Page 49 of Tattoo Heartist
“Why… hello, sugar. I assume you’re the little ray of sunshine going around giving cookies out and putting smiles on everyone’s faces?”
I went still, watching from the corner of my eye as a fighter loomed over her.
“Yes, I guess I am,” Ingrid answered.
He crossed his arms, leaning into her space. “Do you have any more?”
She peered into her basket, pouting when she saw the bottom. “I’m sorry, I think I ran out.”
The idiot actually huffed. I felt my lip curl as I started toward him.
“But…” she added quickly, “I also made banana, nut and blueberry muffins.” She pulled out a box filled with about fifteen of them.
“Fuck yes,” the man muttered, leaning in to catch the scent.
Ingrid let out a small giggle. “You’re welcome… just make sure to share some with the other guys, please.”
“Those idiots don’t deserve this—” the man started, but another voice cut him off as the smell of fresh baking drew more of the wolves in.
“Hey! Cookie said you have to share, so you better fucking share!”
I didn’t wait for the brawl to start. I grabbed Ingrid’s hand and hauled her toward the locker room, leaving the chaos behind. Once inside, I pointed to the bench. She sat, watching me with those wide eyes as I twisted the lock on my locker.
“Sugar? Cookie?If I’m being honest, doll, I’m starting to get a little jealous…”
I walked over, crouching until I was eye-level, trapping her in my gaze. “Were you going to at least let me have ataste?”
Her blush went nuclear. She reached into her bag and pulled out a glass container. My name was written on the top in her neat, swirling script. Inside were cookies, muffins, and cupcakes. All made to perfection. All mine.
“I didn’t want to lie and say I didn’t have cookies… but I didn’t want that guy to have yours…” she said softly.
The tightness in my chest eased, replaced by a warmth I wasn’t used to. I set the container aside. “Thank you, baby… I appreciate you setting aside some specifically for me.”
She nodded, but her silence was heavy. Her eyes kept dropping to my lips, then snapping back to mine, her desire transparent.
She beat me to the punch, making my heart kick against my ribs.
“Kiss me?”
It wasn’t a timid request.
It was hungry—in the softest, bravest way I’d ever heard from her.
I sat on the bench and pulled her onto my lap. She straddled my thighs, with a needy little gasp. Her skirt riding up, her arms locking around my neck as if she were afraid I’d disappear. When our lips met, she let out a soft moan that nearly broke my resolve. Her small hands fought to pull me closer, desperate for more, and I felt a dark sense of pride—her hips shifting instinctively, searching for more pressure, more closeness, more ofme.
She was so fucking adorable.
I ran my hands up the soft skin of her thighs, playfully nipping at her bottom lip. She gasped again, eyes flying open, curious, and filled with a heat she didn’t fully understand.
I chuckled, my hand moving to her chin to steady her.
“Someone’s excited, hmm?”
She nodded, completely oblivious to my teasing.
I went to lean in again, but the light hit her neck just right. My blood went cold. There, against the cream of her skin, were bruises.
“What’s all this, doll?” I asked, my voice dropping to a dangerous low.
