Read Online Lay It Down: Bastards MC Series Boxed Set by Carina Adams - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Carina Adams
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of your clothes before you freeze!” I struggled with the button on my jeans, stopping to flex my fingers a few times. I looked over at Matty and forgot what I was doing.
He’d taken off his T-shirt, boots, socks, and jeans in record time. Standing in the bathroom doorway in nothing but his boxers, he was briskly rubbing his hair with a towel. He was breathtaking.
I’d seen the tattoos on his arms hundreds of times, probably enough to describe each picture in detail. I’d never seen him shirtless, though. He always wore a rash guard at the beach, telling me he didn’t want the majority of his tattoos getting ruined by the sun. Seeing his ink now, I was sure the sun wasn’t the only reason. He was covered in ink, which he’d told me, but the pictures he’d chosen to forever etch on his body surprised me.
They were beautiful, not the harsh, manly images I had expected. None of them touched the others, with the exception of the giant Claddagh over the front of his right shoulder. It curled and twined with tribal knots into the sleeve on his arm. A lonely cross with the words, “Only God can Judge Me” above it, sat in the middle of his chest. A single word, Trust, ran beneath his heart. A giant angel ran around his right side, stretching from hip to just below his armpit. Low on the right side was a picture that looked as though a child had drawn it, but I couldn’t tell what it was. Right below his belly button and stretching out onto his stomach, was an anchor. But it was the words low on his right pubic bone that held my attention. I couldn’t pull my eyes away.
“Are you any warmer yet?” he asked without looking up. When I didn’t answer, he stopped drying his hair and lifted his head. I could feel his eyes on me. “Jo?”
I couldn’t say anything, and I couldn’t stop staring.
He cleared his throat. “Enjoying the view?”
I knew I should look away, that I shouldn’t ask. But I had to know. “Does that really say what I think it does?”
He snatched the towel from his head and covered the lower part of his torso. I met his eyes, amused to see that he was embarrassed.
He shifted uncomfortably and took a deep breath. “Yeah.”
I laughed. His discomfort mixed with the absurd tattoo cracked me up. He narrowed his eyes at my reaction.
I tried to stop laughing. “That. Is. Awesome,” I said between gulps of air. I wanted to know more. “Let me see it again! Does it keep going or does it end there?” I stepped across the room, soaked jeans forgotten, and grabbed at the towel.
He shook his head.
“Oh, come on! Is it new?” I asked, scandalized.
He was getting red. “No! I just”—he pulled up his boxers while managing to keep me from grabbing the towel—“keep it covered.” He sighed, a mischievous glint entering his eyes. He grabbed me and pulled me close, the towel forgotten as it fell between us. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.” His voice was low and dangerous.
I'd told Matty I had tattoos, but he'd never seen them—they were personal. His hand was on my bare back, running up and down the part of my spine where the words were written, then dipped dangerously close to the top of my jeans. It became painfully obvious that the only things between us were two soaking wet slips of material and a pair of sopping jeans that clung to every part of my lower body. The sudden warmth growing low in my body and inability to breathe made it quite clear that I wished there was nothing between us.
He leaned down, lips almost touching my ear. “What do yours say, Jo? Should I lean down and take a closer peek?”
I could feel my face getting red because there wasn’t anything else I’d rather have him do. Fighting the urge to wrap my arms around him and kiss every inch of his body until he begged me to do what his tattoo so crudely directed, I smiled up at him. I stepped back, turned around, and looked at him over my shoulder.
“It says, ‘I am enough.’ And this
He’d taken off his T-shirt, boots, socks, and jeans in record time. Standing in the bathroom doorway in nothing but his boxers, he was briskly rubbing his hair with a towel. He was breathtaking.
I’d seen the tattoos on his arms hundreds of times, probably enough to describe each picture in detail. I’d never seen him shirtless, though. He always wore a rash guard at the beach, telling me he didn’t want the majority of his tattoos getting ruined by the sun. Seeing his ink now, I was sure the sun wasn’t the only reason. He was covered in ink, which he’d told me, but the pictures he’d chosen to forever etch on his body surprised me.
They were beautiful, not the harsh, manly images I had expected. None of them touched the others, with the exception of the giant Claddagh over the front of his right shoulder. It curled and twined with tribal knots into the sleeve on his arm. A lonely cross with the words, “Only God can Judge Me” above it, sat in the middle of his chest. A single word, Trust, ran beneath his heart. A giant angel ran around his right side, stretching from hip to just below his armpit. Low on the right side was a picture that looked as though a child had drawn it, but I couldn’t tell what it was. Right below his belly button and stretching out onto his stomach, was an anchor. But it was the words low on his right pubic bone that held my attention. I couldn’t pull my eyes away.
“Are you any warmer yet?” he asked without looking up. When I didn’t answer, he stopped drying his hair and lifted his head. I could feel his eyes on me. “Jo?”
I couldn’t say anything, and I couldn’t stop staring.
He cleared his throat. “Enjoying the view?”
I knew I should look away, that I shouldn’t ask. But I had to know. “Does that really say what I think it does?”
He snatched the towel from his head and covered the lower part of his torso. I met his eyes, amused to see that he was embarrassed.
He shifted uncomfortably and took a deep breath. “Yeah.”
I laughed. His discomfort mixed with the absurd tattoo cracked me up. He narrowed his eyes at my reaction.
I tried to stop laughing. “That. Is. Awesome,” I said between gulps of air. I wanted to know more. “Let me see it again! Does it keep going or does it end there?” I stepped across the room, soaked jeans forgotten, and grabbed at the towel.
He shook his head.
“Oh, come on! Is it new?” I asked, scandalized.
He was getting red. “No! I just”—he pulled up his boxers while managing to keep me from grabbing the towel—“keep it covered.” He sighed, a mischievous glint entering his eyes. He grabbed me and pulled me close, the towel forgotten as it fell between us. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.” His voice was low and dangerous.
I'd told Matty I had tattoos, but he'd never seen them—they were personal. His hand was on my bare back, running up and down the part of my spine where the words were written, then dipped dangerously close to the top of my jeans. It became painfully obvious that the only things between us were two soaking wet slips of material and a pair of sopping jeans that clung to every part of my lower body. The sudden warmth growing low in my body and inability to breathe made it quite clear that I wished there was nothing between us.
He leaned down, lips almost touching my ear. “What do yours say, Jo? Should I lean down and take a closer peek?”
I could feel my face getting red because there wasn’t anything else I’d rather have him do. Fighting the urge to wrap my arms around him and kiss every inch of his body until he begged me to do what his tattoo so crudely directed, I smiled up at him. I stepped back, turned around, and looked at him over my shoulder.
“It says, ‘I am enough.’ And this
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