Staying With Her

Chapter FOUR

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.