Claiming Them by Rosa Mink
Chapter 2
Luca
Fuck, it’s been a long month. The guys at the shop have been giving me hell because I’ve been a grumpy ass for it. But come on, what can a guy do when every time I get the slightest glimpse of my new neighbor, my dick becomes rock solid and refuses to go down until I’ve jerked myself off?
Shit, I haven’t even seen her face, just caught glimpses of her sweet body. She’s got curves that make my hands itch to discover. And after this morning, seeing her half turned as she went back into her place, in that tight little tank top…I’ve been hard as hell. Her soft breasts were pushing against that fabric, the little straps looked like they were about to pop off, and I was praying for them to do it. I’d have been on her like an animal if they had.
I couldn’t go handle my hard-on because I had to get to the shop to finish a tat for a regular. So, it’s been a long fucking day on top of a long fucking month.
And what do I see when I finally get my ass home, wondering what excuse I can come up with to knock on my sweet neighbor’s door and meet her? Another dude walking into her place.
Not only that, but I saw her arms wrapped around him, one on his light brown shaggy hair. Dude needs a fucking haircut. Not to mention some pants that aren’t baggy. All of that together with the three-hundred-dollar sneakers tells me the guy’s nothing but a punk looking for some pussy.
I was a lot like that when I was in my early twenties, other than the three-hundred-dollar shoes at least. I worked my ass off to be able to afford my place and I do not want to see some punk that likely has a trust fund getting the girl. This girl is mine.
My skin tightens and tingles every time I get a glimpse of her. It’s not just being interested in her body—I know it’s not. Not with the way I stand in the hallway trying to get a whiff of her scent. If I just wanted to get some pussy, I’d take the damn giggling co-eds that come into my shop wanting tramp stamps and ass tats up on their offers. But I don’t. Sex just for sex alone left me feeling empty years ago.
At twenty-five I opened my own tattoo shop and now, it’s the place everyone in town wants to get into. They want my ink on their skin. While all I want is to get my lovely neighbor’s under mine.
I slam around my place, grumbling under my breath as I look for something to make for dinner. What I really want is the sweet treat between my neighbor’s thighs, but that’s clearly not about to happen. The walls in this place aren’t that fucking thick and I can’t stay here and listen to what is likely going to go down across the hall.
My wallet is in one hand, my keys in the other, the front door open again, when the sound of something breaking catches my ears. I stand still for a minute, wondering if the punk was getting what I wanted from her already, when the sound of something shattering comes through the door along with muted shouts.
I don’t even stop to think. I’m at her door, pounding my huge fist against it in a second. “Open the door or I’m calling the police!”
Half a minute passes and I give it another hard knock.
“You have five seconds to open this door right now or it’ll be the cops,” I shout wondering if hers is steel reinforced like mine is. It doesn’t look like it is. I could try to…fucking hell.
Two wary stunning blue-grey eyes catch mine in a gorgeous face. She’s a little older than I figured, maybe even older than my thirty, but she’s even more stunning than I imagined. “I’m sorry, we had a slight accident…”
I slip past the arm she has resting on the doorjamb, the sweetest scent of jasmine and honey wafting up and I bite my tongue to keep the moan from falling. There’s a broken plate on the kitchen floor and what looks like what was a crystal serving dish in dozens of pieces trailing from the fridge to the edge of the carpet for the living room.
That was no accident. Not even fucking close. I turn hearing a voice start to ask who I am and stop, seeing the punk is literally a punk ass kid. My girl’s age along with this kid’s are starting to add up and I know I’m not going to like it.
I can’t crack my girl’s kid’s head open, not even for disrespecting and scaring his mother—because I fucking know she’s his mother with the eyes he turns on me.
“Back off, right now, kid,” I warn, holding my arm out in front of my girl.
Yeah, she’s mine. Let her have a fucking teenager, I don’t care. She’s been mine since I laid eyes on her a month ago. I heard keys jingling and moved to my door, catching a glimpse of her wheeling a suitcase into this place and I waited, ready to pounce if she went out for more.
I stood there for over a half hour before I knew that wasn’t happening and headed back to finish a show I’d been trying to get into.
That definitely wasn’t happening and instead, I took my dick out, thinking about that dark hair, having it wrapped around my fist as she sucked me off. Using it to tug her head back, kissing her neck while I pounded into her, that bubbly ass rippling with each hard thrust. She’s mine even if she doesn’t know it, doesn’t know me.
“What the hell is this?” the kid demands, glaring at my girl.
“Tyler, I know you’re angry. You don’t understand. I get it,” my girl says softly, stepping up next to me but she doesn’t move closer to the kid. Her body’s tense and her breathing thready. She’s scared but she doesn’t want to show it, admit it. “I love you. I always have and I always will, but I have to live my life for myself now. You’ll be in college in a couple months. This isn’t that big of a deal.”
“You moved out into this shithole. You’re divorcing Dad and it’s not that big of a deal?” Tyler replies, and shit, my dick just did a happy dance. My girl’s free to claim.
“The only thing that’s changing is where I live. This may not be the house that your father and his mother chose, but it’s mine. I’ve spent the last eighteen years being your mother first. I stayed with your father for you.”
“This is so fucked up. You two don’t even argue so why do this? Why leave?” Tyler asks. “It’s not like you have anything to do.”
“No, we didn’t argue, mainly because we didn’t talk. We haven’t in years. The rare occasion we’d all have dinner together, I’d talk to you, you’d talk to your father. We didn’t talk to each other. As for moving out, I hate that house. I always have. Just as I’ve never had anything to do beyond being your mother because your father refused to let me go to college, refused to let me get a job when you got older. I may be the one that left the house, but your father’s not staying either.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Tyler states, his eyes narrowing in anger, and I move closer to my girl, fury of my own growing hearing her words.
His is directed at her while mine is directed to the douchebag she apparently married—young. She’s likely thirty-six, thirty-seven maybe. Doesn’t even faze me one bit. Hell, she’s likely only been with one tool until now. Her sweet body is going to sing for me when I get my hands on her.
“The night I told him I was moving out, gave him the separation papers, he admitted that he’d been seeing Kristen. They want to travel. So no, there’s no chance of your father and I getting back together. I wouldn’t before and I certainly wouldn’t now,” my beauty says and the kid steps closer to her.
“Maybe if you hadn’t been so far up my ass then Dad wouldn’t have needed to start fucking his assistant,” he shouts.
I’m done the second my girl pulls back, a little hitch in her breathing showing her fear.
“You need to go and calm the fuck down,” I state, moving directly in front of her, right in the kid’s line of sight. It stops him and I lift my brow, daring the punk to come after me. He’s maybe five-ten, bigger than my girl by likely five inches. But I’ve got another seven on him, along with about a hundred pounds of muscle.
His jaw tightens before he storms past us, slamming the door shut behind him, leaving me alone with my girl.
