He looks up at me with dark eyes. “I could kill him for that.” His words are rough, and I feel them inside my chest.
“Please don’t. I don’t want you to go to jail.”
His lips tug up before he wets another piece of paper towel from the antiseptic. “Lean back. I’ll be gentle.”
I brace myself on my elbows. He bends down, cradling my back with one hand, his hot breath ghosting over my stomach. My skin wants to tremble.
I hiss a breath as he swipes the cloth over my side.
“I know,” he murmurs. “Just a little more.”
The sting makes me want to whimper, but I bite my lip. He glances up, then grins. “You want to scream into my neck?”
I nod, and he cups the back of my head and presses my face to his neck. The breath shudders out of me as he passes the cloth more firmly to the scrapes. I gasp into his shoulder.His skin is hot and smooth, right here at the crease, where the ridge of his muscle meets his pulse. It’s a really nice neck.
“I should bite you instead.”
He chuckles, smoothing his hand over my bare back, drawing shivers up my spine. “Bite me, then. I like a little pain.”
There’s a twisting in my stomach, then another sting from the cloth. I sink my teeth into his neck, my tongue tasting salty skin. For two heartbeats, we’re connected, his body curved over mine, his hand against my stomach. He looses a heavy breath before we pull away.
“All done,” he says roughly. “Now let me do your wrist.”
He cleans the gash in my wrist and gets me a splint from the collection he keeps in the downstairs bathroom, then passes me the bottle of antiseptic.
“Your turn.”
He tips his head up, his lashes fluttering closed, his lips parting. I cup his jaw, sliding my palm over the hard angle where it meets his neck, down the solid ridge, scraping stubble, until I reach his mouth.
I’ve never touched his mouth.
“How’d you get this?” My thumb skims the valley below his bottom lip, where there’s a shallow cut.
“Scraped it against the bark.”
It feels like my pulse is beating in the pads of my fingers.
“Do it, Bailey.”
“Don’t bite me,” I warn.
His smile is crooked. It’s the one he gives in photos. It says,maybe I will bite you, but I promise you’ll like it.
I clean the cut as gently as I can, dabbing at it with the paper towel and antiseptic. His breath hisses out, his powerful chest shuddering, but he otherwise doesn’t react.When I press my fingers to his lips to keep his face still, it feels like I’ve inhaled drugs.
Bandaging Tristan Prince is the most intimate thing I’ve ever done.
My chest aches. It might be the most intimate thing I’ll do for a while. I didn’t think I was missing out on the range of human connection, but now it feels like there’s a big blank space inside me, one that I assume most people fill with the kind of casual intimacy Tristan excels at.
The dates will help with that.
I loose a shuddering breath and start putting pressure on the wound. He has fantastic lips. Firm, plush, mobile. Always laughing or teasing.
I wonder what they’d feel like against my own.
My stomach dips. I need to stop thinking like this. This is dangerous. This is why I need to meet someone.
“Bailey, I can hear you thinking.” His lips move under my fingers.
