Obsidian Vow
Every few seconds my eyes drag back anyway.
Leon drives one-handed, the other resting loosely against the center console, tattooed fingers flexing occasionally like violence still lives beneath his skin and hasn’t fully settled. The city lights sliding through the windshield paint shadows across the hard lines of his face, catching briefly against the black ink spread across his throat.
The moth looks darker at night. Its wings disappear beneath the collar of his shirt, and every time he swallows, the ink shifts with the movement.
I hate that I keep staring at his mouth, I hate that my body still remembers him dragging me into the SUV, the strength in his arms, the rough sound of his voice a
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