Dying to Live

Chapter 2

  ⏳ ZOE, February  

I woke up the following morning to a deep masculine voice speaking softly in my ear. I could feel fingertips moving feather-light across the skin right below my left breast. Through the sleepy haze that was just beginning to fade, I realized he was quoting the tattoo on my skin, but he wasn't familiar with the song to add a melody to it.

"Spread your wings as you go."

I couldn't bring myself to open my eyes and face what I'd done, or who I'd done in this particular scenario. I was completely naked underneath the sheets, and so was he. God, I was so freaking embarrassed, and he was still lying there, his bare leg pressed up against mine.

My eyes were still closed as I pulled away from his touch and brought the sheet all the way up to my chin. I felt him stiffen and move away, likely to give me a bit of space. It was my feeble attempt to salvage some kind of dignity, but I didn't feel much better about myself. A thin white sheet couldn't help me now that the deed was done.

I blinked a few times, my eyes adjusting to the wintry morning light.

The reality of the situation was that I had a one night stand with a long-haired guy covered in tattoos and he was still lying naked in my bed.

I blinked again and turned my head sideways. He was lying on his back, his dark eyes fixed upward so that he was staring at the ceiling. The sheet covered everything from the waist down, but his torso was entirely exposed. There was a large tattoo over his left shoulder and breast, but his flat stomach was free of ink. A dusting of dark hair trailed down from his collar bones all the way to his navel. The hair became thicker as it burrowed down under the sheet where I could no longer see, but I didn't need imagination to know what was under there.

I swallowed hard and tempted another look at his face, wondering if he'd inspected me in the light of day the way I was doing with him now. He must have. He'd been tracing the tattoo...

"Morning," he grumbled when he caught me looking and I visibly jumped. "Sorry," he grinned, his expression a mixture of amusement and ruefulness.

"Hi," I replied groggily. I cleared my throat and blushed furiously, tugging the sheet a little tighter against me. "Um, so..." I didn't think I could blush any more than I already was, but apparently my body was full of surprises this morning.

OK, let's be fair, last night, so was his.

I wasn't drunk enough not to remember.

I remembered the taste of him, beer mixed with something minty. He'd sneaked a gum before climbing up to my apartment. I hadn't been so considerate.

I also remembered the way his lips felt on mine during that initial kiss. They were soft at first, like he wasn't completely sure, but then suddenly they were wild and urgent, and I had no problem reciprocating just as desperately.

He'd pushed me up against the wall.

Goddamn, holy hell. No man had ever needed me badly enough to do that to me before and it was exhilarating. He had me wedged there, solid wall at my back, massive body at my front, arms wrapped protectively around me...

The whole 'snake bite piercing' thing was a bit underwhelming; it didn't feel that different from kissing a guy without it, but it was an interesting experience regardless. It was something I could now say I'd done.

If I had a bucket list, I might've had that on it. Kiss a guy with a lip piercing. Fuck a guy with a bunch of tattoos. Now they could both be crossed off.