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I squinted my eyes open as soft sunlight beamed in through the blinds, I shifted, stretching my body when suddenly my arm touched something. Something warm and hard. I pulled my arm back immediately and glanced to my side.
A smile crept over my face when I saw Nikolai sleeping beside me in my bed. I had no idea when he got home last night or when he crawled under the sheets with me but I liked it. I liked having him in my bed.
Was he trying to show me that he does sleep because yesterday I told him that I never saw him sleeping?
God, this man...
I turned on my side, facing him. He was shirtless, laying on his stomach while the sheets covered the lower half of his body, his strong arms held the pillow. He was in deep sleep and looked so damn peaceful. For a second, he looked so boyish, so young, not like the cold man I'd grown used to.
His thick dark locks were roughly tousled and I had a sudden urge to run my fingers through them. I raised my hands and softly ran my fingers through his thick locks, combing them.
His eyes snapped open, he didn't blink, he didn't squint. He just opened his eyes and stared directly at me.
"Good morning..." I whispered, smiling at him, slowly massaging his scalp with the tips of my fingers.
A hint of a smile appeared on his face. "Morning..."
"Uh... I wasn't expecting this... when did you come home last night and when did you get into my bed?"
"Late..." was all he said.
I combed his hair back with my fingers, getting them off his forehead. "Nikolai..."
"Yes, baby girl?"
His morning voice was like an orgasm for my ears, rough, husky, deep, and ever-so-slightly supercilious. I could get used to waking up like this every single day for the rest of my life.
"How old are you?" I asked as I realized that I never asked him his age.
Again a half-smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "Twenty-seven."
I never would have guessed his age because sometimes he looked like he was thirty or something and sometimes he looked so boyish like he is in his early twenties but twenty-seven makes sense.
"How old were you when you became the head of your family?"
"Twenty-three"
I placed my palm under my head and propped up on my elbow, my other hand still in his hair. "So, it's been four years?"
"Yeah."
My hand trailed down his muscled, toned back as I traced his tattoos. The tattoos on his body seemed more like mementos. Each one was so detailed and distinguished. I stopped as I saw the tattoo of a grim reaper.
