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“And you’re awake,” he grunted. Something sounded different in his voice. More gravelly than yesterday as if it took too much energy to speak. “How was your day?” he called over his shoulder on his way to the bathroom. I could hear him rustling through the cabinets, looking for something. Had Liam told him they were missing a screwdriver?
I scooted my butt closer to the edge of the mattress—directly over where I had hidden the screwdriver—so I could watch Ansel through the cracked doorway. He was still gripping his stomach, wincing every so often, as he rummaged through the drawers.
I resisted the urge to laugh at his question. Best fucking day of my life, I wanted to say. “A little boring,” I finally said. I was too cranky to give him a nice bullshit answer tonight.
He returned from the bathroom, bringing a white tin kit and a towel with him. He gave a wry smile, probably seeing through my charade, but it quickly fell into a grimace. He leaned against the side of the dresser as if the effort it took to walk from the bathroom to the bedroom was too exhausting.
“What’s wrong with you?” I asked. Just then, he removed his hand from his stomach; the inside of his palm caked with dry blood. There was an angry red stain on his white shirt where he had been covering. “Oh goddess,” I gasped. “You’re bleeding! What happened? Do you want me to grab Liam?”
The forest-green skin on his face was ashen from the loss of blood but he looked determined when he shook his head. “It’s just a scratch,” he said with a slight wince. Even speaking seemed like too much effort right now. He stumbled to the bed and sat down, too weak to stand any longer. “I snuck up on someone who wasn’t happy to see me. A little lower and I would have lost my favorite part,” he added.
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. This orc was bleeding out of his stomach, and yet could still crack a joke? I couldn’t help but be a little impressed.
“Come here,” he grunted. “I need your help with this.”
“I don’t know what to do. You need to go to a hospital,” I said. He yanked his shirt up to his shoulders and I leaned forward to examine the wound closer while still keeping a safe distance between us. It wasn’t gushing blood, just a light trickle, but it looked deep.
When I straightened, he pressed the corner of a towel against it again. “A hospital?” he said, incredulous. “I don’t need a hospital. It’s deep and hurts like a bitch, but nothing my body can’t handle. Orcs heal fast. I just need help dressing it. Can you open that kit for me, lass—” he stopped himself, quickly correcting himself, “Skye.”
“I didn’t know orcs heal faster than other species,” I said, opening the kit next to him. There was gauze, cotton balls, tape, and cleaning solution. I hovered near him, wringing my wrists, and waiting for instruction. I fixed broken computers, not bloody orcs—I had no idea what to do.
“Aye,” he said softly. “That’s why my people are known fighters. We were in a lot of wars back in the day—never started them, but always ended them. It’s hard to kill an orc.” He sighed, looking thoughtful. “But society now has invented other ways to keep us down, without violence.”
“You done with your history lesson? Should I start taking care of the gaping hole in your stomach now?”
He raised his eyebrows, his gray eyes glinting with mischief. “Alright,” he said in a playful tone. “You’ll have to come closer, though. I don’t bite . . . hard.”
Oh my goddess, were we flirting with each other? I took a step closer, so our knees were almost touching. He spread his legs wide and if he wanted to, he could reach me out with his free hand and pull me against his chest. My cunt fluttered softly, involuntarily tightening at the thought.
He’s bleeding out and you’re turned on?!I wanted to scream at myself.
“Put on the gloves, Skye,” Ansel ordered softly, grabbing my attention before I could finish mentally reprimanding my vagina. She did deserve it, though. She was the reason I was stuck here in the first place.
“Huh?” I blinked. Looking down in the kit, I found a pair of blue latex gloves. The kind they used on my favorite medical drama. I pulled them on, surprised to find they were three sizes too big. My hands were drowning in them, reminding me of how I looked in his shirt. Everything about him was just too big. Too big for me, at least. Without meaning to, my gaze began to lower down the hard muscles of his stomach to his dick.
Focus, Skye.I was able to stop myself before my eyes sunk any lower, and I was caught checking out his crotch. The back of my neck warmed as I inched a little closer, so I was standing over his knee, my gloved hands held in the air like I was a surgeon prepped and ready for my first patient.
He smirked at the image of me—I could only imagine how ridiculous I looked—and leaned back, removing the bloodied towel. “Be gentle,” he said, somehow managing to sound bossy even while in a great deal of pain. I soaked the cotton balls with the cleaning solution and began carefully dabbing at the wound.
He hissed when I first touched his skin with the cotton ball. “Sorry,” I said softly, looking up at him through dark lashes at his furrowed brow and closed eyes. He nodded his head, indicating for me to continue. When I looked down at his abdomen again, I noticed his stomach and chest were covered with old scars—poorly stitched wounds with uneven lines.Looks like he has a new one to add to the collection.
I set another bloodied cotton ball down, trading it for a new one. I examined his body out of the corner of my eyes as I worked, realizing these scars covered his entire chest. It made his body more beautiful, somehow. His body wasn’t as physically perfect as I had thought, and that only made him more attractive.
I could feel the heat of his gaze on my face, studying me with equal interest. “What next?” I asked after I had run out of cotton balls. The wound had stopped bleeding, luckily. I kept my eyes down as I spoke, refusing to meet his gaze. He wordlessly handed me the roll of gauze.
I took the roll quietly; my cunt throbbing between my legs. All Ansel had to do was give me alook,and I was turned on. It took every ounce of willpower not to squirm or fidget on his knee. The heat coming off his body was intoxicating, making me crazy like I was a desperate animal in heat.
What is wrong with you? He’s holding you prisoner and you still want to fuck him?
Stupid hormones. Or maybe it was Stockholm syndrome setting in early? Either way, I had to be extra careful around him. My hormones overpowered the logical part of my brain whenever I stood in close to him.
Ansel must have been feeling the same desire because I could see the outline of his hard cock against the inseam of his jeans.
“So, you get in fights a lot?” I asked in a strained voice as I cut off a piece of gauze. He held the piece in place as I looped the roll around his waist to secure it. My arms barely reached, and I had to press my face against his chest, hugging my body to his, as I reached for it on the other side. “I guess that happens when you kidnap women and murder their dates,” I added under my breath. I secured the gauze by taping it against his skin. I took a big step backwards when I finished; my cheeks still flushed.
“Thank you,” he said. “And you’re the first one I’ve kidnapped.”
“Then who did this?” I motioned to the freshly dressed wound. “Another sex trafficker?”
