Rage is the residential psycho of the club. Tormented by his own demons he lives in pain and agony, a constant state of rage. Everyone knows him as the Hellhound of the Riders of Tyr , known for his cruelty and the joy he gets from causing pain. To...
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Iris
I take in a sharp breath by the sting on my back. The piercing pain makes me close my eyes. But I welcome the pain, I long for it. It liberates me. I keep my eyes shut and let myself lost in the sensation.
"Am I hurting you?" Rage breath caresses my skin.
I raise my head and look back at him. His forehead is creased and he clenches his jaw. A smile blooms on my lips in reassurance. He would never hurt me, I know that with certainty. Still, he worries too much, still doesn't trust his own self around me. I do. I trust him with my life, my soul, my love, my whole being.
"I am fine, Rage."
"Are you sure about this?" he searches my eyes. "I'm going to need two more days on it."
"I am sure."
"OK."
He picks up the needle again and focuses on my back. I barely contain myself and fall back on my chest. The day after the Ava's wedding, Rage claimed me in front of the Riders, named me his Valkyrie. Everyone but Wood came up and congratulated us. I wanted to go to Wood and ask him to be happy for me. I consider him a friend, a person I like and trust. But I didn't get the chance. He walked out and hit the road, asking to be on the other side of the Bay with Vince. One last thing remained for me to be officially a Valkyrie, the thing that would let the whole world know I was a Rider's woman. The tattoo.
I didn't even blink when Rage told me that I had to have it, that I had to let everyone know, that it would protect me. I asked for the sketch he had drawn for me. And I had already decided where I would have it. I thought I would spent the rest of my life hiding my back. But now I will proudly show it to the world. I would cover my scars with the tattoo, letting Rage heal me once more. I had one more request. For him to be the one doing it.
My request spurred him into action. He bought an abandoned store in the street – who would be crazy enough to open something so close to the Riders? – and he turned it to a tattoo parlor. The Riders never knew that all the intricate designs on his skin was his, that he had done most of the work himself and they were quite surprised. I wasn't. It is what he enjoys doing and he doesn't mind touching others to do it. And he is good. Though the Riders, the rotters and most friends of the club got in line to commission designs from him, he declined them all for now. He said he would finish my back first. And that's what he has been doing for the past week.
"Enough for today," he pulls away and throws the black gloves in a bin.
"I can take some more," I sit up.
"Well, I fucking can't," he applies ointment on my back and covers it with bandages. "I've been hard ever since you took that damn t-shirt off."
I blush. I still can't get used to how much he wants me, this breathtaking, magnificent man. When he is done, I turn and slide on the leather seat to be close to him. His eyes narrow and his hands fall on my thighs, pushing them open so he can nest between them. We are getting more and more accustomed to each other's touch, constantly exploring our bodies and I for one know that I will never have enough. I let my fingers tangle in his mohawk and I push against him. That is all I need to do. Rage leans to me and takes my lips thirstily and digs his fingers in my skin. Yes, I relish his touch and sink in the desire claiming me.
