Page 25 of Reaper
I haven’t slept in the bed with a woman since I lost Blake. Even the whores I fuck at the clubhouse know when we’re done, there’s no hanging around for them or me. However, no matter how long it’s been, I’m not nervous, and I don’t feel like I’m intruding on her space.
She cuddles up to me, lays her head on my chest, so I wrap my arm around her, pulling her even closer. She perfectly fits in my arms and shock moves through me at how natural this seems. She feels right in my embrace like I’m right where I’m supposed to be.
I don’t quite know how to feel about it.
“What do your tattoos mean? The birds and tulips,” she asks, her warm breath brushing against my chest as her fingers trace the large tattoo the rises from my hip, up my ribs, then across my back.
When I took my first life, I needed a way to remember the event. Sounds psychotic like I’m collecting trophies, but that’s not it. I don’t ever want to forget the souls I’ve taken from this Earth. So, the ravens are permanently inked on my skin, so I never forget the monster I am. Each raven is a way for me to remember the damage I’ve done to humanity as a person. It doesn’t matter the reason I take a person’s life, it just matters that I did and did it without regret.
The tulips are a way to remember the love of my life. A permanent memorial to the person who will always be with me. The person who’s the better half of me. They both represent the very best and the very worst of the person I am.
Good and evil.
“Are you sure you really want to know that answer?”
“Yes, if you’re willing to share it with me,” she whispers.
Maybe she really does want to hear about the person she’s trusted her life to, but I don’t think it’s the right time to open up about who I am or what I’ve been through.
“Let’s keep that conversation for another day, then.”
After a moment of silence, she releases a breath, and I brace myself for another question I know I’m not going to want to answer.
“Who is she?”
I sigh because this is a conversation I’m not ready to have with anyone, especially a stranger. What me and Blake shared is ours, and I want to keep it that way. However, I will share only what I feel is appropriate.
“Who was she?” I say, correcting her. “And she was my everything.”
I can hear the heartbreak and the pain in my own voice. The vivid memories of that day feel as fresh as if they happened only yesterday.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” she whispers.
I sigh again, tightening my embrace. “Go to sleep, Paris.”
Paris
I groan, pressing myself deeper into the soft, warmth surrounding me, the smell of something indescribable filling my nostrils. I haven’t slept this good in a long time. I sink deeper into the warmth, letting it comfort me and bring me peace, I haven’t felt in months.
“You need to stop moving.”
His deep voice, like warm honey, blankets my entire body, and I fall still. Every nerve ending in my body tingles. His lips, warm and teasing, brush the back of my neck, sending a shiver down my spine.
“Logan?”
“Yeah.”
“What are you doing?”
“Trying to sleep,” he mumbles, his warm, wet breath skims my skin. “But you keep talking and moving.”
He doesn’t remove his arm from around my waist. He doesn’t remove his lips from against the back of my neck, and he doesn’t remove his dick from the crack of my ass. He seems contentbeing wrapped around my body and my body seems just as content to have him draped around me.
Why doesn’t he repulse me like most men?
Lately when it comes to Logan, I’m confused about a lot of things. Right now, I don’t understand why he’s in bed with me. I’m not complaining, which in itself doesn’t make much sense either.
“I mean, what are you doing in the bed with me?” I ask. “Did… did we sleep together?”
