Masked & Miserable: A Novella of the Sacred Hearts MC (Book 3.5) (3 page)

“Oh Andy,” he groaned, my name an impassioned plea on those
fucking perfect lips of his. I smiled around him. He tasted so good, masculine
but sweet at the same time. I backed off of him and plunged him deep, the tip
of him barely hit the back of my throat but was in the prime spot for my gag
reflex. I fought it down and breathed with minor difficulty around him and
laved the underside of his cock with my tongue. He moaned and it was his turn
to fight the urge to writhe.

I felt myself getting hard again. I wanted to fuck him so
bad it wasn’t even funny. I pulled off of him.

“I’ve got condoms in the headboard,” he said as if he’d read
my mind and indicated a cubby in his headboard with a wave of his glasses.

“You going to let me fuck you?” I asked and he nodded and I
reached into the indicated cubby. I fished around and pulled out a condom and a
small bottle of some lube.

“Fucking boy scout too, I love it,” I said and he laughed. I
tore open the foil packet and rolled the condom on and he watched me do it, his
expression hungry and full of desire. I dripped lube onto my cock and coated it
with my hand. The best fucking sex I’d ever had was messy as hell but I had a
feeling the top spot was about to be taken with this right here with Aaron. I
wanted to watch his face while I fucked him so I wouldn’t let him turn over. I
got between his thighs and put his hands on his ass cheeks. He held them apart
for me and I lubed up his asshole, sliding first one then two of my long
fingers into him to the second knuckle.

His eyes slipped shut and his cheeks held a faint pink blush
that made me throb with need.  I moved my fingers after he was good and slick. I
pressed the head of my condom covered cock to his ass and felt him push out to
accept me. I closed my eyes and reveled in the sensation of breeching his
opening. His ass spasmed around me and I bowed my head and pressed in harder
and deeper until I was balls fucking deep.

“Fuuuuck you’re tight,” I said and my voice sounded
breathless even to me. I pressed my palms to the backs of his thighs up near
his knees, holding his legs out of my way and slowly drew back and pressed
forward. He moaned the look on his face pure ecstasy and it nearly tipped me
over the edge.  I took my time with him, enjoying every minute. It’d been a
long time since I’d been able to let loose and enjoy myself so completely.

I looked up the long, lean line of Aaron’s torso and smiled,
picking up pace. His cock was swollen, high and tight to his body, the head
riding just below his bellybutton, smooth and perfect and just plain beautiful
to look at. I gave myself over to all the myriad sensations of his body. The
warmth and heat, the feel of him squeezing around my cock, the crisp hair of
his thighs under my palms and I came,
hard
after several long minutes
inside him
.
Shit, who am I kidding? I lost myself in Aaron so completely
I couldn’t tell you for how long, could have been a couple of minutes, it could
have been an hour, I just don’t know.

I let him go and slid from him, bowing over him, my forehead
coming to rest over his heart. His fingers tangled in my lengthening hair gone
too long between cuts, running through it so gently, delicately pulling and
working through any tangles that he encountered. His touch tender.

“Mmmm, does this mean it’s my turn?” I heard the lazy,
satiated smile in his voice and felt my lips curve into one of my own against
his skin.

“Hell yes,” I said. He untangled himself from beneath me and
put on a condom. “How do you want me?” I asked.

“On your knees,” he murmured. I was a fan of doggy style so
I complied. He lubed me up gently and competently and I relaxed and let him do
his thing, giving myself over to him. He pushed into me and I groaned. He felt
a lot bigger this way than he had in my mouth.

“Oh God, harder,” I gasped and he groaned and complied.
Shit, fuck and God damn! He was perfect. I pressed back onto his cock, meeting
him with every thrust as he pounded my ass. After a time he moaned and voice
high and tight with passion warned me he was close which made me smile. I
wanted him to come and he did. Jerking hard against my body, his long hands
with their broad palms stroking up and down my back, smoothing over the colored
skin.

“I love the colors,” he gasped and placed a few kisses to my
inked skin, almost reverently. I smiled into the comforter and he pulled out of
me, I shuddered, so satisfied. He felt
so good
.

“Thanks,” I murmured. We cleaned up and I helped him with
his new tattoo. We took our time, making out in his almost too small for the
both of us shower. His kiss was patient and kind, as he explored my mouth with
his more thoroughly than anyone else ever had.

“Stay the night?” he asked timidly and I nodded and pressed
my forehead to his, cupping his cheeks with my hands and just reveled in the
sensation of his lean hard body against mine.

