Dangerous Minds | john wick

Chapter Twenty-Three: Madame?

The soft velvet quilt scrunches as I fiddle with it, attempting to ignore the current emotions running through me.

Last night was everything I had imagined and more, and we haven't even had sex yet. But it feels like the wrong time to be doing all of this. Both John and I's lives are in danger. I feel as though I should have spent that time planning and figuring things out, rather than... indulging.

Yet saying that, I know for a fact I wouldn't have wanted my first experience to be with anyone else other then John. I sound like the cheesiest human alive but he was so caring and gentle. I even tried to return the favour but he had stopped me, saying that all he wanted was to make me feel loved.

I had almost drowned of embarrassment when I realised I hadn't shaved but he told me not to stress and that it was apart of being human. I'm not going to lie, I almost cried. I may not have much experience but I do know most men wouldn't react like that.

Every time I've thought about him this morning, my heart does a little flutter. It's something I've never felt before. But definitely not something I want to ever lose.

The sound of the shower turning off tears me from my little daydream.

Swiftly, the ensuite door slides open revealing a soaking wet John. My breathing quite literally stops as my eyes land on his bare chest and the low hanging white towel wrapped around his hips.

"You're awake."

I give him a nervous smile. "That I am".

I watch entranced as he pushes his wet hair out of his face before looking back at me.

"I didn't think you'd wake up before lunch".

Confused, I push myself up and lean over, squinting at the alarm on the bed side table. The green analog numbers read 11:00AM.

I cover my face embarrassed. "You could have woken me up".

"That is an impossible task, even for me." I raise an eyebrow at his comment. "What? It's not my fault you're insanely cute when you dream".

Feeling even more red than before I chuck a decorative pillow at him, attempting to hide my awkwardness.

Although subtle, it's clear that something is different between him and I. Although I'm still my awkward and tomato self, I feel more comfortable. And I think he does too.

He openly laughs at my inability to throw while walking over to the large wardrobe.

As he opens the door, his bare back faces my way causing me to pause. Instead of bare skin - like I was expecting - his upper back is inked with four tattoos. Three words sit at the top looking over quite a large image of praying hands. Followed by two smaller, indistinguishable images on each shoulder blade.

I knew about the one on the front of his right hand shoulder. I had seen it the first night I went to his house, when he was shot. But these have an entirely different feel.

"What do they mean?". My eyes widen as I realise I said the question aloud rather in my head.

I know it's not mannered to ask someone what they're tattoos mean. A lot of the time it's private. Especially for someone who's had a life like himself. But it's too late to take it back now, since he's already turning around.

"What?".

"The tattoos on your back, what do they mean? If you don't mind me asking".

I look on curiously as he reaches a hand over his shoulder, touching the permanent markings.