I’m just stupid enough to hope that time comes sooner rather than never.
“Ok, big guy. You’re all done. Sit up slowly and don’t move. I’ll dry you off, patch you up then put you to bed.”
Another inappropriate twitch of my dick. “You don’t have to—“
“Ah.” Theo holds up a finger. “No arguments. You need to be watched for signs of a concussion and based on the time, Jackal is probably too occupied to come get you. You’re mine tonight, Zak, so just give up the fight.”
So, I do.
I give up the fight I’ve been trying like hell to maintain and accept the fact that IamTheo’s.
I’m hers tonight and for a lot longer if she’s willing to consider keeping me because Theodora Marie Covington is mine too.
CHAPTERFIVE
THEO
Never,ever in my whole entire twenty-seven years of life have I had a man as hot and sexy as Zak in my bed. Never.
But here he is, all—I’m guessing—two hundred and sixty-ish pounds and almost six and a half feet of him, sprawled out on my Charlie Brown bedspread in his half naked glory. He even took his socks off before he collapsed onto my queen-sizedcloud,as Zak called it.
And here I am, curled up on my side, facing him, staring like a sex-deprived, totally smitten idiot pervert.
He’s so beautiful though.
That big body is the very definition of muscled perfection, complete with enormous pecs, all the abs and that V thing over his hips that makes women and men alike drool. If that wasn’t enough, he has tattoos that roll from the back of his hands all the way up to the sides of his neck, a piece on his entire back as well as his chest, one that doesn’t manage to entirely hide a dusting of dark chest hair that turns into a thin line down the middle of his abs and goes directly into the top of his jeans.
Those tattoos aren’t enough to hide a multitude of scars either, but even those are sexy on this man—especiallyon this man.
But what really sets him apart, what makes Zak so sinfully beautiful, is his face. He’s just so damn handsome it's almost hard to fathom. That piercing green eye offset by the opal colored one melts my fucking bones. The scars through and around his left eye and brow, the pattern almost like a supernova in a dark pink against his olive skin. It makes him even more intriguing, endearing,real. Those jet-black waves pushed back and fanning my pillow like a spiderweb, his gorgeous face peaceful and serene, pouty lips parted just slightly while he sleeps soundly for the first time all night.
Zak is either a super light sleeper and every noise or movement wakes him up, or he’s hitting his REM cycle so fast that he starts thrashing around and mumbling about a truck and crawl space while he’s lost in dreamland. I felt terrible every time he woke up because I had rolled over or shifted around, but I’d rather that than Zak get tangled in my bedding over what is clearly a nightmare that he sort of gets trapped in until he forces himself out.
The dazed look on his face, the confusion and panic, his mind clearly stuck in that bad dream for a few seconds before he realizes that was all it was and punches the pillow until he goes back to sleep? Yeah, I don’t like seeing that at all, so I’d rather he wake up every five minutes because of my restless leg and twitchy self than see him look almost scared after jolting awake.
He finally found a balance around three-thirty, seemingly dozed off heavy enough to stay asleep when I essentially kicked him in the thigh, but not quite to the point of dreaming again. It’s only been a few hours since Zak hit that serene level and I’ve been watching him ever since.
Another punch in my nerdy, naive, flirting with creepy girl card.
It also has my curiosity piqued.
There was no question in my mind that Zak has lived a pretty hard life. He’s part of a motorcycle club, looks the part, and obviously has no fear or hesitation when it comes to fights or threats. Zak handled himself better than I could have imagined and it was super-hot watching it all go down, but everything else about him has left me with questions. Questions I will never ask because it’s not my place.
I can tell several of his scars are from similar incidents to the bar fight; a few that appear to be from stab wounds, a few more that look like they could be from bullets, but the ones on his face and around his shoulder, those look older, almost like they’ve grown with him as opposed to the rest. To be honest, the ones on his left shoulder and bicep look surgical, from actual multiple surgeries that spanned over years and various growth spurts.
I want to ask Zak if that’s what they are, ask him why he needed multiple surgeries and how young he was when they became necessary. I want to ask him if it has anything to do with the scars on his face, if it all happened at the same time, and if that’s why he has nightmares.
Quite frankly, I just want to know everything about him because I am totally smitten, totally attracted to him, and feel like Zak and I were meant to cross paths for more than my many inconvenient rescue missions.
Zak feels more like fate than coincidence.
I just wish there wasn’t that voice in the back of my head reminding me that things like that don’t happen to me.
With a sigh, I let my gaze roam over him again, drink in every beautiful inch, then reach out and carefully lift a little hair out of his eyes.
Zak is so perfect. Even when he furrows his brow as my fingers graze his forehead. Thankfully the contact doesn’t seem to faze him or wake him up, so hopefully I’ll be able to get out of bed with the same results.
I don’t sleep much as it is, maybe a few hours a night at most, but having Zak here made sleeping impossible because I’ve been so worried about him it was pointless to even try. Like I said, Zak can obviously handle himself and has obviously been through worse than that bar fight, but by the time he was ready to go to bed, he was loopier than I would have expected and that makes me nervous.
