Chapter 9 Injuries #2
He had entered without a word, filling the doorway behind her. The contrast between his strong frame and the pale bathroom light made his presence feel even heavier. Sophia stiffened, her gaze locking with his for just a fraction of a second before embarrassment rushed through her.
She dropped her hand instantly.
Turning away from the mirror, she moved quickly, heading toward the door to get out of the bathroom as if distance alone might save her—
But she didn’t get far.
Magnus reached out and caught her arm before she could take more than two steps. His grip wasn’t rough, but it was firm enough to stop her completely.
“Here.”
He pressed something into her hand.
Sophia blinked and looked down. A small tube rested against her palm.
“For the marks,” he said quietly, his voice low and even. “This will help.”
Her fingers tightened around the tube. Heat crept up her neck, spreading to her cheeks. She didn’t look at him—couldn’t.
Without a word, she turned slightly, intending to pull away.
He didn’t let her.
Instead, he tugged her back again, guiding her until her back met the wall.
One hand braced beside her head, palm flat against the cool surface, while the other still held her arm.
He stood close. Close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from him yet he didn’t fully press into her, as if deliberately holding himself back.
His scent—clean, sharp, like the ocean after a storm—wrapped around her, filling her senses until it felt impossible to breathe without taking him in. Her entire awareness narrowed to the space between them.
“I took care of your injuries, Mrs. Graves.” His face dipped toward her ear, voice low, controlled. His breath brushed her skin as he spoke.
A brief pause. He pulled back, his eyes again meeting his. Then, quieter—he added,
“You gave me injuries too.”
Her breath stuttered.
“And you assaulted me today,” he continued calmly. “Aren’t you going to take care of me in return?”
She stared up at him, stunned, her lips parting slightly.
“Injuries?” she echoed.
Magnus didn’t answer immediately.
Instead, he stepped back just enough to give himself space and calmly began unbuttoning his shirt. His movements were unhurried.
One button. Then a second. Then a third.
He stopped there.
Sophia’s breath hitched.
As the fabric loosened and parted slightly at his collar, her eyes dropped despite herself.
Clear nail marks crossed the exposed skin of his chest—some faint, others red and angry, standing out starkly against him.
Before she could force herself to look away, he turned, angling his body to show her his back.
The marks there were worse. Long streaks marred his skin.
Sophia sucked in a sharp breath.
She bit her lip, mortification creeping up her neck.
When did she become this… wild?
When he turned back toward her, she quickly schooled her expression, forcing her face into something neutral before he could catch the flicker of guilt and embarrassment still lingering in her eyes.
“You… want me to take care of your injuries?” she asked, her voice coming out stiffer than she intended.
“Of course,” he replied evenly. “I helped you. You help me. Fair, isn’t it?”
Before she could even gather herself, Magnus turned and walked out of the bathroom.
His footsteps echoed softly against the floor as he moved away, unhurried, as though the matter were already settled.
Sophia stood there for a second, fingers tightening around the tube in her hand, her thoughts tangled and her face still warm. Then she followed.
She stepped into the bedroom—and stopped short.
Magnus was already shrugging off his shirt.
The fabric slid down his shoulders effortlessly before he tossed it aside without a glance.
Bare-chested and utterly unapologetic, he walked over and sat on the edge of the bed, elbows resting loosely on his thighs, posture relaxed as if this were the most natural thing in the world.
Her eyes widened.
“What are you doing?!” she blurted out. “Put the shirt back on!”
He lifted his gaze to her slowly, expression flat, almost unimpressed. “How exactly are you planning to apply the medicine? Over my shirt? And then pray for it to heal magically?”
Her face burned instantly.
Magnus watched her for a beat longer, impatience creeping subtly into his eyes as he straightened slightly.
“Come on,” he said. “It’s getting late.”
Sophia inhaled deeply, steadying herself. After a brief hesitation, she finally walked toward him, each step measured.
She squeezed a little of the medicine onto her fingertip, then leaned closer, careful and focused as she began applying it to the marks on his chest. Her touch was light, soft, as if afraid to press too hard.
