Chapter Twenty-Four
Damara
I’m still tied to the bed.
What iswrongwith this man?
And why do I care about him enough to let him do this to me?
Iwould rather let Magnum tattoo my flesh than admit how I feel about him. My ass cheek throbs from the spot where he tattooed me and I had to completely detach myself from the fact that this wasmy ass cheekwhen Magnum proudly showed me the picture on his phone. I don’t want to admire theartistryin his fucked up effort to permanently brand me as belonging to him, but the skill behind Magnum’s tattoo surprises me since I didn’t think he actuallyhadany skills aside from moving money around and killing people. I mean, he’s good in bed too but… that’s the last thing I ever want to think about again now that I’m pregnant with a fresh tattoo oozing blood out of my ass cheeks.
Property of Magnum.He wants me to be grateful that he didn’t tattoo the wordCondomon my ass, like the phrase itself isn’t enough of a racism to want him dead. I can’t believe what he tells me when he’s done inking my flesh. That every womanin the club whobelongsto one of the members has a tattoo like this. Tamiya certainly never told me that she had this type of tattoo on her body.
Why? Why would he even want to do this to me? And why would I rather have him do this than admit the truth? The faster this baby comes, the faster I’ll be able to escape this chokehold over my emotions that Magnum seems to have. Maybe I need to take control over this situation and seek answers. If we find out who drugged us and why, it’ll shatter the illusion that there are any real feelings keeping us together.
As for the ass tattoo… I can get it covered up with something Sailor Moon themed. I used to love that anime growing up and can already picture getting some type of star locket covering up Magnum’s signature on my buttcheek.
Unfortunately, my choice to continue withholding my feelings has had a few consequences including Magnum’s outrage. He untied me after giving me that tattoo, which is good, but still doesn’t explain his snappiness. He huffs and storms out of bed in the morning while I lie on my stomach, which won’t be possible for much longer. I have my stomach propped up so it doesn’t hurt to lie with my ass in the air. My skin isn’t meant for tattoos and I don’t heal quickly.
“What do you want for breakfast?” Magnum grunts. I open my eyes and watch him cross towards the bedroom door in a pair of tight boxer briefs. He might be an asshole, but the man has an incredible butt.
“I’m not hungry.”
We’ve been locked in passive aggressive warfare ever since the ass tattoo. He untied me, even when he didn’t get what he wanted, but he hasn’t stopped punishing me since. Cum from last night drips out of my pussy and my chest throbs as Magnum glares at me from across the room.
“You have to eatsomethingfor breakfast.”
“I don’t have to do shit.”
Magnum meets my glare with equal fury, as if he doesn’t expect me to test him at this point when that’s all he should expect from me. My heart flutters nervously, trying to push down my warm fluttery feelings about the fact that he cares about me eating and has never allowed me to go hungry as long as he could help it.
“If you don’t eat, I will force feed you a meal of my choice.”
“I’m not hungry, Magnum.”
“You will eat.”
He comes over to the bed and reaches for me like he’s going to grab my hand. I pull away from him, but completely misjudged Magnum’s move. Before I realize what the hell is happening to me, he wraps his arm around my waist and throws me over his shoulder. I’m not a lightweight woman who can easily get thrown around by any man, even one as big as Magnum. His rock hard biceps form a brace around my waist and I can hardly breathe except to yell at Magnum toput me the fuck downwhile I pound my fists into his impossibly solid back.
It’s like trying to beat down a buffalo with my bare hands and my fists ache with soreness by the time Magnum sets me down on the kitchen counter like I’m an annoying bratty child and not a grown up pregnant woman who has been independent for most of her life before she met this gigantic biker brute. I fold my arms over my chest, knowing that I don’t look nearly as serious as I want to.
Magnum smiles, which pisses me off more.
“Butt cheek sore?” he asks.
“Go fuck yourself.”
“I’ll do that,” he says with that cheery ass grin on his face. “As long as you tell me what you want for breakfast.”
“Isn’t there some cute little white girl with blue eyes you’d prefer to have sitting up here? Who actuallywantsyour little ass tattoo and thug lifestyle.”
He holds back his laughter, and I squirm with irritation, running through potentially rude and insulting comments in my head, unable to decide which low blow to hit him with first. Should I comment on how his bulky shoulders give him a big back or would he take that as a compliment? You can never really tell with men.
“You like my lifestyle just fine. I see those Amazon boxes piling up on the front door step day after day.”
I didn’t know Magnum noticed those orders. He gave me free reign of his credit cards and I might have had a few hormonally inspired moments with the “must haves” lists curated by influencers. He never mentioned any of the boxes I got – even when I impulse bought the Ninja Creamy machine and made several failed icy mixtures in the kitchen.
He loves me and I know it… but why can’t I let it move me to do something different?
