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Flame flickers in his eyes and he leans in and takes hold of my throat. His fingers encircle it and hold me firmly as he kisses my mouth. When he pulls back, I feel my nipples harden. My chest heaves and he puts his hand between my breasts.
“Do you remember how he felt?” he says softly. “Inside you?”
He’s so jealous and it’s giving me a tender ache between my thighs.
“Sometimes,” I admit.
His lip curls. “So you need fucked harder if I want that memory erased.”
“It’s not a good one.”
He puts me on my feet and strips my panties off. Not taking his eyes off mine, he spits into his hand and pushes it between my thighs.
My head spins as he sinks two fingers into me and finds that sweet spot. I feel more tender than usual, maybe because he’s used me so hard the last twelve hours.
His mouth meets mine.
When he pulls back, my lips tingle.
“I shouldn’t be jealous of a dead man, but I am,” he says hoarsely.
My hips ache, but it’s not pleasant this time. I push back and he pulls his fingers from me and I clap my hand over my mouth. His pointer and middle finger are stained red, a little rivulet dripping down his wrist.
He glances down, but his expression doesn’t change.
“I’m so sorry,” I rasp. “I guess I started my period.”
He lifts his bloody hand and studies it. “I’ve never been with a woman who wasn’t on birth control. It’s the first time I’ve had period blood on me.”
I wish I could crawl into a hole and live there forever.
“Here, let’s wash it off.”
He lifts his hand to his mouth and I panic, slapping his wrist away. His brow shoots up.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” I hiss.
“It’s just blood,” he says, but he lets me grip his arm and wash his fingers in the sink.
I’m so mortified I can’t speak. He’s on the brink of laughter—I can feel his chest shaking. I order him out of the kitchen. Face burning, I slip upstairs and grab my panties and tuck a handful of toilet paper inside. I return to find him leaning on the counter with a glint in his eye.
“Go wait in the living room, please,” I whisper.
He bends, kissing the side of my neck. “Whatever you like, redbird.”
He sits on the couch. I feel his eyes follow me as I finish making dinner. When we’re done eating, he carries me upstairs.I stand with my arms wrapped around my body, wondering what he’s doing as he disappears into the bathroom. I’m too sore for sex, so I hope he’s not expecting it. But he walks out with a towel, which he lays over the sheet. Our eyes meet as he kneels down and slips my panties off and lifts me into the bed.
He pulls me close, stretching his body out against mine. He’s like a furnace, wrapped around me. It soothes my aching muscles and I feel myself relax into him. His fingertips move softly through my hair to my scalp, massaging gently over my temples.
I’ve never been comforted on my cycle. It’s strange—I’m used to concealing it and pretending I’m not in agony. But I feel so safe wrapped up in his arms with his hand in my hair.
“Thank you,” I whisper. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to put a damper on things.”
He rumbles in his chest. “Don’t apologize for being in pain. Just lay there and rest.”
His lips brush my hair. My lashes flutter shut.
I haven’t felt this safe in a long time.
