Heat & Ink

A few months ago, we danced. We flirted. I've never wanted a woman more. But she was too young for me. Too unguarded. Wide-eyed college girls with curves for days don't end up with possessive bikers that have blood on their hands. Somehow, I found the strength to push her away. Now she's back, walking into my tattoo shop and asking another man to put his mark on her skin. Over my dead body. If she gets inked, it'll be by my hand or no one's. My bad boy biker rep might not match with her sunshine. But I know we belong together, so this time I'm not letting her go.

I finally went to get a tattoo. It was supposed to be a beautiful white lily, but the big, grumpy tattoo artist had something else in mind. Only, he didn't freaking tell me before he got started. When it's time for the big reveal, I don't see a pretty flower; I see his name tattooed across the back of my shoulder. He says I'm his. That I'm his mate. My friends tell him to go to hell. That we're suing. But this grouchy beast isn't shaken. He doesn't care one bit and keeps saying that he's marked me, so I belong to him now.