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“Hey.” I sit beside him, put my hand on his cheek. “I’m here. Please tell me how to help you.”
Chapter Fourteen
Riot
Her hand on my face startles me and I flinch away before I can stop myself.
“Pax.” My heart is racing, my hard-on flagging. Great. “Gimme a minute.”
I get up, pace a little, fight to calm down my ragged breathing.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah. Sure.” I try for a smile, but it feels like a grimace, so I stop and clasp my hands behind my head. “Fuck.”
Should be okay. Not the first time something like this happens, and I’ve always managed to put it behind me the same night.
Except for the dreams. Yeah, the dreams are sneaky motherfuckers, bringing everything I try to forget back to the surface, and today...Today was spectacularly bad. I don’t wanna sleep tonight, in case the dreams come.
She gets up, comes to me. Naked. Beautiful. She puts her arms around me, rising on tiptoe to kiss me, and I tell myself not to move, not to let anything show.
But when her hands press into the small of my back, sending a flare of pain down my spine, I flinch again, despite my efforts.
Fucking hell.
“I’m okay,” I say hastily when she starts moving around me to see. “I’m fine. Please, Pax, don’t—”
“You’re hurt.”
There’s fire in her voice. She’s upset. “Not really. Just a fucking scratch, that’s all. Pax, leave it be.”
But she won’t be dissuaded, and she ducks under my arm and stands behind me, her hands on my hips.
A horrified little gasp escapes her. “God, Riot.”
Goddammit. I haven’t even had time to see what it looks like, and now she’s seeing it. I’m supposed to be pleasuring her. Holding her. Not having a small freak out and have her stare at the damage.
“You have welts. Frigging bloody welts, Riot. What did they do to you?”
Moot question. She can see exactly what they did.
“How?”
“With a belt.” The buckle, fuck, that hurt.
“And your wrists.”
Hell, forgot that. “They bound me.”
“Too tight.”
I shrug.
“How? Why did you let her do this to you?”
“Because the agency told me it was this or lose my fucking job.” I wince when she traces one of the welts. “Can’t afford it.”
“Why?”
