AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“I said sit!” I scowl and point to the chair.
Elio raises a sardonic brow.
“I’m not used to being told what to do, you know.”
“Well, you’re the one who seems so hellbent on getting yourself a wife, so you’d better get used to it!” I snap before I can stop myself. My cheeks go hot when I realize what I just said, that I’ve referred to myself as his wife, that I’ve acknowledged this future he’s carving out for us, the future I should run from.
Liquid heat churns in Elio’s gaze. He doesn’t say anything else, but he does actually listen to me and sit down, which I guess is a good thing.
“Stay there,” I say. I hurry into my bathroom and grab the first aid kit that Elio once used on me. I wash my hands, then bring it out to him.
I half-expect him to have disappeared when I get back out there, but there he is, looking way too big for the chair. He’s bent over my desk, peering at my laptop, as if he’s the one who has to do the class reading instead of me. My eyes track over his profile – the hard jaw, the masculine jut of his nose, everything made slightly boyish by the flopping waves of his unruly hair – and I falter, just a little.
Get your act together.
I give my head a shake, then go around in front of him, set the first aid kit down, then open it.
“You doing your homework?” Elio asks.
“Yeah. I was, anyway.”
His eyes glitter with satisfaction.
“Good girl.”
My insides jolt at his words. I ignore the feeling of ticklish heat building in my belly and star sorting through the first aid kit, taking out some antiseptic spray.
“I can do this myself,” Elio says, reaching for the bottle.
“No,” I say, barely stopping myself from swatting at his injured hand. He looks faintly amused by the way I’ve taken charge of this situation, but his expression darkens when I take his hand and gingerly put it palm-down on my desk.
His other hand, the one still wearing the glove, tightens into a fist against his thigh.
“Take that one off too,” I tell him. “We might as well do them both at the same time.”
“I’ll do it myself,” he says again, and his voice is steely.
I sigh and plant my hands on my hips.
“What’s the big deal? You’ve taken your gloves off in front of me before.”
He shifts in the seat.
“That was different.”
“Why?” I ask. “Because you were fucking me?”
“Pretty much.”
The only other, non-sexual time Elio has taken them off was when he was treating the wound on my foot and he had to wash his hands. He’s never once taken them off in my presence for himself. Only when it had to do with me. When he wanted to stop my bleeding.
Or he wanted to touch me, skin to skin.
I understand his hands have become a kind of complex for him. I can’t blame him after the trauma he’s been through. Valentina looked so shocked, aghast when I told her he’d taken the gloves off in front of me at all. He does not do that, she’d said.
He’s worn them since he was a teenager. Never letting anyone see beyond that smooth and perfect black.
He doesn’t want to let me see him now. This is different than him running his bare hands over my body in the darkness. This is sitting still beneath my probing gaze, scars bared in the bright light of day.
