Livianna
I was usually the one doing the nursing.
Sure, Cam had fished a bullet out of me, had helped me clean wounds when I hadn't been able to reach them myself. But he hadn't been the cold-compress-holding, hot-soup-delivering, check-on-you-every-five-minutes kind of person.
Roderick, it seemed, was that kind of person.
Every time I started awake that first night, he was right there, off the side of the bed, on the bed with me, soothing me back to sleep, handing me pain medicine, slathering on triple antibiotic.
I didn't remember much about that night.
The skull-splitting migraine had stolen all rational thought, all observation skills save but to notice the crippling pain of it, the way even the faint glow of my alarm clock was too bright to bear.
But the pain became a dull, throbbing ache by the next day when I woke up, unable to get any more rest.
And he was still there.
"How are you feeling?" he asked, voice a little sleep-rough.
"Like I had the piss beat out of me," I admitted, whimpering a little as I pushed myself up, feeling all the pains the migraine had blocked out the night before.
Everywhere hurt.
Places I didn't know could hurt if they got hit, hurt.
I felt like one giant bruise.
"I need to wash this all off of me," I said, gesturing to the dirt, gravel, sweat, blood all over me still. He had mopped up my face and hands, but that wasn't all there was.
"I'll help you to the bathroom," he offered.
"How is Cam?"
"Fine. He insisted Astrid do some stitching. Which she went green at, but pulled through and got it done. He will have a scar, but he will heal just fine. We can catch up with them once you clean up. And let me treat some of these cuts again."
"Okay," I agreed, letting him take care of me because, quite frankly, I didn't feel like I could do it myself, as much as that hurt my pride to admit.
I'd had my ass kicked a few times in the past. I didn't like admitting that, but it was the truth. I'd had ribs bruised and broken, black eyes, road burn, loose teeth, fat lips. You name it, I had been there.
But this beating, this might have taken the cake.
A situation had never gotten that out of control for me. I had never been that outnumbered, that outgunned. We had always managed to get out before things got that bad.
So this, this was maybe the worst I had gotten. And I was including the knife to my face and the bullet to my shoulder.
This was easily worse.
The shower took me twice as long as it normally would, sapping all of the energy the sleep had given me.
So when Roderick let himself in when I was in nothing more than undies and a tee, I sat down on the closed toilet lid and let him take it from there, accepting the pain pills he handed to me without objection, let him clean, slather, and wrap any part of me he saw fit, then half-carry me into the living room, settling me onto the couch with three blankets and two pillows, leaving me only to fetch me coffee, water, and two old-fashioned donuts.
I didn't even think to tell him to move away when he came in beside me, wrapping an arm around me gently, holding me to his side, letting me drink and eat in silence waiting for the pain medicine to turn the shooting and throbbing pain into dull aching that didn't make thinking completely impossible.
"Okay," I said when Astrid and Cam came over, sitting down, looking at me with worried eyes. "I need to know what happened," I told them, attempting to put some authority into my voice, but I was pretty sure it just sounded weak and pleading.
"You guys were probably just getting there when I got a message from a virtual buddy of mine," Astrid started, reaching out to give my foot a small squeeze. "Telling me that JB was a con, just a street thug known for violence. That we shouldn't have anything to do with him. But... it was too late at that point. You left your cells in the car or they were off. I couldn't get in touch."
"So you went into the storage and just... got an AK?"
"I figured if the ship was going down, at least we would all go down together," she admitted. "I wouldn't have made it without you guys anyway."
"How did you get there?" Roderick asked, clearly a question he had been thinking on because it burst out of him.
"You know, it's crazy what New York City cab drivers will overlook," she admitted with a smile.
"How is this looking?" I asked. "On the news? What is the story?"
"Gang shooting," Astrid supplied. "No survivors, so there is no one to point fingers."
"None?" I asked, thinking of how many of them there had been.
"Cam and Roderick had gotten three of them by the time I got there. I got the rest. Well, all but JB."
"You said there was no one left," I objected, feeling my stomach plummet.
"There's not," she reassured me with another foot squeeze. "Once Roderick here saw what he did to you, he filled him with holes."
There was a strange floaty feeling in my chest as my head slowly turned to find him already looking down at me.
"He had it coming," he told me in a small voice. "He put his hands on you," he added when I said nothing, his hand moving from lazily lying over my shoulder to curl around my neck a bit so he could run his finger next to my lip that was split, but healing.
