Page 27 of Obsessed Mr. O’Brian

The hairs on her nape rise. I long to dip my head down and brush my lips over her shoulder, but instead I wash my hands and step away. After finding the arnica ointment and disposable gloves from my kit, I open the tube and place it on the edge of the counter before dropping into a high squat behind her.

The only sign of direct abuse are the finger and handprints on her nape and shoulders.

I pull on the gloves and trace the mottled flesh surrounding her spine.

“How did this happen?” I ask.

She shrugs, grimaces, and clutches her shirt tighter to her front.

“Did he hit you?” I ask.

She trembles and nods.

“Where?” I ask.

She shifts her arm and reveals a fist-sized bruise on her ribs. I lean to the side and ignore the warmth emanating from her hip.

“Fucking hell, Millie,” I growl.

“And here,” she whispers with a gentle touch to her stomach.

After a few deep breaths, I manage to respond.

“Then how did your back get so bruised?” I growl.

“He slammed me against the wall a time or two,” she admits.

I swallow my curse of fury, lean back, and close my eyes for more steadying breaths before picking up the ointment.

“I’m going to be as gentle as I can, but let me know if it’s too much. I’ll never forgive myself if I hurt you,” I manage through a tight throat.

She grunts in response, and deciding to complete the task and give her relief as fast as possible, I shut my mouth and get to work. I stand and start at her neck and shoulders before continuing down her back. With every mottled bit of flesh etched in my mind, I lower myself onto my knees, cover her lower back in ointment, and turn her by her hips.

She glances down at me once before turning her face away and closing her eyes, but déjà vu spears through me at the angle. The feeling flees under the intensity of my fury. I long to see Millie’s gorgeous curves free of bruises. The soft roundness of her belly begs for me to explore every inch with teeth, tongue, and hands. She’s too beautiful.

My cock twitches as pain pulses in my balls. I squeeze more ointment onto my palm and carefully apply it to her abdomen, lamenting the barrier of the gloves.

Despite her pain, she never complains. When I don’t stop at just the red blotch on her stomach, she stiffens and glances down through her lashes at me. After stroking her tantalizing belly for much longer than is appropriate, I press her right arm higher across her breasts and lift her left elbow away from her bruised ribs. She gives a sharp inhale but doesn’t fight my hands.

“Hold there, my little angel,” I instruct.

Despite the initial flash of delight in her eyes, unhappiness takes its place, but I’m barely holding myself back, so I apply a generous layer of ointment on her ribs before carefully poking around the bruise. Although she winces, she doesn’t gasp or show signs of sharp agony, so I breathe a sigh of relief and tell her they’re most likely not injured beyond the bruises. She nods as though she’s experienced worse pain than this—which only hardens my resolve to find and destroy the fucker who hurt her—and already knew they weren’t cracked or broken.

Once I finish, I direct her to dress and lie face down on the bed on the side nearest Lola. When she doesn’t argue, I trek to the nearest ice machine and fill several plastic bags and haul them back into the room.

Lola lifts her head, rolls over, and settles back to sleep.

Millie lies on the bed on her stomach as close to Lola as possible. Afraid her shirt is too thin to protect Millie’s skin, I drape a towel over her back and place the ice packs over as much of her injuries as possible.

I squat beside the bed and meet her eyes.

“I’m going to the gym for a few minutes. I’ll take off the ice when I come back.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll move to the couch in a few minutes,” she whispers back.

I brush a tendril of hair that escaped from her braid out of her face.

“If you move to the couch, I will carry you back and share the bed with you. Understand, angel?”