Page 29 of Tattooed Vow

Dimitri.

The memory of last night comes in a rush. His mouth on my skin, his body moving against mine, the way he held me after like he didn’t want to let go. My heart thuds in my chest. It had been raw and overwhelming. Too much. And maybe not enough.

I don’t know what it means, which terrifies me.

I trace my fingers over the tender spot on my neck where his lips had lingered the longest. The sensation is still vivid. Hisstubble grazed my skin, and his breath hitched when I whispered his name. My body remembers every touch, kiss, and whispered word.

I move quietly through the room, pulling on a soft white hoodie as the cool morning air kisses my skin. Each step toward the door feels like walking into something I’m not ready to face. I ease it open and creep down the stairs, the rich scent of coffee growing stronger with every step.

The kitchen comes into view, and so does he.

Dimitri stands barefoot by the stove, his broad frame relaxed but his shoulders rigid with tension. He’s wearing a black T-shirt and gray joggers hanging low on his hips. The soft golden light of morning spills across the floor and walls, but it can’t touch the storm that clings to him.

He moves efficiently, spatula in hand, and his muscled forearm flexes with each motion. A man like him should look out of place in such a domestic setting, but somehow, he doesn’t. This is another side of him that I imagine few people get to see.

He glances over his shoulder. “You're up.” His voice is deeper in the morning, rougher around the edges.

“I smelled coffee.”

His eyes travel over me, lingering on my face. Something possessive and hungry flashes in his gaze before he turns back to the stove.

“Sleep okay?” he asks, his tone casual, though nothing between us feels casual anymore.

“Yes,” I reply, shifting my weight from one foot to another. “The bed is...comfortable.”

The corner of his mouth twitches in what looks like the beginning of a smile. He grabs a mug, fills it with coffee, and sets it on the table. “Sit. Eggs will be ready soon.”

I take the seat slowly, watching him from across the room. Last night's fire still lingers under my skin, and judging by the occasional glance he throws my way, I’m not the only one feeling it.

He brings two plates overfilled with eggs, bacon, and toast. I blink down at it, my stomach growling. I didn’t realize how hungry I was.

“Thank you,” I murmur, picking up my fork.

He nods once, settling into the chair across from me. His movements are controlled and deliberate as if he’s trying hard to appear normal. I wonder if he feels as off-balance as I do.

We eat in silence for a minute or two. The only sound is the soft clink of cutlery.

Then he speaks. “You’ve told me about how you met Talia. But not much about what came before that. What was it like growing up in the system?”

My fork pauses halfway to my mouth. I set it down and wrap my hands around the warm coffee mug. The question is unexpected. It’s not what I anticipated him bringing up after what happened between us.

I clear my throat and take a long sip of coffee before answering. “My parents weren’t exactly parent material. They were your typical addicts. But the foster system? It’s survival of the fittest. I was in more homes than I care to remember. Some were decent—just people doing their best. Others were nightmares. Places where kids disappeared and nobody asked why.”

I stare at a nonexistent spot on the table, slowly lifting the coffee mug to my lips. The bitter liquid burns down my throat, grounding me in the present.

“I learned early on how to fight. How to disappear when I needed to. And how to blend in and not be noticed. It was the only way to survive.”

“You were just a kid,” he murmurs, his voice rough with something dangerously close to compassion.

“Yeah,” I say softly. “But no one else seemed to care. By the time I met Talia, I’d stopped believing in people. And then one day she showed up.”

My mind drifts back to that rainy afternoon when I'd found her huddled in the corner of the group home rec room, clutching a tattered backpack to her chest, eyes wide with fear and defiance. She was so small, but with the same fire I recognized in myself.

“The older girls were already circling her like sharks,” I continue, surprising myself with how easily the words come. “They always went after the new ones, took whatever they had worth taking. I stepped in. Broke a girl's nose when she tried to hurt Talia.”

Dimitri doesn’t say anything for a moment. Just stares into his coffee like he wants to shatter the mug with his bare hands.

“I can see why you looked after,” he replies.

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