“Sure, yeah.”

He laughed, “Isn’t there some kind of rule against sex on
the first date?” he queried and I scoffed.

“I’m a biker,” at least I hoped to be… “Don’t you know? The rules
don’t fucking apply to us,” I joked. He laughed and we got out of the shower
and dried each other off. We cuddled up in his bed, which was a hell of a lot
more comfortable than the crappy futon back at my place and I fell asleep to
Aaron’s soft and even breathing, the weight of his head and arm across my chest
and stomach oddly comforting in the close dark.

All I could think was
how was I going to do this?
Balancing
the MC and my day job was hard enough… how the fuck was I gonna add a boyfriend
to the mix? I didn’t know, but Aaron made me really, really want to try. I was
just that damned attracted to him and I
really
wanted to see where it
could go.

Fuck.

Way to make things more complicated.

Squick…

“Good morning.” Aaron’s lush mouth curved into a gentle
smile. I sucked in a deep breath and exhaled in a rush to clear out the
cobwebs. I stretched and flicked my tongue over my dry lower lip and clipped the
edge of the ring through the lower left corner of it. I stretched hard, cat
like, and returned Aaron’s smile with a faint one of my own.

“Morning,” I replied, voice rough with sleep, and asked,
“What time is it?”

“Early yet and time for us to talk.” The ominous nature of
his statement belied by the smile still firmly in place on his face.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

I eyed him carefully. “What’cha got?” I asked and steeled
myself for whatever he was about to say.

“I want to see you again,” he said carefully, his gaze fixed
on his beautiful hands which rested on his white down comforter. The hard look
I’d been giving him softened.

“I’d like that,” I reached out brightly colored fingers and
lightly touched his face. His eyes snapped up to mine and I leaned forward and
brushed my lips across his. His eyes slipped shut and he kissed me back.

“I don’t know how to do this Aaron,” I said after we’d
broken apart. I closed my eyes with shame and turned my head, swallowing hard.

“Tell me,” he said softly and settled back into the softness
of his bed, his calloused fingertips trailed against my skin, his liquid brown
eyes roving the images inked underneath, picking out different things from the
myriad mash of colors. I closed my eyes again and relished the simple touch. I
didn’t get touched very often and this… this was nice.

“Andy?” his voice broke me out of the comfortable silence,
his fingertips withdrew and I opened my eyes.

“Don’t stop?” I pleaded, “I’m just trying to figure out
where to start.”

He frowned slightly and nodded, his fingertips sliding down
my arm, over my hip and back up, “I’ve never seen someone as tattooed as you,”
he murmured.

“I knew I was different in about the fourth or fifth grade,”
I whispered. “While most of the other boys were starting to notice Nikki
Stratford’s budding tits, I was noticing how well Michael Donovan was filling
out through the shoulders. It only got worse. I was into choir while the rest
of the dudes were getting into sports. I liked drama and art class and the name
calling started,” my voice hitched. These were not my favorite moments of
history to relive. Like at all.

“I was fifteen when I came out to my parents and my dad
first kicked my ass and then kicked my ass
out
.” Aaron made a sympathetic
noise and I shook my head. “Don’t, don’t do that. I don’t want to be pitied,” I
said and my voice came out harsher than I meant it to. Aaron cupped my face in
his hands and forced me to look at him.

“Sympathize? Yes. Empathize? Yes. Pity you? What for?” he
smiled and this tightness in my chest eased.

“What about you?” I asked, needing to get the topic of
conversation off of me for a minute.

“About the same. I managed to hide it for the most part. I
played baseball, took a girlfriend, went through the motions until I moved away
from home. Got into college and
everything
is different in college,” he
smiled like I should know and I shook my head. He looked surprised.

“Dad kicked my ass out when I was fifteen, remember?” I
leveled Aaron with a steady gaze as I continued, “Disowned me, told my mother
and my sister I was dead to them. I had this friend in high school, my only
friend really, Sarah Warren. She and her mom took me in. Let me sleep on their
couch for a while but Sarah’s mom was barely making ends meet. I tried to get
out and find a job. Had to drop out of school… My art was what kept me going. I
would draw as a way to escape.” I closed my eyes, this next bit was a bitch to
talk about.

“When it got cold, I would beg for enough change… I needed a
buck twenty-four. A buck twenty four was my ticket to paradise man. There was
this shitty fucking diner and a buck twenty four would buy me a bottomless cup
of coffee. Which not only warmed me up, but gave me a warm place to sit all day
and helped when I got hungry. I learned pretty damned quick to lie my fucking
ass off when somebody asked my age. I was
fifteen
fucking years old,” I
scrubbed my face with my hands, breathed deep and breathed out.

