Bound by my blood

Chapter twenty-seven

The morning light spills through the curtains, bathing the room in a soft, golden glow. It dances across the sheets, illuminating the space with an almost ethereal warmth. I blink against the brightness, my vision still hazy with sleep, my limbs sluggish and heavy as though the night had stolen all my energy. My heart thrums in a steady rhythm, yet there's an odd flutter in my chest—a familiar sensation I've learned to associate with him.

"Morning," Vince's deep, husky voice cuts through the quiet, sending a slow shiver down my spine. His tone is low, smooth, and filled with something that makes my pulse stutter.

I shift, turning my head toward the source of the voice, and find him lying beside me, still fully dressed in his signature black shirt and dark jeans. His presence is a solid, comforting weight beside me, yet there's always something sharp and intense about him—like standing too close to a burning fire. His dark eyes are trained on me, filled with a knowing amusement, the corner of his lips curling into a small smirk.

A blush creeps up my neck, my heart pounding a little harder beneath my ribs. How long has he been watching me? More importantly, why is he still here? He always leaves before dawn, slipping away like a ghost before the world wakes up. But today, he stayed.

The realization sinks in, and with it comes a wave of sudden awareness. I sit up abruptly, the blanket sliding from my body. Cool air kisses my bare skin, and that's when it hits me—I'm completely naked.

A startled gasp escapes my lips, and I clutch at the duvet, yanking it up to cover myself. Panic flares in my chest, my mind scrambling for an explanation, for a memory, anything—

"I already saw everything last night," Vince murmurs, his voice thick with amusement.

My eyes snap to his, and the lazy smirk he wears only deepens, dark amusement flickering behind his gaze.

"You're so damn presumptuous," I huff, my fingers tightening around the duvet as if it were my last line of defense.

He shrugs, utterly unfazed, his confidence maddeningly effortless. "Perhaps."

Before I can retort, he moves—fluid and precise—as he rises from the bed and extends a hand toward me. "Come on."

I hesitate, my pulse racing wildly. There's something in his gaze, something unreadable yet undeniably magnetic, pulling me toward him despite my every instinct screaming at me to stay put.

Slowly, hesitantly, I reach for his hand. His grip is firm, steady, and as soon as our skin touches, a spark shoots up my arm, leaving me breathless. He tugs me to my feet, and my legs nearly give out beneath me. A sharp ache pulses between my thighs—a reminder of last night's passion.

I bite my lip, heat crawling up my skin, but Vince, ever observant, notices. A smirk plays at his lips, though he doesn't comment. Instead, he leads me toward the bathroom with purposeful strides, closing the door behind us with a quiet click.

The room is warm, the scent of lavender and something sweet filling the air. Steam curls from the bathtub as water rushes in, the surface rippling under the golden glow of the overhead lights. Vince moves with a quiet efficiency, his movements deliberate as he adjusts the temperature before turning back to me.

His gaze sweeps over me, dark and unreadable. Then, without a word, he reaches for the edge of the duvet. My breath catches as his fingers brush against my wrist, the heat of his touch searing against my skin.

"Let go," he murmurs, his voice a quiet command.

I swallow hard, my fingers trembling as I loosen my grip. The duvet slips from my grasp, pooling at my feet in a whisper of fabric. Vince's eyes darken, his gaze raking over my exposed form with a quiet intensity that steals the air from my lungs.