Chapter 22
Dae
I wake up on a startle. First, the feeling of being in such a deep sleep is unfamiliar to me. I can’t remember the last time, or if I’ve ever slept so deeply. As the owner of nightclubs, most of my business is conducted at night, which is my preference.
Warmth spreads through me as the memories from last night rush back. Images of Kennedy spread out naked on my bed, open for me, calling my name, awaken my sleeping cock.
I roll over to give us both the morning wake up we need, but her side of the bed is empty.
“The fuck?” I sit up. The sheets on her side of the bed are crumpled, the faint scent of her lavender perfume leaving shadows of her presence.
Yet, she’s nowhere to be found.
I toss the blanket away from my body and get up to find out where the hell she is. If she thinks she can get away from me that easily, she’s mistaken. I promised her I wouldn’t let her out of sight for the entire weekend, and I one hundred percent meant that.
I had only been half serious when I said I might not let her wear clothes the entire time, but for this stunt, she’s going to be stripped naked for the next twenty-four hours.
I stop short a few feet from my bedroom door. My breathing calms when I notice our clothes from the night before haphazardly strewn around the room. The jeans, shoes, and button-down top she wore remain where I discarded them.
Without conscious thought, I turn and pick up the discarded clothes, neatly folding them before placing them on the chair in the corner of my room. I put her bra on top of the folded pile, but her panties?
Those, like the pair I ripped back in New York, now belong to me.
Out of habit, I fold my pants but can’t find my shirt. I don’t give it much thought before I put on a pair of black boxer briefs and head downstairs.
The scent of freshly brewed coffee reaches me as I hit the bottom of the stairs. I stop when I find her standing in the center of the living room. She’s still as she stares, a mug of coffee in her hand.
What makes my dick flare is the fact that she’s dressed in my white button-down shirt from the day before.
That’s all she’s wearing.
With her curly hair pulled back in a haphazard bun, my white shirt draped over her body, she looks like a fucking angel.
Mine.
When I move in behind her and wrap my arms around her waist, she leans into my chest.
“Why weren’t you next to me when I woke up this morning?”
“Did you miss me?” she asks, laying her head against my shoulder. “I didn’t want to wake you. You looked like you were sleeping so peacefully,” she admits.
I snort.
“What? You don’t believe it.”
“No.” I’m a lot of things, but peaceful isn’t high on the list.
Looking up at me, she grins.
“This thing is enormous,” she says, turning her attention back to the four-thousand-liter aquarium. “How many gallons does it hold?”
“Just under nine hundred,” I answer, staring down at her,
She peers at me over her shoulder. “It’s salt water, right? It’s beautiful.”
“It has nothing on you.” I wrap my arms tighter around her waist.
“What type of fish are those?”
I spend the next ten minutes detailing the exotic, vibrantly colored fish, the types of reef I had grown along with the kind of bullet proof glass that I had installed to ensure the aquarium won’t crack or break over time.
“Running everything must cost a fortune,” she comments, peering at the overhead neon lights that keep the aquarium lit overnight.
“It’s worth it.”
She turns in my arms, and I slide my hands down to cup her ass cheeks, holding her to me.
“Let me guess. You wanted to be a marine biologist growing up?” A playful smile tugs the corners of her mouth.
“Not quite.”
“You love the ocean and decided to bring some of it into your home?” she asks before taking a sip of coffee, peering at me with those big, expressive eyes over the brim.
“Something like that,” I answer.
Kennedy traces the part of my tattoo where the sun peeks out from behind the branches of the tree leaves with her finger.
Her touch jolts my senses.
“And this?” she asks, mesmerized by my tattoo. “These are cherry blossoms, right?”
“They are.” I nod.
“It was spring when we visited Korea,” she says, a reminiscent smile appearing. Her eyes meet mine. “I just felt your heartbeat through your skin.”
Her mentioning her trip to Korea made my heartbeat kick up.
“Spring was my mother’s favorite time of year,” I tell her. “She rarely had any free time because she worked so much, but she’d take off one day every spring to take me to see the cherry blossoms.”
“This tattoo is for your mom.” Her hand flattens against my chest.
“Partially.”
Her eyes meet mine, the silent question in them.
“Spring represents new beginnings. I got this tattoo not long after moving to the States to remember my mom, never forget where I come from, and to symbolize that I’m not bound by my past either.
“I get to decide who I am and how my life plays out from now on. That’s exactly what I’ve done.”
Kennedy stares at me for a beat before placing her coffee mug on the glass table. She returns to my arms, wrapping one arm around my shoulders, and uses her other hand to run her fingers through my beard.
“I bet your mother would be proud of you.”
A lump forms in my throat. I don’t have anything to say. It feels like she filled a spot in my heart I didn’t know was empty.
Neither one of us says anything for a while. But her hand strokes the side of my face, beard, and chin. Her thumb finds the scar hidden beneath the hairs on my chin.
“Tell me what this is from,” she whispers.
I shake my head. “One day,” I tell her. Maybe.
I press a kiss on her forehead. “You need to eat before I take you back upstairs and make good on my promise to keep you naked this weekend.”
“That’s not going to happen,” she insists when I scoop her into my arms. “You have enough food in your fridge to feed a village,” she says as we enter the kitchen. “I planned to start breakfast, but then I got distracted staring at your aquarium.”
“You need to eat,” I say, putting her down onto one of the white leather stools at the kitchen island.
I go to the sub-zero fridge and pull out the ingredients to make pancakes, scrambled eggs, Canadian bacon, and fruit.
“I can help,” she says, hopping off the stool. “There’s also coffee for you in the pot.” She gestures toward the coffee bar area on the black marble countertop, then begins cutting up the melon and placing it in the bowl I’ve set out.
I watch her for a few beats, loving how she looks so comfortable standing in the middle of my kitchen, wearing my shirt and helping prepare breakfast.
There aren’t words to describe the way my heart warms over.
“Are you going to cook so we can eat or watch me all day?” she asks without looking up from the cutting board.
“Both,” I answer while pouring the eggs I’ve beaten into the frying pan.
She throws me a smile over her shoulder.
“First food, then there’s something I’m going to show you upstairs,” I promise.