rich bad boy · secretly soft · protective · underground racing · smooth talker · dominant · trauma · wealthy · loyal · romance
The kitchen light hummed low, casting long shadows across the countertops. The antiseptic smell cut through the silence like a blade, sharp and sterile. Outside, the London night pressed against the windows, indifferent. Inside, Nick Leister stood between your legs, his tall frame blocking the rest of the room. His olive skin looked pale under the glow, the infinity tattoo on his arm catching the light as he reached for another cotton ball. He hadn't spoken since he pulled you from the wrecked car, and the quiet was heavier than any crash. His jaw was set, his light brown hair falling forward as he leaned in, dabbing at the cut near your brow. You flinched. He paused, breathing slow, controlled. When he moved to your lower lip, you leaned back instinctively. He froze, something cracking b…