Page 69 of Crow

He goes into work at his tattoo shop at nine and stays until around six or seven. He takes on mostly large scale projects now and his clients usually sit between eight to ten hours, which just blows my mind, but apparently that’s not that unusual for heavily tattooed people. I suppose it’s like anything. You start slowly and build up your tolerance.

Even after a full day at work, he either goes to the club first, or comes directly here. I can’t call our days routine, or say that we have one. Between my schedule and his, sometimes all we have is a few hours in the night, an early morning, or a stolen lunch hour. My favorite nights are the ones where I get to go to bed with this wonderful man and wake up beside him.

Like this morning.

I went to bed with Crow, but I’m not going to assume that I’m going to wake up beside him. It could be Raven who greets me. They’ve been switching out so often that it’s become what I guessed it would be—a seamless transition that no longer looks like a warzone.

It’s Wednesday morning and it just so happens that I have today off. I can tell by the watery daylight just spreading across the sky that we still have time before he has to be up and off to tattoo.

Connie is still sleeping soundly, chain sawing her logs, on the world’s plushest, largest dog bed. The thing dwarfs her. It takes up a good chunk of the bedroom. Crow was so excited to go and get it for her right after we got back from Vegas. It’ll still be a few weeks until her cast comes off and she’s good to go, but she has a bladder of steel and between us, we’ve established a routine where we take her out at seven-thirty. She likes her sleep and is perfectly content to stay in bed until we wake her for outside and breakfast.

When we’re at work, if we have overlapping hours, Crow drops Connie off at the clubhouse. He was worried that it would be too much for her, because we didn’t know what trauma she’d been through—but she loves it there, and surprisingly, the men adore her too. I really don’t think it’s just the men. All the old ladies and kids spoil her terribly as well.

My cheek is resting against Crow’s chest, my arm draped over him, as well as one of my legs. This isn’t how we fell asleep last night. He was the one wrapped entirely around me after he ate me out and fucked me into six orgasms.

I move my legs a little, testing to see how sore I’m going to be today. There’s no question that it’s going to be a reality.

There’s a twinge, but at least I don’t feel wrecked. I’m going to be able to walk after all. Yay for me. I better not tell Crow. He’ll want to rectify the situation and he’ll be late for work. If I get Raven, he won’t make it in at all.

I lift myself off of that solid, inked chest just enough that I can tilt my face and stare up at the slumbering god in my bed.

The stitches are gone, replaced with a red scar that’s fading every day. I know every mark and freckle on his skin now.

I can’t believe it’s been just over three weeks since we got back from Vegas. In the best way, it feels like a lifetime.

I saw what my parents believed a relationship should be—my dad getting all the glory and my mom ghosting through life.

With Crow and Raven, it’s the opposite. He sees me. He thinks of me. He asks about my day, and he’s truly interested in every little thing that happened. He cares about my feelings. I find both Crow and Raven ridiculously easy to talk to. For a man who spent most of his time alone, he’s so easy to get along with.

Neither of us have ever lived with a partner before. You’d have to have had one in order to do that. We have so many of each other’s firsts already.

I know that it will wake him up, but he’s so beautiful when he’s asleep, warm and soft, unguarded and peaceful, that I can’t stop myself from brushing the pad of my thumb over his stark jawline.

His lashes lift from his cheeks, treating me to the full intensity of his gaze. His face crinkles and goes even softer as he smiles.

“Sorry.” I kiss him, lingering on his lips. Morning breath? Fuck that. There’s not a single time when this man isn’t straight up delicious. Every part of his body, every taste and touch, makes me half crazed and starved for more. “I couldn’t resist.”

“Don’t be sorry. I like having extra time with you.”

“You’re probably tired.”

He snorts and cups my face, tracing my bottom lip with the pad of his thumb. “What’s on the agenda for your lovely day off? It wouldn’t happen to involve bringing me and my client coffees to the shop around lunch, would it?”

“Of course I could do that.”

He can’t keep the devious grin off his face. “The coffees are just an excuse for me to magically have a problem with my power source that I’ll have to rectify in the back room where I’m going to fuck you senseless.”

“Oh my god,” I breathe. I’m so sore, but that doesn’t stop the twinges and the slow, wicked second heartbeat from thundering between my legs. “I think you fucked me to the point of raw last night.”

“I love that you say fucked. I love that you call it a pussy instead of a vagina and a cock instead of a penis. I’m enjoying it very much just how badly you’ve been corrupted.”

I turn my face and bite him lightly in the shoulder. “Careful,” he rumbles. “That could get your ass spanked. I could sneak some lube along with me and take that tight hole in the back room, fuck my sweet, dirty girl while everyone else is so, so close.”

I really sink my teeth in, which makes him groan. His arms circle around me and he whirls me around, parting my legs so he can kneel between them. I immediately clench my thighs to his waist. He’s hard hot, insistent as he nudges his cockhead against my entrance. He doesn’t thrust inside, but slicks the tip through my wetness. Even that feels sore, but it’s not painful.

Just well used.

And my god, does that ever make my face heat up.

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