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Sumner catches my wrists.

His hands are warm and rough around mine. “I’ve got it.”

I glance at the angry, raw mark climbing the side of his neck before looking right back into his eyes. “I know you do.”

His fingers loosen slightly.

“But you don’t have to.”

His head falls forward and his hands fall away. He blows out a long breath and then eventually moves out of my way so I can work.

I use the bed to maneuver myself to my feet, which was easier than I expected, before I strip his shirt off, moving as slowly and gently as humanly possible.

He drops his chin to help, but the fabric barely clears his shoulders before I see what’s underneath.

“Holy shit.”

Angry red welts cut across the tops of both shoulders and angle down over his chest exactly where the harness must have dug in. Dark purple is already blooming beneath one collarbone, and a massive, ugly bruise spreads along his left side, painting his ribs.

I want to kiss them all better.

I just don't want to hurt him any more than he already hurts.

Sumner catches my wrist again when I go to touch him, but this time he guides my hand down, pressing my palm flat against an unbruised spot low on his stomach.

“I’m okay.”

Oh, come on. I refuse to cry anymore. Seriously, my tear ducts need to clock the fuck out.

Sumner notices anyway, because of course he does. His free hand lifts toward my face.

I duck out of his way before he can reach me. “Nope.”

His eyebrows lift. “I can’t touch you now?”

“You can always touch me,” I tell him, my voice a little thicker than I’d like. “But take the night off from taking care of me, okay? I’ve got you.”

He looks at me for a long second. I can see him thinking about arguing.

But then something in him just gives.

His shoulders drop on a heavy, tired exhale.

“Okay.”

That one quiet, surrendered word kills me more than the bruises.

I get him into the bathroom and reach in to turn on the shower, letting the water heat up while he works on the button of his jeans.

He winces as he tries to push them down his hips, so I swat his hands away.

“Stop. I've got it.”

“You know,” he says, his voice rough while I carefully help him step out of his jeans and boxers, “this would be hotter under different circumstances.”

I roll my eyes. He gives me the most exhausted version of his usual smirk.

“There he is. Good to know Ruth didn’t knock the perv out of you.”