Page 5 of Riot

It’s my favourite part of the day. There are no expectations, no need to think… just peace, and I crave that more than ever lately.

Adjusting my daughter in my arms, I sink into the nursing chair. My breasts ache, more than ready to let down my milk, and I lift my shirt in preparation.

Seren latches on, her little hand pressed against my skin, and the gnawing anxiety in my gut fades. She’s a bandage on the gaping wounds inside me, but I’ll have to deal with those injuries at some point.

But not today.

When she’s finished feeding,I change her nappy and put her in a cute romper that Riot bought her. There are little lions printed on the soft cream material, and she looks adorable in it, even though it’s too big on her.

I don’t put as much effort into dressing myself. I pull on leggings and a loose-fitting T-shirt that hides my body. Before I had Seren, I spent hours picking out clothes and doing my makeup. Now, I can barely stand to look at myself in the mirror.

Don’t focus on the past.

I try to shove that thought down and pull on the mask I’ve become so used to wearing, but a cavernous pit opens in my chest as I carry my daughter out of our bedroom.

The apartment is quiet, and I ache for the sounds of my family stirring. Loneliness creeps in until I hit the kitchen.

Because I’m not alone.

As if he knew I’d need someone, Riot is standing at the stove, a spatula in his hand, humming a song I don’t recognise. All the fear and doubt drains from me, and that feeling of safety blankets me. I don’t know how he does it, but whenever I’m around Riot, everything seems like it might be okay.

I scan him from head to toe, taking in every part of him and committing it to memory as that ice inside me thaws.

Everything about Riot oozes sin, from his light-stonewashed jeans moulded to his thick thighs to his brown boots worn in a way that says they’re broken in rather than old.

But it’s the inkwork splashed across his forearms that always has my attention. The colours and designs are a story of his life, and one I want to read.

Sensing me, he glances over his shoulder, and a full dimpled smile hits me in the chest like a sledgehammer.

I can understand why so many women fall into his bed so willingly. Cheeky and charming coupled with come-to-bed eyes makes him impossible to resist.

But he still sees me as a kid, even though I’m eighteen and more mature than he’ll ever be.

He sees the darkness that lingers inside me.

The trauma I can’t erase.

“You comin’ in or just gonna keep starin’ at me?”

Averting my gaze, I shift Seren in my arms, ignoring those voices in my head.

“Don’t you have your own home to go to?” My tone is breezy, as if my nerves aren’t lit up like a Christmas tree.

That disarming dimple makes another appearance. “But the welcome here is so warm.”

Sarcastic bastard.

Before I can reach for a chair, he kicks his foot out, hooking it around the leg nearest to him. In an effortless move, he drags it out for me.

Does he know that small act of kindness cracks open my heart a little more?

He’s only kind to you because he loves your sister.

I ignore that voice too. I also ignore how fucking sexy that move was.

“Why are you here so early?” I place a hand under Seren’s bottom and smile as she nuzzles into my shoulder. “Did one of your harem kick you out of bed?”

The thought of him with other women churns my stomach, but I keep my tone light, teasing.

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