Page 14 of Saved By the Rogue

"Come in," he muttered, and he unlocked the door and gestured for me to come inside. With a grin on my face, I did as I was asked. This was exactly what I had been hoping for, a chance to get him alone, a chance to have him to myself – not in the compound, but somewhere more private. Somewhere the two of us could be alone...

That kiss had been playing on my mind since the moment his mouth had found mine. I had never been kissed like that before in my life, and now I’d tasted a little of how good it felt to be that near to someone, I knew I couldn’t go without it again. I had been so hidden away in that home of mine, the house I’d grown up in, all the boys who had shown any interest in me losing it as soon as they found out who my father was and what they would have to go through to get close to me – I had never been further than a couple of chaste kisses, my virginity still completely intact.

But, I hoped, it wasn’t going to stay that way for long, not if I could help it.

He flicked on the lights, and I glanced over at him, admiring him in his motorcycle leather – his body beneath them was lean and strong, though it didn’t have tattoos on it, like I had expected. I wondered if there were tattoos hiding out somewhere on that body of his, somewhere I might come to discover if I got the chance.

The living room of his place, much to my surprise, was full of paintings, the walls crowded with them everywhere I looked. And, as I stepped closer to see what they were of, I was surprised to realize that they were depictions of Atwood.

"This is...this is the city, right?" I asked him, pointing to a piece that looked like a painting of the river that overlooked the south side of the city. "Did you get these from a local artist?"

He shook his head slightly as he dumped his helmet on the couch beside him.

"No."

"So how did you...?"

"I painted them."

My eyebrows nearly shot off the top of my head.

"You painted them?" I asked, surprised.

"You don’t need to sound so shocked," he remarked, a crooked smile curling up his lips.

"No, I didn’t mean it like that," I blurted out, shaking my head. "I just...I didn’t realize you were so talented, that’s all."

"They’re not that good," he remarked, stepping closer to me to look at the painting I was eyeing up. "See, this one, the color is all wrong. I couldn’t mix it to match the tones on the water."

"I love it," I murmured, as I gazed at it. "You know, my father had fundraisers at art galleries all the time, and I’ve seen so much stuff that’s nowhere near as impressive as this. You could make a living off of it, if you wanted to."

"Yeah, I doubt that" he replied, shaking his head.

"Jaxon, I’m serious," I told him, catching his hand before he could step away from me. "These are good. Really good. Do any of the guys know you do this?"

"No," he replied, as though it should have been obvious. "It’s not an arts and crafts club."

"Yeah, but you could display some of these at the tattoo shop," I pointed out. "You’d probably get more people coming in wanting to work with you if they knew that they’d have such a talented artist working on them."

For a brief moment, his eyes softened. I could tell how much it meant to him, for someone to be talking about his work that way. Why did he hide it, when he clearly had so much talent, so much skill? The tattoo on my wrist, which was healing up well, could have been so much more elaborate, if I had known what he was capable of.

"Thanks," he muttered. The two of us, alone in this apartment, surrounded by his art, suddenly felt so intimate to me – as though he was showing me a part of himself he tried his best to keep hidden from everyone else in his life. We were standing so close to each other again, and I could smell the scent of him, oil and wood and what was probably paint, now that I realized what he spent his spare time doing. I wanted to lose myself to it. It seemed so masculine, so strong, like I could have sunk into his arms right then and there and just forgotten about the rest of the world entirely.

"Jaxon?" I whispered to him. I didn’t know exactly how I was meant to do this, I didn’t know exactly what it looked like. But I knew I wanted him. And I knew I wouldn’t be able to rest until I had him.

"Yeah?" he murmured back, turning to face me, not pulling back this time.

"Will you...will you kiss me again?”

Those words hung there between us, and I could hardly believe I had been so bold as to say them out loud. But, as he lifted his hand to my face once more, that flood of tingles took control of me.

"Mhm," he murmured, and he closed the distance between us, planting his lips against mine once more.

I let myself sink into him, allowing the sweetness of his embrace to cut me off from the rest of the world entirely – I just needed to forget about everything else, everything else except the way he touched me, the way he kissed me. Nothing else mattered – nothing else could have come close to mattering, not when he felt as perfect as this, not when I knew nothing would have been enough to break us apart. He kissed me, deeply, tongue slipping into my mouth, hands coming to the small of my back, and I reached with shaky fingers to grip on to his shoulders, unable to let him go.

"I want you," he murmured against my mouth, his voice low with a desire that sent a shiver coursing helplessly through my spine. I arched myself into him, silently telling him that I wanted the same thing, too.

"Have you ever done this before?" he asked softly, as though able to sense that I was a little nervous, despite all this want. I shook my head.

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