I had done some shit,
a lot
of shit, that I am just
plain not fucking proud of back then just to survive. You get fucking hungry
enough or cold enough you’d do just about anything. I’d had to hustle, fucking
steal, fight my way out of more situations… I’d done just about every drug
known to man just to fucking forget where I was, who I was,
what
I was
that had landed me in some of the shittiest fucking places. I didn’t want to
think about it.
 I didn’t even fucking know why I was telling Aaron any of
this…
other than he was the first and only person I had ever, never lied to
and I didn’t want to start now.

“You don’t have to tell me anymore right now,” he started
when I’d been silent too long, “I just… I just want to know you Andy, you’re
different than anyone else I’ve ever met. Truer, more honest somehow,” he
looked at me, eyes bright and I scoffed. If only he knew how fucking far off
the mark he was.

“I like you Aaron. Don’t know what it is about you but
you’re fucking electric,” I told him and he smiled. We kissed and that charge
thrilled through my lips and went straight to my cock.

“Make you breakfast?” he asked softly against my mouth.

“I’d like that,” I said and let him go.

“Stay there, I want you to be comfortable and after last
night, I think you’ve earned breakfast in bed,” I laughed and couldn’t help my
mind drifting back to his talented mouth on my cock which stirred some more beneath
his covers.

I watched him move naked around his kitchen, which
admittedly I couldn’t see much between the counter and the cupboards that hung
from the ceiling, but it was enough. He fixed us some ham and cheese omelets
and some toast and joined me back in the bed.

“Thanks,” I said appreciatively. I caught his eyes roaming
over my ink again and I couldn’t blame him. I was a riot of color. My arms both
had full sleeves to the point the backs of my hands were done too. It looked
like I wore fingerless gloves of ink, the knuckles of my fists tattooed with
elaborate letters right fist spelling ‘love’ and my dominant hand, the left,
spelling ‘pain’. My back was completely done; so was my ass. Both legs were
fully sleeved too, right down to the tops of my feet. I had tattoos painting my
ribs all the way up. Both sides of my neck done too. Most of my ink was
bastardized versions of children’s cartoons. I had a zombified little mermaid
on the left side of my ribs, her tail half rotted away, and I had an image of
Snow White ball gagged and pulling a train of the seven dwarves over my right
hip, curving around onto my back.

I had an image of Cinderella on my thigh, black eye and fat
lip with the caption ‘When did he stop treating you like a princess?’ underneath
her in flowing script that was almost swallowed by the next image. My skin had
become a patchwork of a broken childhood and just generally fucked up images
meant to evoke feelings of discomfort. It‘s only part of what earned me the
nickname Squick and I could see the question in Aaron’s eyes.

“Go ahead and ask,” I said softly.

“Your skin is beautiful, so many bright colors… but some of
the images are so…”

“Vile? Fucked up? Squicky?” I supplied when he’d fallen
quiet, trying to come up with a word that described them that wouldn’t be
offensive.

“Yes. Those too but also thought provoking and beautiful in
their own right and not all of them are… messed up. Just, I guess, why?” he
continued to look, fingertips brushing a rose on my arm that curved around a
white Phantom of the Opera mask with a French flag behind it. The image was
small and sat on the rounded bone of my wrist. It had hurt like a bitch but it was
Ashton’s tattoo and had been worth it when Zander had done it for me.

She had the same small image inked on the back of her right
shoulder. Her first tattoo done by Trig and all her idea. She’d asked me to
draw it for her though, and I’d been so honored. About a week after Trig had
put it on her, (because let’s face it, if anyone was going to put ink under
Ashton’s skin it was going to be him) I’d had Zander do the same image on me. Ashton
had almost cried when I’d shown her. She was thrilled at having matching
tattoos. Thank fuck. I was half afraid she’d be upset at not having an original
to her piece, but nope. Not Sunshine. Generous to the last. That was her. 

I thought about what Aaron was asking me and played with my
lip ring, flicking it back and forth with the tip of my tongue as I
contemplated the best way to answer him. Truth was it had started when I was
sixteen with the Johnny the Homicidal Maniac tattoo. I related to the
character. Nny was fucked up in the head but it was beyond his control. After
my dad kicked my ass out, I pretty much felt like I was on the same wavelength.
I felt like I was fucked up in the head for being gay but knew, beyond the
shadow of any doubt that it was beyond my control.

