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“Fine.” I trace my fingers over his tattoos and stop when I reach a blank spot near his left pectoral muscle. “Is there a reason why you left this place empty?”
“Oh, that. It’s on my heart so I want to wait until I can think of something extra special.”
“Does that mean you plan to be covered in ink?”
“Fuck yeah. I have a lot of space on my back and thighs. Maybe you can sketch me something.”
“You’d want that?”
“Why not? You’re an artist, right?”
“I do landscapes.”
“I’m sure you can think of something as unique as me.”
“Your arrogance is astounding.”
“Don’t act like you don’t love it.” He strokes the back of my neck. “Have you ever thought about getting a tattoo?”
“No. I don’t like them on me. I prefer to leave my skin unblemished.”
“You’re so prim and proper.”
“Not all of us can wear tattoos. They look good on you, though.”
“Did you just admit to liking my tattoos?”
“I didn’t say Ilikethem.”
“Fuck me. Youdo. You’re blushing, baby.”
“You’re dreaming.” I push away, and this time, I manage to disentangle myself. “I’m going to make breakfast.”
“Aw, don’t be shy. Come here.” He opens both arms, grinning like an idiot as I stride to the bathroom.
I manage to wash my face and brush my teeth without looking in the mirror, but I have to escape Nikolai again when he tries to grope me on my way out.
He’s seriously impossible.
Since there are virtually no groceries, I manage to make scrambled eggs and I stumble upon a half-eaten box of macarons and put the rest on a plate. He only knows how to buy pastries like a sweet-toothed monster.
I’m pouring water in the kettle for morning tea when a heavy arm wraps around my middle, a large chest presses to my back. Nikolai drops a kiss to my throat over a hickey he left last night before he rests his chin on my shoulder. “Can’t we go back to bed?”
“Stop being a baby and let me go. I can’t do anything when you’re all over me.”
“That’s the point.”
I lift the plate of confection and he grins, instantly releasing me to grab it.
“Macarons!”
He’s so easy to read, it’s heartwarming. Nikolai might be notoriously violent and a crass heathen, but he’s actually a staggeringly simple man, and I love that about him. I’m complicated enough for the both of us.
Pushing up against the counter beside me, he crunches two macarons in one go. He’s only in boxer briefs, his large muscles on full display and his hair falling in smooth waves to his shoulders. Honestly, I’m not complaining. It’s always a feast to look at him this way and know he’s all mine. This monster of a man belongs to me.
“Lotus flower?”
“Hmm?” I click the kettle and retrieve two tea bags.
