Chapter 32 #2
I turn over to face him fully, tracing my fingers around the butterflies on his neck, chest, and stomach.
With each passing second, my hand travels lower, and I prop myself up on my elbow.
I lean my head against his neck and plant a delicate kiss before nipping at it.
I travel down, kissing his chest, and pull my gaze to meet his.
Even in the darkness, his eyes shine like the full moon outside.
“No, Crew. You are mine.”
My hand travels under the waistband of his tight briefs, and his body goes rigid as I grip his dick tightly. The thickness fills my hand, and I drag my thumb across the tip.
“Say the word,” he breathes, “and I’ll go kill Damien right now.” Crew flinches at my touch. “I’m willing to do it as long as you keep that up.”
I squeeze again and remove my hand. A whoosh of air escapes his lungs, and I realize Crew has been holding his breath. A rustling noise sounds from the living room, and the squeak of the loveseat makes me glance toward the cracked door.
“Please don’t, Mara,” I hear Damien shout from a few feet away. “But after a night on this tiny couch from hell, I’ll want to die, so continue if you must. I’ll plug my ears to block out Crew’s high-pitched moaning.”
I laugh and roll on my side pressing my hips against Crew’s dick.
“You are a fucking tease,” he whispers.
“I’ll be sure to add that to my resume,” I respond.
He laughs and moves closer to my back.
“Tell me about your tattoos,” I say into the darkness.
“Hmmm,” he purrs. “You like them?”
“They are beautiful.”
He kisses my shoulder blade. “Each one represents a moment in my life that’s challenged me, broke me, and in turn transformed me.”
“Like?” I press.
He moves his hand toward my chest and presses against my right side above my breast. “The butterfly on my chest is for my friend I killed when I was a teenager.”
A sadness fills me, and I realize I’m feeling Crew through the bond.
“The others cover horrible scars,” he says.
“All inflicted upon me for my mistakes and my choices. I wanted to turn my scars into something more meaningful than a knife going into my stomach or a bullet going into my ribs from a dumb decision. I didn’t want to cover my scars, but celebrate them instead.
With every scar I’ve received, I have changed, and I thought butterflies represent everything about that. ”
I turn to face him and listen.
“They transform into something much bigger than they once were. They spread their wings after weeks of hard work, and they shift into something new. They are free—free from anything holding them back—and one day that will be me.”
He tucks a piece of hair behind my ear and kisses my forehead.
“It’s why I’m doing this. It’s why I’m risking everything. Because I hope one day we can all transform. I hope one day that all hybrids, good or bad, can feel an ounce of the freedom that those insects do.”
“We will,” I whisper back, as his eyes close.
He exhales deeply. “I think so too.”
“You're living proof of the pain you’ve gone through, Crew.” I softly kiss his lips. “We both are. We might be broken, but maybe together we can change that.”
Crew rubs his rough hand on my cheek and smiles.
I watch him as his breath steadies and a calm rhythm moves his chest. I trace my fingers along each butterfly, feeling the rough, hidden scar beneath each wing.
“Crew?” I question.
He doesn’t open his eyes. “Yeah?”
“I don’t hate you.”
“Finally.”
My eyes begin to close, and I move my head against his chest. I listen to Crew’s heartbeat as the silence of sleep pulls me into the darkness, perfectly wrapped in the safety of his arms.
I don’t hate you at all.
The morning sun fills the room, casting a golden brilliance around me. My eyes open, and I feel Crew’s arm draped around me, holding me in his sleep—as if any moment I could disappear. His steady breathing tells me he is still sound asleep, and I slowly turn to face him.
As he sleeps, his features soften into peaceful serenity, and his hair spreads across his face in all directions.
I gently brush away a few strands, then rest my hands on his cheek.
He’s breathtaking—a soul scarred by darkness yet wrapped in gentle warmth—and makes my heart beat with a sense of safety, desire, and longing to know everything about him.
He’s tortured like I am, and I can’t help but feel that Crew has been desperate for someone to enter his life and save him, just as I’ve been waiting.
I can’t help but notice the intense pull toward him.
Given the loneliness I’ve felt, I don’t want to question whether it’s real.
I slip out of bed and crack the bedroom door to see Damien asleep on the loveseat. His head hangs off the side, and his legs drape over the end. He looks miserably uncomfortable, and I can’t help but giggle. I head toward the bathroom, gently shutting the door behind me.
I splash some water on my face before my thoughts start up once more.
Sam and Riggs want to know our decisions, and I can’t help but wonder if there are, in fact, twenty Voids surrounding this apartment right now, watching to see if we will flee.
We are going to join them, but I will enforce some rules, and I need them to listen if I’m going to lead a revolution.
I hear rustling in the other room, followed by the loud groan from someone waking up from a horrible night’s sleep. I crane my head around the doorframe to see Crew still peacefully asleep. It’s coming from the living room, so I crack the door to watch as Damien moves his arms wide overhead.
I walk into the living room, ignoring the fact that I’m in tiny pajamas, and grab a nearby blanket, wrapping it around my shoulders.
“Good morning,” I say.
His eyes are red, his hair is a mess, and he looks exhausted. I can’t help but laugh at him standing before me in such a disheveled state. Who knew that demons were perfectly normal in comparison to us angels?