“When I started getting ink done, I felt like Nny. Fucked up
in the head for being gay, but at the same time like it was beyond my control.
You know? What I did have control over was what I put under my skin and I guess
that just kind of came out. I just got this affinity for images that were fucked
up. A twisting of something innocent so after getting all of the JTHM
characters in one place or another I just kind of moved on to other cartoon
characters,” I shrugged.

“Not going to lie Andy, I was really entertained by the dead
Mickey Mouse in the rat trap on your ass. I thought it was pretty funny,” he
admitted. I laughed and hugged Aaron to me.

“Of all of ‘em that’s your favorite huh?” I asked.

“I didn’t say that! I haven’t seen them all to decide on
which one is my favorite. You’ll just have to come back tonight so I can look
at them all,” he gave me a cheeky grin.

“Tonight huh?” I asked and rubbed a hand up and down the ink
free skin down the middle of my chest and stomach.

“Yeah.”

“I work tonight,” I reminded him.

“Come by after,” his tone was eager and brooked no argument.
I laughed.

“I don’t know,” I teased and sobered a bit, “Club business
could come up,” I said.

“Well if it doesn’t,” he prompted.

“I’ll be here,” I said and the smile that graced his lips
was worth it. He kissed me, and then he went to work with that talented mouth
of his.

God he was phenomenal, but all too soon we had to shower and
get dressed. He had to get to practice and I had to get back to my bike and
ride home for a change of clothes before the shop opened for the day. As I left
him at his bus stop I couldn’t help but feel so many things all at once.
Excited, troubled, exhilarated, scared… to name a few. Anxiety gnawed at me. I
sighed as I swung a leg over my bike.

It was probably best just to see where things would go. To
not overthink it and to just enjoy what stolen moments I could have with Aaron
because I had to face it; the club came first, before anything. I’d worked too
hard to stop now and I wasn’t going to which meant that my time with Aaron was
limited. One, I was afraid the guys would find out. Seeing the looks of disgust
and disappointment like I’d seen on my family’s face? Well, I didn’t want to
face that from the only other family I’d ever known since. Trig and Zander were
good guys. They’d hired me knowing I was hooked on drugs, put up with me
flaking and kept my clients safe when I was too high to hold a gun steady. They
helped me, guided me; shaped me into a phenomenal tattooist, picking up where
Rusty left off. God love
that
man.

I owed Trig and Zander as much as I owed Rusty for taking a
chance on me in the first place. The old school and just plain
old
tattoo artist had seen my drawings in my sketchbook at the café I used to camp
out in when the weather was shit. He started talking to me. Put me up in a room
in the back of his shop. Started mentoring me. He knew damn well I wasn’t
eighteen. He had me clean up the shop, got me a fake ID in case anyone came
around asking, went to my folks place and strong armed the important papers I’d
need to get around in life. You know, my birth certificate, my social security
card… Those things. I still don’t know how he found out about my parents or
where they were but my dad must have told him I was a fag or some shit.

Rusty had come into the shop with this manila file folder
with my papers in it, he had told me point blank he didn’t care if I sucked
dick or liked having my ass reamed, just not to do it around his shop. Then he
just handed over my stuff and we never spoke on it again and I just sort of
fell into the groove of don’t ask/don’t tell. Rusty died suddenly in his sleep
a year or two later but not before teaching me how to drive, how to fix my own
car, how to tattoo and most importantly how to survive. I mean I knew how to
fight, I’d pretty much had to figure that shit out on my own as a matter of
necessity but Rusty, he taught me how to do it
better
. He taught me how
to fight dirtier and he taught me how to not to give a fuck about whoever it
was I was facing off against.

In the year and a half or so with Rusty I learned more about
life and survival than in all my years living under my parent’s roof. Rusty was
like the father I always should have had. When he died the bank foreclosed on
his shop and I was cast adrift again, only this time I had a car to live out of
for the mean time and a fucking bank account with some cash in it. Not only
that, I had a couple of marketable skills.

I found an ad in the paper that Open Road Ink was opening
and needed a new school artist so I went in. Zander looked over my stuff,
handed it off to Trig who took one look at me instead of my art and asked me
what I was on. I didn’t try to bullshit him. I told him I was tweaking. They
helped me get my shitty apartment by being references. Trig, who’s intimidating
as fuck on a good day and wasn’t having many of ‘em back then, told me if I
fucked him he’d fuck me back
harder,
and the rest is history.