The Mallicks and Rivers had, over a few months of Sunday dinners, taken a liking to Sugar, demanding stories about his life in the MCs, but only the other ones. Not The Henchmen. Because they were all somewhat allies, and they knew that what went down there wasn't their business. They liked that he had taught me to use a gun, that he had been the one to point me toward self-defense classes, that he had, in their minds, done what a man was supposed to do - protect his woman. And teach her to protect herself.
"If you do not have pizza with you, you can walk right back out that door," I called, not looking up from where I was bent over the coffee table working on a puzzle. Tame, I know. Except the puzzle was an orgy of all the Marvel and DC characters. Hulk had a really nice green cock, in case you were wondering.
"You didn't ask for pizza."
"And yet, you are not allowed in here without it."
"You're a fuckin' trip," he said, sounding like he was smiling. "I'll order it. But your ass is gonna have to wait for them to make it," he added, dropping down on the couch next to me, reaching for the penis pillow and tossing it onto the accent chair. He, like Jamie, just barely tolerated their presence in the apartment.
"I thought you didn't have to go to the compound today," I said, putting the pieces back on the table.
"Didn't."
I hated asking where he was. It felt like something nagging wives did. "Did something come up?" I tried instead.
"Yeah, baby, something came up."
My brows drew together as I raised my head, not sure why he was being so damn cryptic. But then I saw his sleeve rolled up on his shoulder, and a bandage covering half his arm.
"What'd you do now?" I asked, smiling, shaking my head.
"That's some real nice concern you got for me there," he said, knowing damn well I was not the 'wring my hands and tend to your boo-boos' kind of woman. "Nah. I went to see Hunt."
"Hunt?" I asked, brows drawing together. "As in... Hunter? Mallick?"
"Know any other Hunts?"
"But you always have Paine do your work," I said, shrugging. As far as I knew, people tended to be loyal to their tattoo artists. I was loyal to mine. Even though I had one in the family, I still kept going to my girl one town over.
"Figured Hunt would appreciate this one," he said, reaching up to snag the tape at a corner, so he could pull the gauze down and discard it.
And there it was.
A freaking mermaid.
Right there on his arm.
With my eyes, my hair, my piercings, my tattoos, my damn boob size.
He had branded himself for life with my likeness.
I knew it was supposed to be all about rings and ceremonies and crap like that. But to me, to us, this meant more. This meant life in a way that a ring that could be slipped off as easily as you slid it on meant.
"It was time," he said as I found myself uncharacteristically at a loss of words.
"Yeah," I agreed, pulling my leg up, resting my foot on the couch cushion. "I agree," I said, reaching to pull off my sock.
I had been getting away with socks.
It was winter.
I took to wearing high heeled combat boots instead of my usual stilettos. I had claimed my feet were cold when he got me completely naked.
Because I wanted it to be a surprise.
I wanted it to heal.
And then show it off at the right moment.
The moment didn't get any righter than this.
So off went my sock.
Down went his gaze to the inside of my ankle.
And then his head threw back, a laugh rolling through him.
"Get it?" I asked, looking down at the little bag of sugar with wings attached. "It's Sugar and it can fly."
"Jesus Christ," he said, reaching to slam an arm down on my shoulders, pulling me closer, pressing his lips into my head. "I fuckin' love you, Peyt," he said, the words easy.
And, with him, they were easy for me too.
"I love you too, Suga Suga..."
He cut me off with a kiss before I could finish singing the song.