"There were no other witnesses," Astrid added after Roderick's hand dropped and both our gazes moved forward again. "Apparently, in that neighborhood, when they hear bullets, they go hide behind furniture, not look out the window to give IDs to the cops."
"We were lucky," I mumbled. "I felt it in the car."
"Felt what?" Astrid asked, brows furrowing.
"A tingling at the base of my spine. The kind of feeling you get when something isn't right, when you should turn around and walk away."
"We rushed it," Astrid agreed, nodding.
"We will do more due diligence," I decided, noting the way Roderick stiffened beside me, but not knowing why. And, quite frankly, not wanting to go into anything deep right then.
"Friends or Will & Grace?" Astrid asked, moving to the space at the end of the couch, reaching for the remotes.
"Superstore," I corrected, watching as her eyes went knowing. Friends was for causal, mindless viewing. Will & Grace was for when I needed a little laugh. But Superstore, yeah, that was for when I felt like absolute crap and needed a pick-me-up.
Cam moved in near Astrid, the two of them sharing a blanket.
And me, well, I finished my coffee, let Roderick take it from me.
And then I let myself do it.
What I wanted so badly to do.
Curl into him.
Let him gently wrap me up.
And before two episodes had even played, I was fast asleep in his arms.
I woke up to him forcing more pain medicine into me, encouraging me to eat the Chinese Astrid had ordered, then letting me fall asleep next to him again.
The next time I woke up, I was in bed with Roderick.
"How are you feeling?"
"Like a walking bruise," I admitted, shrugging. "It will get better," I added, not wanting to sound like I was wallowing. Which I maybe was a little.
"You just gotta let yourself take it easy," he told me, running a finger down an unmarked part of my cheek.
"There's not a lot of time to wa..."
"You are going to take all the time you need. Right here in this bed. Sleeping. Recovering."
"I never slept. After my bullet wound. After this," I said, waving at the scar on my jaw. "After all the beatings I have taken. I never slept. I couldn't. I don't know what is so different this time."
Except... maybe I did.
Maybe what was different was him.
Maybe I slept because he was there with me, stroking my hair or back, soothing me into unconsciousness even when my mind was trying to tell me I had slept more in the past two days than I had in the past week.
Maybe it was because he was right there with everything I might need each time I woke up. I never had to get up, venture out, fetch all the things I needed.
Maybe it was because he had it all covered.
I always had Astrid and Cam to rely on. Even if I needed a recovery day, they held down the fort for me.
But I always felt like things were falling behind, that I had to get up earlier than I truly wanted to because things needed to get done.
Except, this time, they didn't.
It hadn't escaped me that some of my bedding was freshly washed, that the bathroom had been scrubbed, that all the dishes had been done.
Roderick was handling everything while I rested.
I was sure Cam and Astrid were pitching in, of course. But I got the feeling that the laundry and cleaning wouldn't have been done without Roderick around to do it, that the overflowing sink would have driven me to distraction, making me drag my busted ass into the kitchen to handle it, pain be damned.
But things were simply... handled.
There was nothing to be done.
Cam had even gone and had the car professionally cleaned, new fake plates put on it.
There was nothing to do but rest and get well.
So that was what I let myself do.
And when I wanted to snuggle into Roderick because it made me feel better to do it, I let myself.
Shower, rinse, repeat.
Each day that passed brought less sleep, my body not hurting quite so much, my system not flooded with pain meds that made me tired.
So we talked.
He showed me how to play a game on his phone. We watched movies.
It was just all so... natural.
On the fourth day, I woke up alone, but heard Roderick in the kitchen with something sizzling on the stove. Knowing him, eggs. It seemed to be the one meal he knew how to cook. Unless sandwiches counted. Which they didn't.
I brought myself to the bathroom, turning on the water, then stripping out of my clothes.
And I realized.
The pain was gone.
Aside from an ache in my ribs when I turned too fast or too far and the twinge if my tongue probed the empty hole where a molar used to exist. But my lip had sealed and scabbed and the scab had rubbed off in my sleep. The bruises had faded, the cuts mostly closed over. My knuckles were still tight with the healing scabs, but didn't hurt, just felt weird, restricted.
Everything was on the mend or mended.
And after a long, hot shower, all the remaining aches had been soothed away.
I was feeling back to normal.
And, somehow, that thought filled me with something I could only label as sadness.
