𝐊𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫 | 𝟏𝟖+

| 𝟎.𝟕

_

"A villain will always be the villain if the hero tells the story."

_

Her face haunted me for the next several weeks.

I woke up some nights in a cold sweat from nightmares. It would be the same dream every time; she yells at me, asking me why I didn't save her, why I didn't help her escape. I didn't throw away the paper either. It sat tucked away in my bedside drawer. I contemplated taking it out, but it wouldn't serve any purpose besides making me feel more guilty. Abuela was worried about me and said I haven't been acting the same. Creed has come over a few times to help her or have meals, but I don't talk to him.

As I sat in my bay window, the man of the hour was rippled, sweating, and lying under his motorcycle, his legs covered in jeans. I gnawed at my lip, and a pounding in my stomach made me squirm. I felt a rush when I noticed the new tattoos; three medium-sized stars on each side of his deep V-line, leading into his pants.

"Fuck."

Excuse my language, lord.

God certainly took his time with this one. With every crank of a bolt and swipe of his forehead, his abs clenched and hips lifted slightly off the ground. His presence intrigues me.

I sigh and make my way downstairs and out the back door. He hasn't moved since I left the room, and I observed him from the back porch as he worked on his pride and joy. Creed grunts in effort, followed by a tired sigh, and I clench my crossed arms tighter.

"Don't you own a shirt?" I say.

Creed sits up, his back muscles flexing with strain. He didn't get up and only tilted his head back in a sleazy manner as he leered at me, the corner of his lip curled. "Stalking me?"

I shake my head. "You wish I was. I happen to see you got a new tattoo."

He gets up, cleans off his oiled hands, and walks up the porch. I turn and look at the stars again. They were a mixture of black and red. "Nautical?" I point out.

Creed's eyebrows shot up in interest, and he leaned his back against the porch railing, forearms tucked in. "You know tattoo styles?"

"A couple. I had a friend back home who was also a tattoo junkie," I explain and continue to admire the rest of his body art.

His green eyes sparkle with playfulness. "So I'm a junkie now?"

I roll my eyes. "You know that's not what I meant."

"You can touch them, you know?" He says after a beat of silence.

I furrow my brows. "You said no touching."

"I'll make an exception as long as you keep it between us," Creed mumbles, biting his inner cheek.

Eyeing him, I gently glide my fingers over the lemon tree plant on his left shoulder. "They're stunning. Where do you get them done?"

As I glide my fingers along his skin, goosebumps rise. "Me and my friends own an underground shop in town. So we give each other tattoos or do our own on occasion. That one's Ozzie's work. He's a master at realism."

I hum and trail lower to an abdomen piece, a butterfly dagger. "Do they all have meanings?"

"Some, but not most. I just get them just to get them because they're cool."

I trail my fingers lower and finally meet the still slightly red stars along his sunken muscle.

"How are you feeling?"

I pause my movement and look into his deep green eyes. "I'm okay. I just wished I figured it out sooner; if I had, then maybe she'd still be alive, you know?"

He grabs my hand suddenly and flattens it against his abs; I feel the divots of his skin. I blink at the serious expression that took over his face. "No need to look all serious, Creed."

"It's not your fault, and stop telling yourself it is. Did you kill her? No. Her boyfriend did," he lectures me thoroughly, and his gravelly tone narrowly made me lose focus. He leans down and, to my surprise, knocks his forehead to mine. "So stop worrying your pretty little head about it."

I nod, breathing in his musky, earthy scent. "Thank you for your reassurance." I then jump back when I notice my fingers had fallen on his belt buckled. "Sorry," I say hastily with a blush.

He laughs wholeheartedly and gives me a gorgeous broad smile. "It's fine; I don't mind your touch."

I pull a ringlet behind my ear at his shifty gaze. He was bipolar or something; one minute, he's rays of sunshine and giggles, and the next, he's being a lecturing brute.

He gains my attention when he stands straight again. "You doing anything later tonight?"

I think for a moment; abuela has her book club again tonight and said she was going to a mixer after that, so I would be home alone. "Nothing in particular. What's up?"

"We're hosting a small party at the shop, and if you're up for it, we can go together," he explains.

I bounce on the balls of my feet and give him a soft smile. "I have been craving to get a particular piercing. I'll be there."

I walk to the back door and stop when he asks, "what piercing?"

Feeling bold, I smirk and wink at him. "You'll see."

******

I didn't have the fanciest wardrobe, but I managed to find a lovely baby pink two-piece dress. The top is cropped with a zipper that nicely held my breast together. The space between the top and the skirt showed off my already pierced belly button that laid on my pudging stomach. I didn't have any heels for the life of me, so I settled for semi-decent white shoes.

I left my hair in its bundle of erratic curls, and just then, I heard the engine of Creed's motorcycle. I text grandma that I'll be out if she returns and go outside.

He wore a black polo shirt that stuck to his body like a second skin, jeans, and timberlands. His intricate arm tattoos are on full display. He had yet to see me, and I cleared my throat, saying, "you wore a shirt this time."

His gaze shot up and laser-focused on me as I walk down the steps. I pretend not to notice the intense feeling of his stare shimmying down my figure. My nonexistent thigh gap seemed to sweat in nervousness, and I pray I don't get chaffing from the amount of shaving I did.

"Would you believe me if I told you—you really are exquisite," Creed breathes out, still eyeing me over, but not before taking a pit stop at my exposed legs.

"Thank you. You look great as well." I say with a bashful laugh.

He grabs my hand in his large warm one and guides me to the motorcycle. I yelp when his hands suddenly seize the back of my thighs and lift me, placing me on top of it. I look at him, stunned, and gulp when he puts himself in front of me before forcefully pulling me across the seat by my knees, pressing me against his back. I bit my lip when the tiny groves of the seat kneaded my thighs and pulled on my thong, which tightened against my clit.

"You ready to ride?"

God help me.

I stifle a moan at the sensation of my tightened panties, and I settled for nuzzling my knees into Creed's hips. "Yeah, and thanks. I probably would've broken my neck getting on," I say into his back, taking advantage of our proximity to take in his cologne.

I feel his abs flex under his shirt where my hands lay. "Anytime."