you give me another one, you better be willing to hop on my cock because I won’t be able to stop myself from finding a way to be buried deep inside you, princess.”

I swallow. “No pills, then.”

“No pills,” he says. “Now, why don’t you get that sweet ass moving and make me a sandwich?”

I blink. “Say that again, because it sounded a lot like you just ordered me to make you a sandwich.”

“I’m hungry and injured, babe. If you want me to get better, I can’t eat any more ramen noodles. I don’t know how you eat that shit all the time. Will you please—” he emphasizes the word because my lips are twisted “—make me something with protein?”

“Since you put it that way, yes. Yes, I will. Anything to make you feel better, but just so you know—” I push myself up, staring him straight in the eyes “—in the future, make sure to throw a please in front of a statement like that or else this platinum pussy may be closed for a very long time.”

He stares at me, mouth flat, studying my face. “You shittin’ me?”

I shake my head, crossing my arms.

“So, do I need to say ‘Can I please fuck that sweet pussy?’ in the future too?” He raises a dark eyebrow.

“If you say please when we’re fuckin’, I’m closing the pussy shop too.”

He bursts into laughter, grabbing at his shoulder when the pain slices through him, reminding him that he’s injured, and he quickly sobers. “Fuck,” he groans. “Don’t make me laugh.”

“Well, don’t say dumb shit.”

“Princess, you know your pussy shop,” he says, fighting a smile as he reaches out and strokes my leg, “will never be closed to me.”

I tip my head back and laugh, fighting the tingles shooting up my thigh from his light touch. “I’m the boss of this pussy, baby. Always have been. Always will be.”

His fingers inch higher, and I fight back a moan. “Is that so?”

“Yes,” I say, but it doesn’t come out quite as forceful or truthful as I had hoped, and I change the subject as quickly as possible. “Anyway, you’re here for me to take care of you. So, let me go make you that sandwich you’re so in need of, and I told Morris you won’t be back until you’re healed.”

His eyebrows rise. “You told him that?”

“Well, maybe something like that.” I shrug, hoping he’ll believe me and drop it.

“What did you promise me?” Mammoth’s jaw ticks.

Well, shit.

I cringe. “I know, but…”

“Tamara.”

“Mammoth.”

He grimaces as he adjusts his body, moving his back against the bed’s headboard and his hand away from my ass. “I told you to leave shit alone.”

“Well, I…he called me,” I lie again.

What the hell is wrong with me?

Sometimes I can get away with bullshit, but not with Mammoth. The man can spot my lies from a mile away. Doesn’t mean I’m about to change my tune. At this point, I am too entrenched in the lie to back down now. I have no other choice but to stick to my story and ride it out, even if it leads to an ass spanking, followed by a hot fuck afterward. There’s always pleasure after any form of playful punishment.

Mammoth tilts his head as he rubs his shoulder, careful not to touch the bandage. Those gray eyes bore into me like he’s reading my mind, knowing all the lies I’ve told him in the last five minutes. “Go make my sandwich,” he tells me without an ounce of emotion and definitely not with any kindness.

Damn. I hate when I can’t read him. “Turkey or roast beef? I think we have both.”

“Both, and I’m done lying around here.”

“But…” I raise a finger, ready to tell him why he’s not done, no matter what he says.

He shakes his head. “No buts, Tam. I played it your way for three days. I’m well enough to get out of bed. I’m not dying, and you need to stop treating me like I am.”

“Fine,” I mutter, moving backward off the bed, extending my leg until my toes touch the tile floor. “I’ll meet you out there, then. Want anything else?”

“My phone.”

I gulp. “Sure,” I say as I climb to my feet and make my way to the dresser where I’ve had it turned off for the last three days. “Don’t be long, okay?”

He holds out his hand, face still unreadable.

Damn.

I’m in trouble.

I know I am.

I place the cell phone in his palm and smile. “Food will be ready in five minutes.”

“Close the door on your way out.”

Ugh. My heart sinks. I fucked up.

Did I cross the line? Yeah. I broke the promise, but if he were in my position, he wouldn’t have listened to me, no matter how many times he’d have told me he would.

I pull on a T-shirt and shorts, glancing at him from underneath my eyelashes. He watches me, phone in his hand, unmoving. I walk toward the door, ready to leave before I cry like a little bitch because he’s crabby as fuck.

“Princess,” he calls out before my hand touches the doorknob.

“Yeah?”

Don’t turn around.

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