Because it would all be over. The nursing. The sweetness. The hushed talks in the middle of the night. The cuddling. The soothing petting.
I wasn't hurt anymore.
He didn't need to take care of me.
On that depressing realization, I carefully dressed in black leggings and a plain dark gray tee, brushed and dried my hair, then - with no other grooming that needed my attention - I made my way out into the living space, finding the blankets all folded on the couch, the pillows arranged neatly.
No empty, discarded soda or iced tea bottles were laying around, no dishes loading up the sink, no garbage overflowing the pail.
Everything was neat.
Clean.
And there was a pile of eggs and toast on a plate for me. With orange juice. And coffee.
"You look better," he observed after soaking the frying pan in the sink to be dealt with later. And not the way that me or Astrid would do, leaving something in the sink to 'soak for a bit' and then not dealing with it until it was three days later. No, he would actually wash it after we ate breakfast.
"I feel better," I admitted. "Aside from a little twinge in my side, I feel almost back to normal."
"Cam will be glad when he gets back. I think he was really starting to worry about you."
"I never take to the bed. No matter how hurt I am, I am usually up and going the next day. There is always something that needs to be taken care of. Except this time," I said, giving him a wobbly smile that felt lame, felt like it didn't convey nearly enough of the feeling inside. "Thank you for that."
"It's my fault you got hurt," he insisted.
"What? No, it wasn't. We didn't research that enough. That was on me more than anyone else."
"I meant because you needed the gun."
"Again, because I stole it from you to begin with," I reminded him, rolling my eyes. "This is all my fault from start to finish."
"Hey," he said, voice a little firmer than I was used to it being, making my gaze move up from my plate. "Don't give a fuck what the situation was, that getting done to you, that was not your fucking fault."
My belly fluttered hard at that even as my head shook a bit. "This job comes with risks. I knew that going into it. This, getting worked over, this is part of the territory unfortunately."
"I don't like that," he admitted, his gaze focused on his plate even though he hadn't even attempted to eat anything yet.
"I don't think you're supposed to. No one likes the idea of someone getting their ass kicked."
"You're not just someone, Livvy," he told me, voice low, and the fluttering was amplified this time. "I don't know how Cam does it," he added after the silence stretched long enough to become awkward since I couldn't think of a single thing to say. At least not anything that wouldn't give it all away. What I was feeling. Toward him. About him. Knowing that was not somewhere either of us needed things to go right then.
"Does what?"
"Handles the threat of something happening to you - or Astrid - all the time. He's a stronger man than I am."
"I think it helps that this is all we have known while we have been together. The fun nights just hanging out here at the loft are great, but there aren't as many of those as there are nights out on the road, worried, going into dangerous situations, never knowing if we would make it out of them, and then sometimes when things went south, having to limp back to the car together, holding compresses to bleeding wounds, trying to do battlefield emergency care. We've been in the trenches more than we have been out of them. So while I think he does still worry, that this does still eat at him in many ways, it is something we are used to."
"I don't think it would be possible for me to get used to seeing your head get kicked in like that. Or hearing you cry out in your sleep if you moved onto a sore spot. Or fighting back tears when I cleaned your wounds. There are some things you should never have to get used to."
Something, a choked, sad little voice deep within me said words I didn't want to hear.
Don't worry; you won't have to.
Because, the fact of the matter was, he was going to leave. Once we got the gun, or once the time ran out on the deadline, he would leave. And, chances were, I would never see him again.
Unless, maybe, he lost his position in the MC, needed a job, decided to stay in the business, came to work with us.
But that, well, that was what could only be referred to as wishful thinking.
And things like that, yeah, they were dangerous.
And not in the way I was used to, in the way that would result in external injuries and pain.
Oh, no.
It was dangerous in a whole other way, in a way I hadn't known in so long that I barely remembered it was a possibility.
It was dangerous because wishful thinking and hope led to the kind of pain that couldn't be seen, the kind that often never healed, the wounds etched deep in your heart or soul, the ones that you felt the strongest in quiet moments when there was nothing to distract you from it anymore.
Hoping for a future with Roderick - even just a chaste, professional future - when the chances of it were slim, almost nonexistent, yeah, that had the potential to put little cracks in a place I would have sworn was hard as stone except for toward Camden and Astrid.
My heart.
Roderick had the potential to hurt me there.
