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“Give me a needle and thread,” he orders.
Only Gabriel will keep sterile needles and surgical thread in his medicine kit. I locate the items and hold them out to him. He takes a vanity mirror from the shelf and balances it on the counter. I watch as he pulls the thread through the eye of the needle, but when he angles himself toward the mirror and pushes the needle through the skin at the top of the cut, I take over. He lets me, studying me as I work to sew him back together. I’m no nurse. I’m not even a vet, but I’ve watched Kris stitch up cuts plenty of times. He winces, but he doesn’t say a word until the cut is closed and dressed.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
I dispose of the used materials and scrub the basin and my hands with disinfectant. When I’m done, I give him a painkiller and anti-inflammatory with a glass of water. He drinks the pills without protest. Fine lines of fatigue mark his eyes and the corners of his mouth. His permanent frown lines run deeper than usual. Taking his hand, I lead him to my bathroom.
“What are you doing?” he asks.
“Getting the blood off you. You should be worried about catching AIDS.”
He grins. “Next time, I’ll wear surgical gloves.”
I snort. He lets me undress him while the water runs warm. I have to undress as well so my clothes don’t get wet, but the shower in my bath is too small for both of us to stand comfortably. When I’m with him in the shower, he has to drape me over his body or hold me in his arms. I angle the water away from his wound, and wash the rest of his body, trying to be gentle on his abdomen where he’s bruised. When he’s clean, I wrap a towel around his waist and take another to pat him dry. I have to stand on the toilet to reach his hair. Judging by the teeth he flashes me, he finds my care amusing, but he doesn’t interfere or take over. I dry his back, chest, and arms, and then I go down on my knees to rub the towel up his legs. There are so many muscles on these legs. They knit together in rigid lines, defining the man’s hard exterior with an accurate mirror image of what lies inside his soul.
As I’m pushing to my feet, he prevents me with his hands on my shoulders. I look up. He’s devouring me with his eyes, his cock tenting the towel at my eye level.
“Valentina.”
There’s a plea in the way he says my name. I can’t help but want to please him. My reply to his unspoken question is to tug on the towel and let it fall to the floor. I take him in my mouth, and like always, he lets me do whatever I want. I suck him as deep as I can take, eating him hungrily. He groans and dips his knees, giving himself over to me. I take his pleasure like I own it, like it’s his duty to give it up to me. He’s breathing hard when I’m done, but so am I. He hooks his hands under my arms to help me to my feet, pressing our lips together, and dipping his tongue into my mouth like he always does when I’ve swallowed his seed. He growls deep from his chest as he sucks on my tongue. The primal sound makes liquid heat gather between my thighs. I’m impossibly slick, my body preparing itself for his invasion, an invasion that’s yet to come.
After drying the water that splashed on me while I washed Gabriel, I take him to my bed, and make him lie down on his back to avoid putting pressure on his shoulder. I curl up against his side with my head on the uninjured side of his chest.
“Why did you do it?” he asks.
“Do what?”
“Take care of me.”
“I don’t know.” Deep inside, I wanted to. It frightened me to see him hurt.
“It doesn’t matter.” He cups my sex, stroking a thumb over my clit. “It was sweet.”
He delves a finger into my wetness, teasing and torturing me until he drags a long and slowly detonating orgasm from my body.
Later, as he holds me in his arms, I say, “Gabriel?”
“Mm?”
“Are you ever afraid of dying?”
He answers without hesitation. “Every day.”
The big, strong man next to me suddenly seems too vulnerable for my liking. “The scars, are they from fights like today?”
He gives a low chuckle. “You didn’t think I was born all ugly, did you?”
I cup his cheek. “That’s not what I said. I just tend to think of you as indestructible. Untouchable.”
He places his hand over mine and rubs his cheek against my palm. “I’m not untouchable, Valentina. I’m far from it.” He moves my hand to his chest. “I do have a heart.”
