12. Lilah
CHAPTER TWELVE
lilah
The television fills the apartment with noise; we’re sitting on the sofa, watching a movie, a comedy, but Tempest doesn't react to any of the funny moments. He's looking at the screen, but I know he isn't seeing it. I think his mind's still on Rogue's phone call.
He’s most likely trying to solve who gave Webb the tip-off that the Saint’s Outlaws MC were looking into him. And he’s been trying to solve it ever since he and Rogue ended the call hours ago.
I reach for the television remote control and mute it; his gaze locks on me as I rise to my feet. "Come to bed."
His brows lift. "Lilah..."
"Come to bed."
He studies my face for a second. "I'm fine."
I smile, it’s sad but soft. "You're really not."
He lets out a quiet breath. "I've got things to think about."
"You will tomorrow." He doesn't answer, so I hold my hand out. "Come on."
His eyes drop to it, and for a moment, I think he's going to refuse, but then he slips his hand into mine, his fingers closing around mine automatically. "You're stubborn," he mutters as he stands.
"So I've been told."
"By me."
I grin. "Mostly by you."
Still holding his hand, I lead him toward my bedroom, but he stops in the doorway. I look back at him and see that he's looking around the room, taking it in like he always takes everything in. "What?"
His eyes find mine. "You sure?"
I don't hesitate. "I asked you to come to bed, Tempest."
Something softens in his expression; he gives a slow nod and he follows me inside.
I pull back the duvet and climb in first, shuffling across to make room for him. He sets his phone on the bedside table before reaching for the lamp.
Darkness settles around us and we both stay still. I don’t want to disturb him; I want him to sleep. I doubt he slept last night with me on him. But after a while, he’s still lying on his back beside me, still awake.
No doubt thinking and trying to solve a problem that can't be solved tonight.
I turn onto my side. "You should be asleep."
He turns his head just enough to look at me. "So should you." He lets out a slow breath. "Can't switch it off."
"I know." I reach across the space between us and lace my fingers through his, his hand closes around mine immediately. "But you don't have to solve everything tonight." He doesn't respond. No matter what I say, it won’t change it. "You've been carrying this since Rogue called."
His thumb brushes over the back of my hand. "I'll figure it out."
"Tomorrow," I urge him.
His eyes stay on mine. "Maybe."
"No." I smile softly. "Definitely tomorrow."
The corner of his mouth lifts. "You've become bossy."
"I learned from the best." That earns me a quiet huff of laughter, so I shift a little closer. "So tonight..." I squeeze his hand. "You can let somebody look after you for once."
He’s quiet for a while, and I think he’s not going to speak. "I don't know how."
The honesty in those four words catches me off guard. "I do." I move closer until my head rests against his shoulder, and for a second, he stays perfectly still, but then his arm slides around my waist. I settle against him, feeling his chin brush the top of my head.
"Better?" I whisper.
He doesn't answer straight away; instead, he presses a kiss into my hair. "Yeah."
I smile into his chest. "Good. Night, Tempest."
His hand moves slowly across my back, it’s soothing, and I close my eyes just as he replies. “Night, Lilah.”
I wake slowly but I don't open my eyes for a few more moments. I'm warm, comfortable, and there's a heavy arm wrapped around my waist.
Tempest.
My lips form a huge smile, because sometime during the night, we'd moved. I'm on my side with my back pressed against his chest, his face buried in my hair and one of his legs tangled with mine. He's still asleep; I can tell by his breathing—slow and deep against my hair.
I stay exactly where I am, mostly because I don't want to move and partly because I'm enjoying this far too much. His arm tightens around me when I shift slightly, pulling me closer even though he's still asleep.
My smile gets wider, apparently sleeping Tempest is cuddly.
I'm definitely keeping that information to myself.
I lie there for another minute, listening to him breathe while morning light creeps through the curtains.
I can't remember the last time I woke up and didn't immediately think about making sure the apartment was secure and that I was safe.
This morning, my first thought was him. I like that, a lot more than I should.
Tempest shifts behind me, his face brushes my hair, and his arm moves around my waist before he goes still again. "Morning," he murmurs. His voice is rough with sleep.
I turn carefully in his arms, his eyes are barely open. "Morning," I say cheerfully.
He stares at me. "What?"
My brows furrow. "What?"
"You're smiling."
My lips stretch into a wider smile. "Am I not allowed?"
"Didn't say that."
I grin. "You're cuddly when you're asleep."