And that, somehow, was more terrifying than the idea of a repeat of the events of a few nights before if Astrid didn't come in time, if we had all met our bloody ends right there in a parking garage in The Bronx.
"What's that look for, mami?" Roderick asked, moving his food around his plate, but not actually eating any. Maybe because his focus was on me.
"It's going to be weird when this is all done," I admitted, shrugging.
"When I leave," he specified, not letting me have my vagueness.
"Yeah, when you leave. We've gotten kind of used to having you around."
"We?" he asked, brow raising a little.
"Yes, we. I'm not the only person who lives here."
"Admit it. You have gotten used to having me around."
"It's been nice to have an empty sink," I allowed, smiling a little when he snorted at me. "And not having to crush the garbage down so I can cinch it closed."
"And?"
"And having something for breakfast that isn't donuts for a change."
"And?"
He wasn't going to let it drop until he heard what he was after, what I was trying to avoid. The full truth.
"And having you in my bed," I admitted, not quite able to meet this eyes as I told him. He said nothing. And it took only a few seconds for the silence to feel deafening. "I sleep better," I admitted, shaking my head.
"With me there," he specified.
"Yes, with you there."
"I figured as much from that night in the hotel. I've never seen someone travel all over the bed like you did. You only stilled and passed out fully when you rolled onto me."
Rolled onto him.
That gave me a way out of this uncomfortable conversation.
"Speaking of rolling onto you... how is your arm?"
The appendage in question slammed down on the table, wrist up, showing me the pink, healed-over marks with the silver threads that were likely due to be pulled out. "There. And nice try, but you're not changing the subject."
"Why not? Talking about it isn't going to change anything. So what if I sleep better when you're in my bed? You're going to be gone in a few days. I will go right back to not sleeping well alone in my bed. And you... you will fall into many other beds. Doing things that don't involve cuddling and talking about how much we miss warm beaches."
"Livvy..."
"Let it drop, Roderick," I demanded, standing as quickly as I could, taking my plate over to the garbage, scraping the food that no longer felt even remotely appetizing into the garbage before depositing the plate into the sink, turning, and moving away to my bedroom.
It was stupid, but I felt a stinging in my eyes, something foreign and uncomfortable.
Tears.
Over something as stupid as sleep.
Except, of course, I wasn't so dense that I couldn't see that sleep was just the surface of it.
See, I liked Roderick.
I liked Roderick in a way I was sure I had never liked a man before.
Because I never let myself get attached. Men, in my life, had been transient, just a fun, sweaty escape from the often grim, brutal realities of my life.
I didn't get attached.
I had never actually wanted to.
I thought I was fulfilled.
I had my career.
And I had Camden and Astrid there to be my sounding boards, to be a constant source of company, to be my confidants, my dinner mates, my movie buddies.
So the only role men had needed to fill was, well, sexy, sweaty buddies.
I didn't need them for more than that.
So it never occurred to me to try to seek more than that from them.
Then Roderick had come along and had just... provided things. He did things. See, I never had anyone to ever do things for me, so I just did them. I never could have known how nice it would be to have someone else pick up the slack, do things so I didn't have to do them. Or to be taken care of.
And I certainly never could have anticipated the fact that having a man in bed with me could be the cure to my sleeplessness, my restlessness.
And maybe it wasn't just about any man.
Maybe it was about a man who I liked, respected, felt comfortable with, knew could understand me and my life, the stresses of it, the reasons behind my bad sleep.
Maybe the complete and utter relief at having someone around who got you and your situation, who wanted to be near you regardless was enough to let you let go of it all, forget all the bad stuff, let your mind rest, so your body could finally relax enough to get actual sleep.
The idea that he wouldn't be there anymore in a short period of time was enough to make my heart ache a bit. As asinine as that may have been.
There was a tap on the doorframe behind me, making me turn to find Roderick standing there.
I should have known better. He was not a 'let it drop' kind of person.
"Might make it easier to deal with if you actually admit it," he suggested, eyes piercing into me.
"Admit what?"
"That you like me," he told me, making my body jolt a bit with the impact of the truth.
"Fine. I like that I am able to sleep with you around."
"Nope," he said, moving inward, closing the door behind him. "Try again."
"Roderick..."
"Come on. It's not hard. Three words. You can do it," he went on, small smile pulling at his lips. But not a smirk, not something cocky or condescending. It was almost sweet. With each word, he moved closer to me, forcing me to slide back across the floor. I hated myself for retreating, but there felt like there was nothing else to do.