Then—without warning—
His hand shot forward.
His body bent smoothly as his arm slid behind her thigh, lifting her before she could react.
“Ah!” she gasped, startled as her balance gave out.
His other arm wrapped around her waist with ease, catching her weight effortlessly and pulling her down until she was straddling his lap.
Her head dipped instinctively. When she looked down, her eyes met his—wide, stunned, her breath uneven.
Magnus, however, looked completely unfazed.
His hand slid from her thigh to the curve of her hip, fingers resting there as he muttered casually, “Apply it properly.”
She froze for half a second.
Then, forcing herself to regain control, she swallowed and focused again. Carefully, she resumed applying the medicine, moving over the marks on his chest, her touch steady despite the tension coiling through her body.
As she worked, his hands began to move.
Slow. Lazy.
They slid from her hips to her waist, thumbs pressing lightly, tracing an unhurried path that made her body stiffen in response.
She squirmed, discomfort and fluster colliding. Pressing her hands against his chest, she pulled back slightly and looked at him.
“Stop it,” she said quietly.
He paused.
A small, amused smile tugged at his lips—and then, finally, his hands stilled.
Relief washed through her, though the fluster remained.
She continued in silence. When she finished with his chest, she hesitated only briefly before wrapping her arms around him to reach his back, her movements careful, her body tense as the closeness became unavoidable.
The moment she did, his hands tightened.
They slid over her waist, fingers spreading as he pulled her closer, closing the small gap she had tried to keep between them.
Her palms flattened instinctively against his chest as she tried to push herself back. Instead of loosening his hold, he tightened it further, drawing her in until her body was pressed fully against his.
She focused on her task, forcing herself to ignore the heat and the tension coiling between them. Finally, she finished applying the medicine to his back.
She straightened slightly, creating just enough distance to breathe, and looked down at him.
Instead, his hands slid again and suddenly he pulled her closer. One hand lifted to her face, fingers curling gently around her jaw as he tilted her chin up. His face leaned toward hers, close enough that she could feel his breath.
Her breath hitched.
Embarrassed, she tried to pull back, but straddling him left her with nowhere to go. Her balance wavered, and instinctively, she pushed at his chest to create distance. She didn’t expect him to give way.
Magnus was sitting at the edge of the bed when she shoved him.
The push caught him off guard. His balance slipped, and before she could register what she’d done, he tipped backward, falling onto the mattress and dragging her down with him by instinct.
His back hit first, the bed dipping sharply beneath his weight. She followed a heartbeat later, a soft gasp tearing from her lips as the air was knocked from her lungs.
She landed straddling him.
Her palms flew out, bracing against his chest as she steadied herself. Beneath her, his body went rigid.
And then she felt it.
The unmistakable change in his lower body.
Before she could pull away, his head turned. His face buried into the curve of her neck, warm breath brushing her skin. His lips grazed her throat, lingering, trailing upward toward her ear before drifting back down again, soft enough to make her pulse jump.
She pulled back, breath uneven, and looked down at him. That faint frown returned, deeper this time.
A thought slipped free before she could stop it.
‘How many women has he slept with before, for his body to react this fast?’
Magnus caught the shift in her expression immediately.
Lying beneath her, his eyes narrowed slightly, sharp and assessing. “What are you thinking?” he asked.
Then, as if he had already read the answer in her face, his tone cooled. “Don’t overthink it. I don’t sleep around!”
Her eyes widened. ‘How did he read my mind?!’
Heat flooded her face. She shoved him away without another word, slipping out of his lap and backing off the bed before getting to her feet in a rush.
Magnus rose after her.
He reached for his shirt and draped it over his shoulders, his movements brisk, almost rough. As he shrugged into it, his eyes stayed locked on her, tracking every step as she backed away, putting distance between them like a reflex she couldn’t control.
He buttoned the shirt halfway, fingers moving faster than necessary.
A bitter thought cut through his mind. ‘She’s going to be the death of me. All it took was touching her damn waist, and I’m already fighting my own damned body.’
