It was the brightness of the day that made it tough to deal with. Perhaps the hangover was the culprit that morning but Blackhawk opened his eyes at the echo of a wail.
The bed felt cold. He shifted his eyes to his left. Empty. He could have sworn a woman rested on his chest the entire night. Had he gone overboard with the beer? Well, that's not the case. He's a man of a few drinks. He loved her curves of softness. Her moans and cries.
Though the room was quiet, he heard a loud wail pierce through the walls. What the actual fuck? The last thing he needed was for the sound of a kid. It was useless, going back to bed. It boomed like the howling of a furious cat, only growing sharper and rowdier. He wrapped himself in the duvet and hid his head under the pillow. Maybe last night was a bad idea? The man was hallucinating and soon he'd be seeing colors.
He growled like a storm as he threw one leg out of the duvet before bringing out the other. Waddling into the bathroom, he splashed cold water over his face and reached for his mint-flavored mouthwash. He noticed a few wrinkles and frown lines on his forehead in the glass enclosed by a frame of threadlike strands of silver. His beard–peppered with grey strands along with his messy hair and dark rims forming under his eyes for his endles caffeine routine.
'Baby killers.' She called them. Kate teased him about his constant rush of coffee and the endless supply of lit buds covering the parched cement. He was a man of his own. He was birthed to his rights, and no woman would ever deprive them from him. He ran through his midnight hair and broke the habit of a lifetime and continued staring in the mirror longer than needed. That was until the awful wail shattered his mirror.
He padded into his room, only to reveal that his raging hormones were, in fact, not clouding his judgement. He gazed upon her flawless, naked form. Her hair–disheveled black, eyes dark, figure a perfect hourglass. She was right there, only a foot away, but in her understated glamour, she might as well be on the television. She must've been the woman he'd just fucked his night away. The woman who consumed his desires. Yet, who was she?
And then, she screamed. She screamed like her guts were being ripped out with a blunt instrument. Her hand flew to her mouth while she straddled the baby in her arms. He cried. Oh, for fuck's sake! Blackhawk didn't know what to do, except he did the only thing that came to mind. With one gigantic step, he was in front of her. Bulging hands covered her mouth to protect the ossicles of his ears. His fingertips were electric against her skin. Blue eyes wide with fear and drops of tears cascaded down her pale skin. If it weren't for the baby in her arms, he would've dragged her to bed for round two. He dropped his hand, not before installing trust into her eyes and stepped back.
His arms crossed his chest. "Who are you?"
Her eyes followed his movements for a second before landing on his eyes. "Who am I? Who the hell are you?"
"You're in my apartment."
"Yours!" She couldn't believe her ears.
"Look around baby, does it scream diapers and diaries?"
She bounced the baby on her hip. "I signed the lease."
He smirked. "So you pay for my home and my satisfaction?"
"You came on me."
He moved toward the bed, taking a seat. "I came inside you."
Her face conveyed that of suppressed rage. White knuckles from clenching her fist too hard, and gritted teeth from an effort to remain silent, her hunched form exuded an animosity was like acid–burning, slicing, potent. Her eyes narrowed as the man continued taunting her. He was tall and handsome, but a pretty face would not get him out of this.
"What did you say?"
"You heard me, baby," he said.
He was working her last nerve. Biting onto the inside of her cheek, she felt it swell from pressure and throbbing inside her mouth. If it weren't for her baby, she would've strangled the man and drowned him in her eternal cussing.
He saw the anger register on her face before she could hide it. A small smile played on his lips. His voice was like nothing she'd ever heard before. It sounded like a drum, but deeper, like a tuba, but deeper. It was smooth, like butter, but it could be as stony as a rocky road ice cream. His tone was as deep as the sun at midnight. However, his ego had her crawling away.
"I want you out."
He lifts from the bed and cornered her to the wall. "I want another," he said. "You don't see me begging."
His voice was like the magma chamber of a volcano, deep, but filled entirely with the molten rock. It could be powerful enough to make your bones feel like they were vibrating. She sucked in a sharp breath as his shirtless torso pressed close to her. His eyes, smoky dark-greens, the exotic black flecks within holding the light. Lifting his hand, he placed it on her hip. He slid his finger under her loosening robe, tenderly stroking the soft skin.
Oh, so softly, he whispered. "Why are you in my house?"
"It's mine," she said. "We’ll take this to the manager. Afterward to the police."
He needed a drink.
• • •
Fear was a shackle. Fear was a knife in the gut slowly twisted. Fear was a constant hammer on the head. Fear also evaporated like water under an early summer sun. When fear came to walk with confidence, it became an illusion. That being the hurricane, she passed him a glare with her stormy eyes. She was an illusion.
"Ma'am, it was a m–"
She folded her arms and cradled the crying baby in the gap between her arm and chest. "Mix-up? Yeah, I got that."
The young man trembled behind the counter under her deadly gaze. "My apologies, sir."
Blackhawk rested his hand on the lad's shoulder, giving it a good ole pat. "Don't sweat it, boy."
"Are you kidding me?"
"What?" he asked.
"How do you wake up in the wrong bed and say, 'Don't sweat it?"
He leaned on his elbow and quirked a hip. "You weren't complaining when I ate you out."
He noticed the way her eyes darkened. The remembrance of their night of pleasure and the hot patches that he'd left before falling asleep. Heck, it wore her out! Never had she been taken hard and rough. He was like a machine, kept moving with a broken button. He rode her until all energy was sucked out and rejuvenated overnight.
"I want another room."
He gulped. "Sorry Ma'am, we're booked."
She turned to the manager, marching at one step. Her palm gripped around his white-collar. "I can sue you for this if you don't get me one now. I'll beat you black and blue to match these carpets."
His hands were tightly closed around the cold surface. Pupils dilated and mouth gaped. "There's really noth–"
With one move, she clenched her fist. Before it met his jaw, Blackhawk caught the woman's arm and pulled her back. Her head snapped towards him with deadly eyes. He stepped away, hands up in defense and a suppressed grin.
She looked down at the life in her arms. He needed more than a thin wooden box to shield him from the cold world. "What am to do now?" She voices her thoughts aloud.
Witnessing her fear, Blackhawk placed a hand on her shoulder. He was a drug. One-touch and his intoxications were instant. His arms then wrap around her back and in one gentle pull their skin touched. He was dangerous. She couldn't help but want to tame him. Their bodies fit together as if they made it for each other.
He walked on thin ice. "Stay with me."
He nodded down at the yawning baby. "Quit being stubborn and do it for the sake of him."
"He has no say in this."
"Do you really want to live on the street? To beg for shelter from mommy and daddy?"
"They're in California."
"Exactly, live with me."
Expanding her lungs, she sucked in a mass of oxygen, "I don't know you."
He challenged her with a good brow. "I don't let any woman rot."
She sighed. "What's the exchange?"
Blackhawk smirked. "Keep my bed warm."