Until my knees and calves met the foot of my bed.
He didn't stop though. Not until our toes were nearly touching, until he was towering over me, until I had to angle my head up to keep eye contact.
"You can tell me," he encouraged.
"What's the use in it?" I challenged.
"Because you feel it. If you feel it, what's the use in keeping it in?" he asked, ducking his head a bit. "I like you, Livvy," he told me in a low rumble, making my belly - and somewhere else entirely - flutter deliciously.
On a strange, choked sound, my forehead met the soft material of his tee. "I like you back," I admitted, knowing it was pointless, knowing that this would all come to an inevitable end sooner rather than later.
"Was that so hard?" he asked, voice still soft as his hands landed at my lower back and moved slowly upward.
"Yes, actually," I told him, slapping his back.
"But now it's out. And you can't take it back," he informed me, one hand sneaking over my shoulder, up the side of my neck, finding my chin, snagging it with two fingers, gently pulling it upward. "And now I can finally do this again," he added just a second before his lips claimed mine, soft, explorative at first, then harder, needier with each passing second.
His hand framed my jaw, the other slid down to press hard into my lower back, forcing my body tightly against his. One of mine went up and around his neck, the other hand bunched up the waistband of his jeans at his hip, holding on.
It felt like forever, yet not nearly long enough, that we stood there before his body started to fold forward, force me to bend back until I was supported by nothing but his arm at my lower back before he lowered me down completely, my back hitting the mattress, his body pressing me deeper into it.
There was no more thinking about it. No more wondering if it was smart or not. If it was going to hurt when it was done.
There was just the moment.
The want.
The need.
The rightness of the feel of his weight on me, his lips on my lips, my neck, my ear.
His forearm planted to one side of my body, freeing his other to roam, sliding down the side of my breast, my ribs, sinking in a bit to the hollow of my hip before sneaking under my shirt, fingertips whispering up my belly, the touch so light that goosebumps rose in its wake.
His fingers planted between my breasts, his thumb tracing over the oddly sensitive underside before slipping upward, running circles over the hardened point.
Just circles.
Soft.
Sweet.
Slow.
The need was a clawing, desperate thing overtaking my system, making me impatient.
My body lifted, hand pressing into his shoulder, pushing until he lost balance, falling back onto the mattress.
I climbed up, straddling his waist, watching the slow, sexy smile that pulled at his lips as my hands went down, dragging up my shirt, needing to hunch a bit forward to free it, my ribs aching when my hands went up over my head.
The smile fell away, replaced with heavy-lidded hunger as his eyes moved over my chest. His hand raised, sliding up my belly to settle over my ribs, covering the bruises there for a long moment.
"They're fine," I insisted, hand covering his for a second before planting my hands, leaning forward to claim his lips again.
His body folded up, the position making my hips drop down on his lap, feeling his cock press between my thighs, making a moan escape me, stifled by his lips.
My hands went down his back, dragging his shirt up, shivering a bit when his chest brushed my breasts.
Unable to stop it, my hips ground down on him, making a low, rolling growl move through him, vibrating into my chest.
His arm locked around me, throwing me back down on the mattress. Not quite as gently as he had before.
His lips didn't seek mine, traveled instead downward, closing over my nipple, circling with his tongue for a long moment before sucking hard, making my back arch off the mattress as the desire shot from the contact and between my legs.
He moved over my chest, working the same magic to my other nipple before going between my breasts, kissing down the line of my stomach, his stubble creating a delicious burn over the skin.
His body pushed back to sit on his ankles, reaching to pull my legs forward so my knees hit my chest, sliding my leggings down my hips, my thighs, over my knees, struggling a bit charmingly to free my ankles and feet.
"These look like sin when you wear them," he told me, tossing them onto the floor. "But they're a pain in the ass to peel off," he added with a sexy smirk as he grabbed my knees, pressing my thighs wide on the mattress as his body sank down.
No hesitation.
No playing around.
His tongue moved up my cleft, found my clit, and worked it relentlessly until my hands were clawing at the sheets, my hips grinding shamelessly up toward his mouth, my moans became nothing but choked whimpers before his lips closed around it, sucked, and made the orgasm slam through my system.
I barely had a chance to come down before his fingers were inside me, thrusting, curling, raking across the top wall with expert precision, driving me up again impossibly fast.
