CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Layla
My stomach drops with his words and I find it hard to breathe. Is it possible? Of all the songs in the world, the one playing in his worst moments bears my name?
“It sounds crazy, I know, because I never believed in fate, Layla. It scientifically never made sense. I couldn’t see it, couldn’t feel it.
I never believed in ‘meant to be,’ or destiny.
I thought I made my own fate. But the night I met you, I had a gut feeling so strong that you were meant to be mine, and then when you turned around and I saw the dove on your shoulder, it was like …
a reunion. Then when I heard your name, it was like my past had collided with my future. ”
He runs his fingers over the spot where my tattoo sits, as if he’s memorized its precise location on my body. My eyes fill with tears as I listen to his truth.
Is this truly what I’ve read about in books?
Written in the stars? Love at first sight?
And why can’t that exist? Why have I been fighting this?
Why have I been afraid? I’ve seen the couples who have been together all their lives, who say they knew the moment they met that they were destined for each other.
Why is the world so quick to assume something like that can’t be true? And why can’t it have happened to me?
“Everything in me slowed in those moments in the desert … the dove, the lyrics, they all felt like my end, but they weren’t.
They were a change in the direction of my compass, a new north, and everything I’ve done since has led me to you.
” He kisses my forehead and my chest twinges. “And now you know why.”
I have no words to offer him. From nearly being strangled when he woke up to the intense words he’s speaking now, it feels almost like a physical manifestation of what I’ll always have with him.
One extreme to the next, but nothing unintentional.
No boundaries or secrets, just us and the truth we’re meant to live.
I reach up and kiss him; it’s all I have to offer after being told a story like that.
Sean pulls me into his arms and kisses me for so long that it feels like a promise, solidifying what’s next. There’s no fighting this any longer. I have no idea what the future with him holds, but I’m in too deep now not to find out.
“Mmmm,” he groans into my lips as the sky outside the windows begins to lighten. “I think I owe you a real apology for scaring you like that …”
I smile into his lips, my core already heating with anticipation. “You definitely do.”
One strong arm flips me over onto my back so quickly that I yelp as he settles between my legs. He looks out the window at the morning sky.
“I’m going to take you somewhere today, but I think there’s just enough time for you to come on my tongue before I cook us breakfast …”
I think I must have drifted back to sleep for at least an hour, but now I’m leaning against the kitchen doorway watching Sean, who’s cooking blueberry pancakes for us. The morning sun is shining in and he’s wearing his usual pair of jeans and black t-shirt.
I admire the beauty of him. He doesn’t look up but I’m sure he knows I’m here.
My eyes trace the hard lines of his face, the dog tags at his neck that are always there, the way his arm flexes as he grips the handle of the pan, and the way he moves, always so calculated and intentional.
It might be the perfect view to wake up to.
I realize he must have left to get a change of clothes and I wonder about his home.
How he lives in his own space. I imagine it’s tidy, organized and minimal.
He finishes cooking and shuts off the burner, covering the plate of stacked pancakes. The moment his eyes lock onto mine, I feel it. It’s the rush I imagine you’d feel taking your first step onto a tightrope, or in the first second after you jump from a plane.
It’s the rush of free falling.
There’s nothing particularly special about this scene before me, but I swear I see the future in this one moment.
I see him cooking for me like this, years from now, our children coming in and out of the room at all different ages, with Sean stealing kisses from me in the corner while our kids tell us how gross it is.
I see him older, still wearing his cut as he heads out the door.
Salt in the pepper of his beard. I see it all.
I want it all, and I can’t find one scrap of logic in that after only days of knowing him, but maybe he’s right. Maybe our souls are tied.
I make my way over to where he’s standing and reach up to kiss him before I grab a coffee.
He unravels the tie holding my robe closed and slides his warm hands over my waist, bending down to kiss me deeper, and I instantly break out in goosebumps. His face is almost pained when he pulls his lips from mine, like he just can’t kiss me enough. Right now, I feel the same way.
I think of the phone call I overheard on the first morning he cooked me breakfast and his confession yesterday about taking a man’s life, and I know I want to learn more about this man that I’m dreaming of forever with.
“Tell me more about what you do,” I say, as his thumbs graze my waist.
“I work for the government.” He smirks as he backs away to wipe the counter. My eyes drift to his wide shoulders, which lead to those thick arms that feel so good wrapped around me …
Shit, you’re hopeless, Layla.
