Page 280 of The Professor's Wife

Pain moved across his face before he could hide it. Then he pushed himself away. I didn’t like when he slipped out of me. I felt empty and cold. He sat on the edge of the bed, dragging both hands through his dirty hair.

Just like that, the need vanished behind a wall. But it wasn’t completely gone. I could still feel it inside the room, heavy and strange, but he was trying to conceal it. To become the Tristan from before. The careless one. The smoking one.

He reached for another pair of jeans and pulled out a cigarette. His hands shook as he tried to light it. The lighter sparked once, then again. On the third try, the flame caught. I pushed myself upright and pulled my dress down over my thighs.

That was when I saw the blood on me. A dark smear marked the skin beneath my collarbone. Dirt streaked my stomach and the front of my dress. There was mud along one thigh where his hand had gripped me.

Jesus.

“Tristan.”

He took a drag, eyes on the floor.

“You’re bleeding.”

“It’s not bad.”

I looked at him properly. No longer dazed by desire.

There was dried mud on his jeans. His sleeve was torn. There was a cut across his cheek and a scrape near his mouth. I’d seen it in my lust. Yet I kissed him anyway. The skin on his palm was raw, and he looked…hurt.

“You look like hell.”

His robotic response was quick. “Been told I have a rugged charm.”

The joke fell flat between us. He knew it too.

The cigarette trembled between his fingers before he set it in the ashtray.

“You weren’t here,” I found myself saying again.

“I know.”

“I came yesterday morning. Then again in the afternoon.”

His eyes moved to me.

“I waited outside this room for hours. I checked the parking lot. I came back at dawn.”

“Daze—”

“I didn’t sleep.”

His jaw tightened.

I knew I sounded crazy, but I couldn’t stop.

“I thought you left,” I whispered.

“I’m sorry.”

The apology came out so quietly that I almost didn’t hear it.

Why was he apologizing? He didn’t need to, and yet I didn’t correct him. I felt strangely hurt. I continued looking at the streaks of dirt and blood along my dress.

“What happened to you?”

He stared at the cigarette burning between his fingers. For a moment, I thought he wouldn’t answer.