“Well,” he stretches again, “I won’t say it’s a good morning.”
“Aw.” I pat the loveseat next to me. “Did someone sleep badly?”
“Someone slept horribly," he replies, pointing to himself. “How did you sleep?”
I glance back toward the bedroom to find Crew still fast asleep. The sheets cover most of his lower half, while his entire back is exposed, highlighting his muscular physique.
“Fine,” I shrug.
Damien laughs and says, "I’m sure you slept just fine next to that hunk of demon meat.”
I snap my gaze back to him and try to suppress the laugh that escapes my mouth, only to fail miserably. My laughter echoes through the room. Each time I allow myself to relax, I shock myself by remembering I’m capable of such enjoyment.
“I’m sorry you slept badly,” I say, as my laughter fades. “I think it was all a ploy for Crew to get you to leave.”
“You’re probably right,” he sighs. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen him with someone, so I can imagine his… urgency. Especially since it’s you.”
“Me?”
“Oh yeah,” Damien laughs. “He’s obsessed.”
I furrow my brow. “Well, I saw him run off with a woman after our fight at the masquerade ball.”
Damien glances toward the bedroom, as if Crew can hear us while sleeping soundly.
“I don’t know what you saw, but Crew didn’t take anyone to his room. Or any night in a long time.”
“Why?”
“Because he’s an ass, scary, and has no game.”
I cross my arms. “Someone was in there when I knocked on the door that morning.”
Damien tilts his head back and laughs into the air.
“That’s funny to you?” Annoyance laces my tone.
“It was me. I’m upset you think I’m a girl.”
“What?” I snap. “Why?”
“I was talking him off the ledge after what happened. He didn’t sleep that night,” he says.
“It took him a few hours to shift out of his demonic state. I mainly stayed in your room so long that night to make sure Crew didn’t storm in there and do something he’d regret.
” Damien runs his hands through his hair. “He was furious.”
“At me.”
Damien shakes his head. “He was furious at Lowell, and I was in there practically holding him down from attempting to kill an Elder.”
“Oh?” I ask. “I just assumed.”
“Shocking,” a deep voice sounds from behind me. “There you go, assuming again.”
I jump when I see Crew sitting up in bed. Sleepily, he brushes his hair from his forehead, his handsome face weighted with exhaustion. He props his arms on his knees and smiles. I grin back and turn away, unable to keep my cheeks from flushing.
Damien waves. “Morning, beautiful.”
“Good morning,” Crew responds.
Damien shakes his head. “Nope, it’s not.”
“Mara probably kept you awake, snoring all night,” Crew mumbles, yawning.
“Crew,” I say.
“I caught her snoring on the roof during our first assignment.”
My mouth drops. “I don’t snore.”
“You know, now that you mention it,” Damien says, “I did hear something that sounded like a chainsaw around 3 A.M. I hoped it was a murderer coming to kill me at that point.”
“You two are ridiculous.” I stand with force.
“Oh, stop it,” Damien says. “Just because you’re an angel doesn’t mean you have to sleep like one.”
“I’m not going to make it,” I mutter. “I’ll go insane having to be around you two this much.”
Crew groans, leaning against the headboard. “You’ll be fine.”
I roll my eyes and shift my gaze back to Damien, who looks very comfortable for someone who should be leaving.
We go silent, and I can feel Crew’s presence as he throws back the covers and stands, stretching with a loud groan. He moves toward the bathroom before shutting the door with a thud.
Damien grabs my attention, raising his brows twice.
“He’s going to kick your ass,” I say.
He smiles. “I was hoping you would in that matching set.”
The bathroom door opens shortly after, and Crew steps into the living room still only wearing his briefs. The fabric hugs everything snugly, and I can’t help but stare at his toned stomach and muscled chest, sleep still softening his tough features.
I throw a pillow at Damien while Crew sits on the couch, stretching his long legs before him. He wraps his arm around me, pulls me close, and plants a kiss on my temple before he tilts his head back on the couch.
“Why are you still here, Damien?” he mutters.
“Because apparently I enjoy torturing myself.” He claps his hands together. “But honestly, I just wanted to see you in those briefs and Mara in those pajamas. So, mission accomplished.”
“I’m going to fucking kill you,” Crew sighs, his eyes still closed.
I jerk my head toward the door, and Damien smiles widely.
“I’m off. Going to check on Locke, and I’ll be back tomorrow. Please, please don’t die.”
“Tell Carver that everything is going fine,” Crew says, sitting up, turning his gaze harshly. “We will have the assignment completed and return tomorrow night.”
A coldness runs through me, and I find myself wrapping the blanket around me tightly.
“You got it.” Damien winks and exits the apartment in a mad dash.
Crew tilts his head back on the couch again, closes his eyes, and the apartment falls silent.
He sighs as his hand begins to gently trace up and down my spine in delicate circles.
I catch his gaze, and a thrill runs through me.
With everything I am, I wish I knew what he was thinking.
I focus on the bond, and all I can feel is a wave of calmness, as usual.
His fingers continue tracing my skin, and each passing moment makes my senses scream with anticipation. I replay what happened in my mind repeatedly, thinking of his lips on mine. An intense anticipation is building, and for the first time since everything happened, we are alone.
I’m so fucking nervous.