"No," I whimpered when he seemed to feel the pre-orgasm tightening, pulling his fingers out of me, refusing to let me come again. "Roderick," I tried, reaching to grab his hand.
"Next time you come, it's going to be around my cock, mami," he murmured, making his way back up my belly, between my breasts, up the side of my neck, teeth nipping into my earlobe.
My hands slid down the firm line of his back, sinking into his ass for a second before sliding between our bodies, finding the button and zip, working them free with needy fingers, a bit awkwardly trying to drag both his jeans and his boxer briefs down his legs, freeing him.
And, desperate to make him feel even a bit of what he had made me feel, I slid down underneath him, grabbing his cock, guiding it into my mouth. My tongue worked a circle around the head before reaching around, sinking my hands into his ass, encouraging him to press deeper, to take what he wanted, what he needed from me.
"Fuck," he hissed, starting to thrust into my mouth. Slow, tentative, feeling me out at first. But when my hands simply sank in deeper into his ass, hard enough to leave possessive little marks there later, encouraging him, he began thrusting harder, deeper, forcing me to take him into the back of my throat a few times before he pulled suddenly away, kicking completely out of his pants, grabbing a condom out of his wallet, throwing it onto the bed, then grabbing my hips, tossing me further up toward the pillows before coming over me again, sealing his lips over mine.
There was nothing soft or sweet, nothing restrained or controlled about him then.
His lips bruised into mine, his teeth sank in deep enough to leave marks.
His body wedged between my thighs, his cock sliding up my cleft, making a shudder move through me at the perfect contact, at the promise of fulfillment.
But before my legs could curl around his lower back, he pulled away, sitting back on his heels to quickly protect us, pulling me up with him, settling me on his lap, guiding his cock toward the entrance to my body, but waiting for me to sink down, to take him in.
My arms twined around his neck, holding on, as my hips sank down.
Despite the need for release running rampant through my system, my movements were slow, controlled, everything within me seeming to realize this was something to savor, something I may never get to have again.
So I took him in inch by inch, letting out a held breath when he was buried to the hilt, my eyes rising to find his, seeking, maybe, a similar understanding in him, about this moment, about how special it was.
But that was silly, of course, I realized, ducking my head before I showed too much of my silly, girlish fancy to him.
His hands slipped down my back to sink into my ass, not guiding me, just holding on as I started to move. A few slow, tentative strokes before the need overcame the uncharacteristic urge to take it slow, to savor it.
It wasn't long before desire made my movements fast, frantic, before Roderick's arms eased me back onto the mattress, pressing my bare feet to his chest as he started to thrust - fast, but controlled.
One of his hands pressed down on my lower stomach, the other moved between my thighs to work my clit as he drove me up, pushed me to the edge, tossed me over before I could even anticipate it.
The orgasm slammed through my body, the waves crashing over and over, Roderick's name bursting from me when I could finally find my breath again.
"Fuck, Liv," he growled, spreading my legs, curling over me, taking me harder, faster, each thrust making the headboard crack against the wall, my moans raising to challenge it.
His voice was low, rough, his breath in my ear, lost in the moment, he slipped in and out of Spanish.
Creo que eres la chica más sexy que he conocido.
I think you're the sexiest woman I've ever met.
Me encanto tu chocha.
I love your pussy.
And, finally, as I got closer, as he got there as well -
Ven conmigo.
Come with me.
And just like that, I did.
He did.
And it was, dare I even think it, perfect.
Completely and utterly perfect.
His body came down on mine, his head buried in my neck as he tried to even out his breathing, tried to come back down.
My body felt overworked, fuzzy and hot and cold all at once, my nerve endings popping off every second even long after the waves had stopped crashing.
"Let me up, mami," Roderick commanded softly, making me realize for the first time that my arms and legs were vice grips around his strong body. "Just one minute," he assured me when I hesitated to release him.
My legs slid away, my arms following, and Roderick pushed up, pressing a quick kiss to my lips before jumping off the side of the bed, giving me the perfect behind view for a short moment before he dragged his pants up, leaving the jeans open as he walked across my room, closing the door behind him as he went into the bathroom.
Alone, I attempted to pull myself together, sliding up and under the covers to warm my rapidly cooling body.
I took a deep breath as I heard Roderick coming back, sneaking a glance at him from under my lashes, finding his eyes on me as he moved to the side of the bed.
