Chapter 27
Enrique
Iwake up to the feeling of silk running across my tattoo, tracing the scars marking half of my back. Usually, I’d repel from anyone touching the marks that converted me from a boy to a man. But this person isn’t anyone. It's Blaire—my little kitten.
“I did this, didn’t I?” Her voice is so soft it matches her angelic face.
I remain quiet as her fingertips follow the grooves hidden by a tattoo designed specifically to conceal the mottled skin on the left half of my back. It isn't that I don't want to answer her question, but the story behind my scars has never been shared, because it's simply that: a story. The scars define me as a man; they made me a man. A better man. Others see them as weakness; I don't. They are my ally, a reminder of when an angel fell from the sky and brightened my miserably bleak life.
Ever since that day in the alleyway ten years ago, I changed. I stop being the ruthless man who could claim a life without a skerrick of remorse passing through me. I evaluated scenarios, and formulated my own response, ensuring I was only instilling punishment to men who deserved to be punished. Cowards like the men who attacked Blaire and her friend.
I'm not saying what I've done the past ten years has been lawful, it's far from it. I was raised in a life cloaked in darkness, yet my actions have been far more tame than my counterparts’. Well, until it comes to protecting Blaire. I'll stop at nothing to ensure she is safe. Even throwing myself into the line of fire. I'll protect her until my very last breath.
“Did you get those scars from protecting me?” Blaire’s voice sounds pained.
“No, Kitten.” My voice is low as I struggle to mask my deceit. “They were given as a reminder of my journey. A life I chose to live.”
When she sniffles, I roll onto my hip, letting the bed sheet fall away from my body in the process. If I can use the unmarked side of my body to distract her, I will. I hate seeing her cry. I saw enough tears spill from her eyes last week to last me a lifetime. I don’t want to see anymore.
She peers into my eyes, her beautiful face looking tired and worn before her gaze suddenly drops. My cock goes from flaccid to painfully hard in an instant when a hue of pink adorns her cheeks. Even tired, nothing can take away from her natural beauty. Plump pink lips, an angelic face, and eyes that imprinted my soul with just one glance.
Like I have every night we’ve shared a bed, I pull her into my arms and run my hand down her forearm. As much as my cock would love to spend a few more hours wrapped in her warmth, she needs rest. Although the small injuries she sustained in her attack have healed well the past week, she still looks exhausted. Her tiredness is understandable. Struggling out of the depths of hell are a brutal fight for any person to battle. It was one of the cruelest battles I’ve ever endured.
Over time, her breathing levels out and the tightness in her shoulders relaxes. I wait a few more minutes to make sure she's sound asleep before pulling back. I like to watch her when she's sleeping. She truly looks like an angel. . . trapped in the depths of hell. A place she doesn’t belong.
I should have heeded the warnings screaming in my brain three weeks ago when we stood at the foot of the chapel we married in. I should have walked away from her without a backward glance. But I was stuck, stupidly believing that fate had brought Blaire to me. That she was a gift for changing my life full-circle. I was reckless, and now Blaire is suffering the consequences of my stupidity.
Although I love Blaire, I'd give anything to go back to that day and save her from this lifestyle. An angel doesn't belong living in the blackness of hell, no matter how much I want to keep her.
When my endeavor to sleep becomes unachievable, I slip out of bed, careful not to disturb Blaire. Sleep has never been an ally of mine. I’m lucky to get three to four hours a night. Usually, I'd stay awake for as long as possible before crashing days at a time, but I can’t do that with Blaire here. I need to be on guard and alert. Luckily, when she is in my arms, my quest for sleep is more successful. That might have more to do with sexual exertion than anything.
After pulling a pair of trousers up my legs and throwing my shirt over my head, I exit my bedroom, carefully closing the door behind me.
I’ve been workingon some developments in my industry for nearly two hours when my awareness of Blaire’s closeness activates. I lift my eyes from my youngest sister’s kindergarten enrollment forms to the door of my office. Blaire has her shoulder propped against the doorway. Her face still looks restless, but unlike hours ago, the torment in her eyes has vanished. She's wearing a knee length floral skirt and a three-quarter sleeve shirt I laid out for her earlier. She looks innocent and fuckable at the same time. Two complete contradictions.
When I push my chair away from my desk, a smile slowly creeps across her flushed face before she pads towards me. Completely unaware of her appeal, every step she takes naturally seduces me. I'm sure over the years, other men have overlooked Blaire’s natural beauty as they preferred women who dressed more scantily. They were foolish men. I relish Blaire’s choice in clothing. It means only those privileged get the opportunity to see the skin her modest clothing hides. I just wish it wasn’t fear that altered her clothing selection.
Blaire wasn’t attacked in the alleyway because of the short pleated skirt and mid-drift top she was wearing. She was attacked because she caught the eye of a man who shouldn’t have been looking. A man who should have known better. Her clothing wouldn’t have changed anything that happened that day. I know it, but Blaire hasn’t worked that part out yet.
When Blaire reaches the end of my desk, I catch her by the waist and pull her to sit on my lap. Her faint giggle is replaced with a throaty purr when she discovers how her closeness soothed my hesitation and traded it for desire. The scruff on my chin scratches the silky-smooth skin on her neck when I nuzzle in close to savor her refreshing scent. Her smell reminds me of daisies on a dewy winter morning. Don’t ask me how I know what that smells like, as I wouldn’t be able to answer you, but that's what Blaire smells like. I’m certain of it.
“Why aren’t you sleeping?”
She lifts her eyes from the paperwork on my desk and locks them with me. “I couldn’t sleep without you.”
My chest puffs high, beyond smug. Like my entire life, my relationship with Blaire has matured at a breakneck speed. Although the expeditiousness of our relationship is daunting, I wouldn’t change a single thing that has happened the past five days. It has been perfect.Almost too perfect.
“I had a few things I had to take care of, but it can wait; you need your sleep.” I brush a few stray hairs away from the pillow crinkle mark on the side of her face.
She screws up her nose. “I'm not tired.” She drops her eyes to my desk. "What are you working on?" Her eyes suddenly rocket to the side as she gasps in a quick breath. “Is that. . .”
She doesn’t finish her sentence; she just slides off my lap and pads over to a free floating bookshelf on our left. My chest grows tight when she gathers the mandatory Las Vegas quickie wedding photo off the shelf and stares down at it.
I inwardly smile when she says, “Darn it. I was kind of hoping we had an Elvis impersonator as our celebrant.” From the lowness of her tone, I can’t tell if she's being serious or witty.
I stand from my chair and amble to stand next to her. As I peer over her shoulder to the photo, reality dawns on me. I should have known she was drugged that night. Her outward appearance is an exact replica as she stands before me now, but the sparkle of life in her eyes that held me captive from the moment she glanced at me ten years ago is missing. Her eyes are still bright and full of life; they just aren't as vibrant as they are now. With how carefree her eyes look now, it has me wondering if I ask her to marry me again right now, would she?
“Hmm?” I ask when Blaire’s soft voice breaks me out of my daydream.
