It was a dangerous thought.Because for the first time in years, I found myself wanting something real.
Chapter Four
Wren
Iwoketosunlightslicingthrough cheap blinds, warming my face in strips of shining gold.For a moment, I didn't know where I was.The unfamiliar ceiling above me was cracked in places, water stains forming continents in the corners.Then I felt the weight of an arm across my stomach, and memories of the night before crashed back like a very pleasurable wave.Rocky.The bar.The ride.The fuckingincrediblesex that had left me sore in the best possible way.
I turned my head to find him still asleep beside me.Without the intensity of his gaze, he looked different.Younger maybe, or just less… harsh?Guarded?His face relaxed in sleep, the hard lines around his mouth softened.His hair stuck up at odd angles where I'd run my hands through it last night.
The sheet had slipped down to his waist, exposing his torso.Holy shit, the man was built like a fucking god.Broad shoulders tapered to a narrow waist, heavy muscles defined without being overly bulky.But what really caught my attention were the tattoos.They covered his chest and arms in a patchwork of ink that told stories I could only guess at.Sure, the men at Bound in Blood were all built solidly.Some from their military or law enforcement days, others from prison, but for some reason, this man was worlds above all of them.
Scars decorated his body almost as much as the tatts.I had to wonder what kind of life this man had led.Likely just as rough a life as most of the people I knew.Each mark represented a chapter in his life.
His eyes opened suddenly, catching me staring.I expected him to flinch or turn away.Didn’t most guys get weird the morning after, especially when they found you staring at them?Instead, he smiled.A real smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes.
"Morning, little lioness," he said, voice rough with sleep."Like what you see?"
"Maybe," I said, not willing to give him the satisfaction."Your ceiling could use some work though."
He laughed, a deep rumble I could feel where our bodies touched."Yeah, landlord's a cheap bastard.Coffee?"
"God, yes."
Rocky untangled himself from the sheets and stood, stretching his arms overhead.The movement pulled his back muscles taut and the ink across his shoulders rippled, making my mouth water.He grabbed his jeans from the floor and pulled them on sans underwear, leaving them unbuttoned and hanging dangerously low on his hips.
"Stay put if you want," he said over his shoulder as he padded barefoot toward what I assumed was the kitchen."Or come watch me work my magic."He winked at me over his shoulder.
The apartment was small, every surface was spotlessly clean but sparse, like he'd just moved in or might leave at any moment.No photos, no personal touches.
The whole place smelled of him.Leather and gasoline, and now the scent of coffee joined the mix as I heard the gurgle and spit of an ancient coffeemaker starting up.
I slipped out of bed, scanning the floor for my underwear.Finding them, I pulled them on, then grabbed his discarded T-shirt from last night and tugged it over my head.It hung to mid-thigh, which was decent enough for breakfast.
When over to him, Rocky had his back to me, digging through a nearly empty fridge."Hope you like bacon and eggs," he said without turning around.
I leaned against the counter, crossing my arms as I watched him pull out a carton of eggs and a package of bacon."Works for me."
Rocky grabbed a cast iron skillet from a hook on the wall and set it on the stove with practiced ease.He tossed the bacon in the pan before breaking several eggs and setting them aside.
"You cook often?"I asked, surprised by his apparent comfort in the kitchen.
"Every day."He laid strips of bacon in the pan, which hissed and popped as they hit the hot surface."Can't stand takeout."
I moved closer, drawn by both the delicious smell and the chance to study his tattoos up close.I traced my finger along Italian script on his shoulder."What's this one mean?"
He tensed slightly under my touch, then relaxed."La famiglia è tutto.Family is everything."He cracked four eggs into a bowl, whisking them with a fork."Got it when I was eighteen."
"Close with your family?"I asked, continuing to trace the tattoos on his back.
"Was."He poured the eggs into a second pan where he’d melted a generous portion of butter."Like I said last night, it's just me now."
My fingers found a small, crude tattoo at the base of his neck, barely visible above his collar when he wore a shirt.A simple cross with a date."And this one?"
"My mom."He stirred the eggs, his movements never pausing despite the personal nature of my questions."The day she died."
"Sorry," I murmured, not sure what else to say.
He shrugged."Long time ago."