I heard the swish of his jeans hitting the floor again, the cool air as he lifted the blankets to climb under with me.
"Don't shut down on me, Livvy," he demanded, arm sliding under my body, curling me onto my side as he turned on his.
"I'm not shutting down," I insisted, though even I knew it was mostly a lie.
What else was there to do but shut down? When there was no chance of anything more between us than this - a few tours of my bedsheets.
His lips tipped up at that as his finger traced down my jaw.
"Then how come we could practically fit another person between us right now?" he asked. "When we both know you'd much rather be all up on this," he said, waving a hand toward his body.
"So sure of yourself, huh?" I asked, but I shifted closer, feeling his body heat warming my chilled skin.
"Yep," he agreed, arm draping around my lower back. "And see?" he asked, rolling onto his back, pulling me onto his chest.
"See what?" I asked, letting myself melt into him.
"Wasn't doing that much better than not doing that?" he asked, and I didn't have to look to know he was grinning, satisfied. And why shouldn't he be? If I wasn't overwhelmed with this feeling of impending heartache, I would have felt so as well.
"Sorry to interrupt the fucking," Astrid's voice called, making me bury my face in Roderick's chest as a chuckle moved through him. "But lunch is here. You need fuel for all the fun times. And, Roderick, it's been a while for Liv. She's going to need to go a few rounds. You might want to consider Gatorade!"
"I'm gonna kill her," I told Roderick's chest before pushing up to look down on him.
"She's proud of herself," he declared. "She's been scheming for this since I showed up here. It's Cam who is likely not the happiest camper right now."
"You make it sound like he's into me. He's not."
"No. Not into you, but probably wants better for you."
"Better? What's wrong with you?"
"I... it's... nothing. Never mind," he said, for once, him being the one to close down. "Come on, let's get some clothes on so we can eat. You didn't touch breakfast."
With that, he moved up and out from under me, redressing, leaving me with no choice but to do the same, moving out into the main area of the loft feeling awkward.
It was insane, of course. I was a grown woman. We were all adults. We all had sex lives, even if they were maybe not as active as others. Though, as a whole, we engaged in it outside of the loft, none of us ever having to face each other directly after everyone else had likely overheard things happening.
"You can blame Cam for it if you don't like hot subs. He's almost as crazy about them as he is his donuts," Astrid told Roderick as she handed him a plate, doing so with a strange, satisfied smile, murmuring something to him that made him tap his hip into hers playfully.
And despite thinking everything would be weird, overall, it wasn't. Cam had given me an odd look, something penetrative, but it was over almost before it began.
We ate.
We all did some work trying to track down the gun. Astrid baked cookies. From a tube, but still. We ate them in front of the TV watching some silly sitcom the name of which I didn't even think to learn because Roderick pulled me onto his lap, and all I could focus on was the way his fingers sifted through my hair.
Cam took off to bed.
Astrid pretended to, though I knew she would be awake in her room for hours still. She just wanted us to be alone, to be able to go to bed.
Which was what we did, having sex until our bodies couldn't take anymore. Then falling asleep in each other's arms.
We spent almost the whole next day in bed, only leaving to shower - together - and grab slices of pizza when Astrid told us there were pies in the kitchen.
My body ached in a delicious way, in places I hadn't felt in ages. I shared more details about my life when our bodies were too spent to go another round, letting it all gush out as he demanded more, wanting everything.
So I poured it all into him, not giving a thought to the fact that by doing so, I would be empty when he was gone.
Because we had been living in a little bubble, cut off from the world, cut off from outside interference.
Or so we thought.
Or so I thought at least.
Roderick had gone out to the kitchen to get us coffee in the morning, everything about the day suggesting it would be just like the previous one - spent in bed, loving, laughing, sharing stories.
I had been making my way out to see what the hell was taking so long when I heard his phone ringing.
It had been silent.
So silent, in fact, that it must have been dead, laid up forgotten somewhere until he remembered to plug it in while he went about the motions of making breakfast for us.
It rang and, because he was busy, he put it on speaker on the counter.
"Roderick, the fuck is going on?" a commanding male voice demanded to know. It didn't take too much deducing to realize it was his president. Reign.
"Sorry, shit has been crazy, prez," Roderick said, body stiffening a bit. "My phone was dead."