His eyes open properly. "I'm not."
"You are."
"Lilah."
"You practically have me in a chokehold."
His gaze drops to the arm still wrapped around me, but he doesn't move it. "Doesn't look like you're trying very hard to escape."
"I'm not."
His eyes come back to mine, and the teasing disappears almost immediately. We're close, really close. I reach up and push a piece of hair away from his forehead, his eyes following the movement before settling back on mine.
"Did you sleep?" I ask.
"Yeah."
"Good."
His hand moves against my waist, his thumb brushing over me. "You?"
"Really well."
Something about that makes his expression soften. "Good."
I lean in and kiss him, barely more than a brush of my mouth against his.
When I pull back, his eyes stay on mine, so I do it again. This time, his hand slides up my back and he kisses me properly, warm and lazy at first, but then his hand tightens against my back.
I move closer, and I can feel his thickness against my stomach along with his heat, and it makes me bold. My leg slips over his hip, nestling him snug against me. He inhales, low and sharp, and just like that, the mood burns up from lazy to wanton.
His thumb dips, grazing the bare skin above my hip.
I pull him closer, arching until his body presses along every inch of mine.
He rolls us, slowly, as if checking that I want this, and I do, more than I want to breathe.
His weight settles between my thighs, heavy and perfect, and his mouth comes down on mine again.
Tempest keeps still, propped on his elbows, like he’s memorizing the look of me in the half-light.
I become painfully aware of what I must look like. My hair's everywhere, there's probably a crease from the pillow across my cheek, my T-shirt's twisted and I haven't even brushed my teeth yet. And he's still staring at me.
"You know I look terrible in the morning, right?"
His eyes move over my face. "No, you don't." The way he says it makes my stomach flip. His hand comes up and he brushes my hair away from my cheek, his fingers lingering against my skin.
"What?" I ask again, quieter this time.
His gaze drops to my mouth. "You're beautiful."
I stop breathing for a second; nobody's ever said it to me quite like that. “You’re staring,” I say.
“Yeah, I am.”
I smile. “Any particular reason?”
His hand comes up, fingers brushing along my cheek before pushing a piece of hair away from my face. “I like waking up with you.”
My smile grows. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” His eyes drop to my mouth. “Could get used to it.”
Something warm spreads through my chest. “So could I.”
His gaze comes back to mine. “Good.”
“Good?”
“Means I’m staying again.”
I laugh. “Bit presumptuous.”
“Am I wrong?”
I shake my head. “No.”
“Then I’m staying.” His mouth is already moving down, following the trail of his hand over my skin.
He kisses my collarbone, sharp and sweet, then lower, pausing to taste every inch.
I arch into him, greedy for the friction and the heat.
My hands are in his hair, tugging him closer, and he lets out a sound that’s almost a growl.
When he lines himself up against me, it’s slow, deliberate torture.
He holds himself back, like he wants to draw it out, or maybe he’s worried he’ll break me.
I laugh a little, the sound caught between a gasp and a moan.
“You’re not going to hurt me,” I say, and I mean it. If anything, I want to feel more.
He pushes in, smooth and careful, but I lock my ankles around him and pull him deeper.
He curses, low and hoarse in my ear, and then starts to move.
The rhythm is all wrong at first, awkward and too slow, but it works in our favor, getting us tangled up and raw right away.
His hand slides under my back, holding me tight, and our mouths crash together again and again, like we can’t get enough.
Every time I moan, he answers with a deep thrust, he moves faster, not rough, but demanding. The ache builds in my stomach, tighter and tighter, until I dig my nails into his back.
“Tempest,” I groan.
“Kai,” he corrects.
My eyes snap to his. For a second, everything else disappears as Natalia's voice comes back to me from yesterday.
When a biker gives you his real name, pay attention. The club gets the road name. His woman gets the man.
At the time, I'd smiled and told her I wasn't his woman; she just laughed. I'm not laughing now. “Kai,” I whisper.
Something changes in his face. “Again.”
“Kai.”
His forehead drops to mine, and I wrap my arms around him, holding him closer. I understand now. He's not just telling me his name; he's telling me where I belong.
His name on my lips undoes him. He grinds against me, grounding me, and for a second, we’re gone, just need and skin, and the way he says my name over and over, like a promise. It’s wonderful, right up until we’re both spent.
He collapses, relaxing just enough of his weight to pin me under him, and for a long, sticky heartbeat, neither of us moves. The room is quiet but for our breathing, jagged and uneven.