His expression hardened—aggressive, tense—and then shifted into something even darker. He was furious with himself. He felt like a reckless teenager, all impulse and hunger, unable to stop himself from touching a woman.
Her.
The more that thought took root, the angrier he became.
Sophia noticed the sudden shift in his mood. She shifted uneasily on her feet, watching him.
‘Why is he always like this?’ she thought. ‘One second calm. The next furious.’
She didn’t wait for it to spiral further.
She twisted out of his reach, turned on her heel, and rushed for the door. Her steps were quick, almost unsteady, the sound of them fading down the hallway in seconds.
He lunged after her, arm shooting out on instinct, fingers grasping at empty air. She was already gone.
Magnus stopped short, feet planted where she’d left him. He dragged in a harsh breath through his nose, then another, slower but no less strained. His shoulders rose and fell as he exhaled through clenched teeth, jaw tight, chest heaving, frustration coiling beneath his skin.
A hand raked through his hair.
He exhaled slowly again, tension still coiled tight in his body, refusing to ease.
His gaze dropped to the phone on the bedside table.
He stared at it for a long moment. Then he picked it up and dialed.
Gregory answered after a few rings. “Hello?” Music thumped faintly through the speaker, club noise bleeding into the call.
Magnus dropped onto the bed, leaning back against the headboard. His shirt was still half-open, fabric creased where he hadn’t bothered to finish buttoning it. One arm went behind his head as he stared blankly at the ceiling, jaw locked so tight it ached.
“Let me ask you something,” he said, his tone deliberately casual, though something restless edged beneath it. “I know someone who’s… losing his mind.”
Gregory hummed lazily on the other end, clearly amused.
“That man,” Magnus continued, eyes fixed on the ceiling, voice lowering, “has always been indifferent to women. Never felt anything. Never wanted anything.”
He paused.
Then added, more quietly, almost reluctantly,
“But suddenly, he feels this constant urge to sleep with one particular woman. All the time.”
Another pause.
“Is that normal?”
There was silence for half a second.
Then Gregory burst out laughing.
The sound crackled through the phone, loud and unrestrained. Magnus’s brows knit instantly, irritation flashing across his face.
Before he could respond, Gregory spoke between breaths, barely holding it together.
“First—let me guess,” he said, laughter spilling into his words. “This mysterious man you’re talking about… that’s you, isn’t it? And the woman is your wife?”
Magnus sat up sharply.
The mattress dipped beneath the sudden movement. Fury flashed in his eyes as his spine straightened, every muscle going taut.
“Did I say it was me?” he snapped. “How the hell could I fall for a cunning woman like her?” His grip tightened around the phone. “I said it’s someone I know. Don’t twist my words. Are you deaf?”
Gregory struggled to suppress his laughter.
“All right, all right,” he said, voice still thick with amusement. “Relax. Let me answer seriously.”
Magnus leaned forward slightly, forearms braced against his thighs, jaw clenched so hard it ached. He didn’t say a word.
“It’s normal,” Gregory said at last, his tone calmer now. “For someone who’s in love. Or at least someone who likes the other person.”
“He doesn’t like her,” Magnus cut in sharply, the words coming out flat and immediate.
There was a brief pause.
“Fine,” Gregory replied smoothly. “Then my advice to your friend is simple.” His voice lowered. “Tell him to hide those feelings. Bury them. Bury the desire. And then wait.”
Magnus frowned, a crease forming between his brows.
“Wait for what?” Magnus asked.
“For the day someone else feels the same way about his wife,” Gregory said lightly. “And takes her away.”
The line went quiet.
Magnus’s expression darkened.
“You fucking asshole.”
The words snapped out of him. His fingers dug into the phone as he barked into it.
On the other end, Gregory burst out laughing again—and before Magnus could unleash the string of profanities burning on his tongue, the call abruptly cut off.
The line went dead.
Magnus stared at the phone for a long moment, chest rising slowly as he breathed through his irritation.
Then he tossed it aside with a sharp flick of his wrist, jaw tight, eyes burning with a mix of anger and something far more unsettled.