I force my eyes back to his face.
“And for the club, what do you do? I want to know more.”
He side-eyes me cautiously, unsure. “These aren’t secrets I share with just anybody.”
“I’m ready,” I promise him.
He takes a moment before answering, setting down the towel he was using before turning to face me, watching me, judging my ability to handle who he is.
I wait as he pulls a knife from its sheath on his belt, holding it in his hand.
“The people who know these details about me, the ones I trust … we’re bonded by blood. ”
My breathing increases as I watch the blade glint in the morning sun.
“We’ve taken an oath,” he adds, pulling me close with his free hand.
I look down to the knife then back up to his eyes. He’s actually fucking serious?
“A-are you asking if you can cut me?” I swallow nervously as Sean brings his fingers up to slide under one side of my robe, pushing it off one shoulder, then the other, so it falls to my feet on the floor.
He turns his knife so it’s sideways, running it across my chest. The cool dull side of the blade instantly causes my nipples to harden as he trails it down my arm.
“No. I’m not asking you, little dove.” He slides the knife back up. “If my secrets are what you want, then you’re asking me to cut you.”
The knife passes under my collarbone. I don’t look down, I just feel it as it moves between my breasts, my breath a shallow pant as he trails it over my ribs to my belly, and I shudder as he pauses there.
“I protect my president from threats to him or the club. Sometimes slowly, sometimes quickly.”
The knife rests on my stomach, just on the inside of my hip, and I suck in a breath when he suddenly flips it over without warning, the sharp tip against me so fast that I never even have time to think about stopping him.
I don’t move. I barely breathe. I just look up at him in horror as my fucked-up body starts to heat in anticipation of what he might do.
“Shall I go on?” His voice is low, and I realize he could push that knife into my flesh any time he chooses.
I realize that, in his mind, the trust I’m putting in him to cut me without actually hurting me is the same trust he has in me not to share his sins.
But it’s the man he is that I want, and without thinking I simply nod.
“Please,” I whisper, and I see his eyes heat.
My heart pounds in my ears and I feel almost dizzy as Sean presses the knife lightly into my skin.
I barely feel it until he’s lifting it from my stomach.
It’s when he’s done that I look down and realize just how sharp the knife is, and I feel the slight sting as I begin to bleed from a small shallow slice.
My eyes focus as I realize that the cut isn’t just a cut.
It’s a tiny S. He’s fucking carved his initial into me.
He looks at the blood dripping down from my stomach to my hip then back up to my eyes, and a hunger is there that I can’t explain but I understand.
It’s the same hunger I feel for him as I bleed.
Letting go of my body, he places the knife in my shaky hand.
The tiniest amount of blood runs along the edge.
My blood. I watch as he pulls his shirt off from behind his neck; it lands on the floor and he unbuckles his jeans, quickly losing them and his boxers too, so we stand naked together in the warm morning sun in the middle of my kitchen.
Sean doesn’t speak, he just moves closer, putting his hand over mine, gripping the knife to turn it again. The dull side is now pressed against his skin.
“Now you choose where to mark me,” he commands, dragging the flat side down his chest, leaving a hint of my blood behind. My pussy throbs with this ritual, what I’m saying by allowing this, what I’m committing to as he lets go, his arms falling at his side and the trust lingering in his eyes.
I could kill him right here and he knows it, yet he watches me with a heated want as I give in to the oath. I find the place on his belly equivalent to mine and flip the knife over, then look up into his eyes. He reaches out and grabs my arm to stop me.
“If you cut me too deep here, we’re going to have a problem. So lightly, little dove. This knife has taken fingers in a single slice.”
I nod, trying to catch my breath as he kisses me.
As our lips mesh together, I drag the knife down as lightly as I can then pull it back.
He breaks our kiss and looks down. “Fuck,” he mutters.
My eyes grow wide as I follow his. I didn’t even feel like I was cutting him, but his mark is deeper than mine; it may need stitches and he’s already bleeding more than me.
It runs down his center and onto his thigh.
He grabs the knife from me and tosses it down on the table before pressing his body to mine in a searing kiss. I feel the blood from him and the blood from me, sliding over our skin. Even Sean is breathless as he speaks. “Now, little dove, ask me whatever you want to know.”