"Crazy how?" Reign demanded, sounding tense himself. And, from the stories Roderick had told me about the problems the club had faced over the past few years, right down to losing his own daughter, I didn't blame him for getting worked up at the idea of any type of trouble that might blowback on his club.
"There was a lead about one of the guns. And we went in too quickly."
"We?"
"Me, Liv, and one of her people, Cam. We met the contact in The Bronx. We were outmanned, outgunned. It went south fast when he made a move toward Liv."
"Fuck," Reign hissed. "Don't make me pry it out of you."
"Everything went to shit," Roderick admitted. "Cam and I took cover to try to take some of them out."
"And Liv?" Reign asked, somehow sounding more concerned about me - this woman he had never met - than Roderick. Maybe simply because he knew my fate could be worse than that of his man.
"We couldn't get eyes on her until her other colleague came in and took a bunch of the fuck's men out. We got eyes on Liv again." He paused for a long moment there, looking out the window. "It was bad," he added. "Pretty fucking bad."
"You take him out?"
"Yes."
Reign paused a moment. "Good. She alright?"
"Yeah, full recovery. Just some bruises still."
"Small blessing," Reign mumbled. "Look, Roderick. I think we should just... let this drop."
"What?" Roderick asked, voice tense.
"This has gone on far enough. People are getting hurt. It's just one fuckin' client. We can spare him. Besides, your mom will drag herself down to the compound and box my fuckin' ears if I don't have you home for Christmas. Wrap it up. Pack your shit. Head back. You did your best. We will just let it drop."
My heart sank down into my stomach as I moved back a step, not wanting him to turn, to see the look of genuine pain that must have been on my face because I felt it all through my chest, my stomach, hell it felt like it spread from my center outward until it took over me completely as I heard Roderick's reply to his boss.
"Okay. I'll be back by tomorrow."
Tomorrow.
I was cognizant of my emptiness then, realizing how badly I had screwed up in giving him so much.
I backtracked myself into my bedroom, closing the door without a click, going to my closet to get dressed. And not just in pants and a tee I yanked over my naked body to be presentable when we went into the common space. No. Complete with a bra, panties, and goddamn socks for chrissakes. Like if I piled enough on, no one would know how empty I was.
"Livvy," Roderick's voice called from the doorway.
It took everything I had not to stiffen as I turned, pulling my shirt fully into place.
"I figured it was time to get dressed," I bullshitted, shrugging it off.
"I know you heard," he told me, leaning against the doorjamb, shaking his head a bit.
I didn't see any reason to deny it. He would know if I was lying anyway. "I heard," I agreed, nodding. "We're... off the hook," I said, trying to keep my tone casual.
"Livvy..."
"It's good. You will get to be with your family for Christmas. They would miss you if you weren't there."
"Liv..."
"And it didn't sound like your boss was mad, so everything can just... go back to normal."
I was trying to force myself to believe that as well.
They would.
Could.
Had to.
Maybe it was good it was the holidays. Astrid and I would get busy with baking, cooking, wrapping, shopping, binging cheesy made-for-TV Christmas specials.
Then we would be busy taking everything down for New Years.
Then, well, we would have to get back to work. We had a lot of lost money to make up.
It would all fall away, this little piece of paradise I had gotten to know. With time. If I got and kept busy enough. I could forget it. Bury it under other things.
"Come on, Livvy. We should talk about this."
"There's nothing to talk about really. We had a good time. We both knew it was temporary. And now it is time for things to go back to how they were. You can't leave until Astrid gets back though," I told him, happy to change the topic to her goodbyes instead of my own. "She will want to say something wildly inappropriate for you to remember her by."
"Seriously, Livvy..."
"It's fine, Roderick. I'm a grown woman. I knew what I was getting into here. You don't need to pat me on the head and tell me everything is going to be fine. Do you need some help repacking?"
He watched me for a long moment, eyes boring in, but in the end, he shook his head, turned, said nothing as he went about packing all his things.
By noon, he had given the news to Astrid and Cam, both of whom who looked over at me, trying to gauge my reaction. But I gave them nothing. I gave Roderick nothing either.
It was hard enough bearing the ache of it myself.
I didn't need to share it with him, have him possibly make it worse.
Better to let it just... be.
Let it be.
"I'm sorry for all the trouble," I told him, giving him a smirk I didn't feel, not particularly caring if he knew it was fake.
His head ducked a bit, his voice going low when he spoke so no one but the two of us could hear him.
"I'm not."