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When our breathing evened out, he scooched out from under me. I watched him walk into the bathroom. He returned a few moments later and ran a washcloth over my body and gently rubbed it between my legs. When I winced his eyes drew together and he gave me a sharp look.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“A little sore.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Nothing to apologize for,” I assured him. “It’s been awhile for me. And you’re definitely bigger than anyone else I’ve been with.”
His smirk warred with the frown on his face. While he was pleased with my physical assessment of him, he clearly did not enjoy me speaking of past lovers or that I was sore.
But concern for my well-being won out over his annoyance of my previous sexual partners. “I’ll start a bath.”
I smiled, my fingers running along his jaw. I loved the way his scruff felt beneath my hands. “No, I want to stay here and snuggle with you.”
My aching muscles be damned.
I pulled my drowsy gaze away so it could wander over his face, admiring how the faint sheen of his tattoos caught the lighton his carved muscles, the dark ink flowing down his arms and spreading across his chest. He was a masterpiece, and I silently vowed to trace each line until I knew them by heart.
We settled back into the mattress with me curled into his side. I traced my hands over the tattoos on his arm, noticing so many new ones. The black inked Maori design started at his shoulder and ended at his wrist with some of it spilling over onto the back of his hand. It took me a second to realize he’d expanded on the hook tattoo he and Peter had both gotten when they turned eighteen.
He had a cool timepiece on his left pec, like an old pocket watch, with a crocodile wrapped around it. I raised my eyebrow at that strange combination.
The husky sound of his laughter washed over me. “That was a weird time. I was contemplating life and the passage of time and how death is coming for us whether we want it to or not.”
“And you came up with this?” I pressed a kiss to the watch face.
“I’d watched the movie ‘Hook’ and took my inspiration from that.” It made me think about all the fairytale flicks I’d dragged him and Peter to over the years.
We lay there, in comfortable silence, as I lightly ran my fingers down his other arm. Goosebumps pebbled his skin. Another tattoo caught my eye. “This one’s cool.” A tarnished crown among brightly colored flames and burning embers was prominently displayed on his bicep. “When did you get this one?”
He yawned. “A few years ago with the guys.”
“You all got the same one? It’s like a permanent friendship bracelet.” I giggled as that thought took hold in my head. It wasn’t even that funny, but I was punchy from all the delicious hormones and good feelings roaming through my body.
He groaned comically, but kept his thoughts to himself, which told me how tired he was, too.
I yawned and rested my hand on his chest as his fingers ran through my hair, lulling me into a warm fuzzy space in my mind. This was the most amazing day I’d had in forever and nothing could bring me down. My eyes grew heavier and I slipped into the welcoming darkness of sleep.
Chapter Thirty
TRISSA
Time blurred as I sat in Killian’s bed. The sheets still held traces of his warmth. As I shifted, every muscle hummed with sweet soreness, a delicious reminder of our night together. I ached for his presence—not just physically, but in a deeper way that made me want to squeal and kick my feet with excitement.
We were really happening!
This morning, waking up in his embrace felt like finding shelter in a blizzard, his strength wrapped around me was a sanctuary I never wanted to leave. I caught my lip between my teeth, trying but failing to contain the smile that threatened to take over my face.
Killian was like stepping into a fantasy I never dreamed possible.
I finally dragged myself out from under the covers. I caressed the worn band shirt and the plain black boxers he left out for me at the end of the bed. I pulled them on and went in search of my rock god.
After a quick stop in the hall bathroom which was just as drab as the rest of his place, I followed the faint sounds of aguitar guiding me as I padded down the hallway, noting the pale gray walls that held photos of Killian in concert and the framed awards he received over the years.
Sadness tugged at me when I realized there were no personal photos of Killian with friends or loved ones.
I found him in the kitchen. Killian didn’t notice me at first, so I took a second to lean against the doorframe and watch him. My heart skipped a beat as my gaze lingered on a shirtless Killian. His sculpted abs hiding behind the guitar. Long fingers strummed a catchy tune as the aroma of cinnamon and butter melting into the deliciously familiar scent of my all-time favorite breakfast food.