Chapter 13 #2
At first, I thought nothing's going to happen. He eyes the large scrape along my side with almost clinical concentration, but then his eyes travel a little longer, a little lower, and I see his throat bob with a deep gulp.
I know what he's seeing.
It’s not best practice, but clean is clean. It’s been almost two weeks since I got them so it should be fine to use his regular body wash.
His eyes are a brand on the sparkling bars through my nipples. A little swollen and irritated from my fall.
I’m grateful that I didn’t have one ripped out from how I fell. They certainly don’t feel the best after what I just put them through.
Nevertheless, he notices.
In the grand scheme of things I’ve done to get this man’s attention, this one had felt like the dumbest thing I’ve done.
“How long have you had these?” He asks, looking away finally to tend to the bits of fabric that are still wedged between the abused layers of skin.
This conversation is far easier than the one he’s determined to push me on. I’m happy to do this instead.
“Not long…” I hedge. Coming out and saying that I got them to catch his attention doesn’t give the vibe I’m going for here.
He licks his lips and I’m not sure he knows he’s doing it. His glances up at them when he does it is too close to be coincidental.
I wish that I had gotten them sooner so he could take them for a ride. With any luck, he’ll be doing just that soon enough.
Closing my eyes for a moment, I imagine what his mouth would feel like over my nipple, playing with the bar. It’s a far better place be that the occasional sting of my open wound being prodded.
Vert sucking lightly… Warm tongue and soft pressure.
Shit.
I bet he would know exactly what he’s doing. The way he devoured them with his eyes alone…
I’m sure he is the kind of man to show more than tell you how he could—
If I were someone else, I might be embarrassed by how I'm dripping down my thighs enough to where he can see it without me even spreading my legs.
"You're so wet," he says, with a warm hand pressed against my thigh. Not spreading me exactly but…
The goosebumps begin to rise up on flesh that hasn't been touched this intimately—with this much care—in too long.
I don't know what to say, so I do my best to stop shivering. It's no use, as I am now trembling with something more than cold.
From where Vert is kneeling in front of me, he has to look up to meet my eyes.
Vert on his knees like this is illicit.
It should be illegal.
Honestly, I don't know how I was supposed to react in any other way.
"Are you still with me, doll?" he asks, and I focus back on staying in my body, staying present in this moment.
My mind had already begun to flutter away, trying to stay separate from the conflicting feelings of pleasure and pain and vulnerability.
Before, his nickname for me was derogatory and mean. It felt like a criticism and a critique over how I chose to live my life and present myself, but…
Now?
It sounds a little different.
I nod my head. "Yea, I'm... I'm still here."
He reaches into the box with all of the first aid equipment and pulls out a couple of swabs. "I'm gonna need to clean this now that I’ve got everything out, so it's gonna hurt…"
"Okay," I say, trying not to think about the pain that's going to be coming very soon.
"There's gauze too," he says, "and some tape. I should be able to get this covered up. Honestly, I don't know what you were thinkin’, rollin’ out of the car like that. You're lucky I found you, and someone else didn't."
I don't tell him that someone else did, but I looked deranged enough that they didn't want any trouble, and that I'm certainly not worth it. Instead, I shrug.
"Milkshakes make everything better," I say, "especially when they have mini marshmallows and tiny little pieces of graham cracker. Have you ever had something like that?"
He answers while he rips open one of the alcohol pads. "A fuck ton of sugar. Yea, I've had a fuck ton of sugar before. Don't recommend it. You might as well do crack or somethin’ like that for how much of a sugar high you get from drinkin’ somethin’ like that."
"Aren't you a dad? Aren't you supposed to say, like, stuff like, 'Just say no to drugs,' or something like that?"
His eyebrow lifts as he looks back up at me. Those gold flecks I had noticed before, shimmering with how directly the light catches them. "You do know what I do for a livin’, right, doll?"
"Well, yeah, but—"
"And I know what you do for a livin’, so what's the point?"
"Well," I start, but he just shakes his head on a laugh.
"I was jokin’ anyway. I think your milkshake's way better than you snortin' a line."
“Right… Joking…” I wonder aloud. “I don't even know he knew how to do that.”
"All right, tell me—" The first press of the pad to my skin is torture.
Though the temperature is actually quite cool, it burns like fire against my raw wound.
I immediately press my thighs together, unable to find sense in the rush of that heat surging south.
Vert continues, "Tell me more about that milkshake. Was it really worth all this?"
Gritting my teeth, I say, "Do you mean getting out of the car with the man who stuffed me into a trunk because I didn't want to talk about my feelings?” I snark. “Yea, it was worth it."
He scoffs. “And they say I'm avoidant."
"You know, two things can be true at once," I say. "I don't know if you know this, but sometimes people go through things that they don't want to talk about."
He gives me a look and opens the next package of alcohol wipes. "There's plenty that I know, even though you seem to think you're the very first person to understand what it means to be goin’ through somethin’."
I release my lip only to respond as he cleans over the most open part of my burn along my hip bone. "I don't think that you don't understand. I just know that you won't give me the type of consideration you’d give someone else."
"And how do you know that?" He removes the wipe and tosses it into the trash can with the others.
"Did I mention that I just barely escaped from a trunk tonight?"
"Yea, that might have come up," he says, opening the gauze so that he can tape the large swath of it over my skin.
The rip of the skin tape's packaging is loud in the room as silence settles between us for a moment.
"Did you really think you could outrun me?" he asks and though the words aren't meant to be sexual at all, I can feel myself growing hotter. My stomach flipping at the thought of him truly chasing me.
I close my eyes and press my thighs together, hoping that it will stave off this new fuel to the fire roiling in my core, but it doesn't.
It only makes it worse.
"What should I do about this?" he asks.
My eyes fly open as his thumb presses into the soft skin of my thigh where moisture has already begun to roll down. He watches it roll down and over the divot under the pressure of his thumb and then over his knuckle.
Saying something that would be appropriate is not anywhere near my wheelhouse.
Hell, what would be said about this particular kind of arousal.
Something deep in my body recognizes my own wetness on his skin as a claim and though I’m currently in his hands and at his mercy, I want more of it to cover him.
To coat him with my arousal and not wash it away.
The idea is blaring in my mind and the events of the day blur into some bizarre mix of emotions that I can’t make logical sense of.
I have no idea what I would say if I were anyone else, but because I'm me, I can't help what comes out of my mouth.
"Lick all over," I exhale, the words sounding far closer to a purr.
That catches his attention, one of his thick eyebrows raising over interested eyes. "Oh, you think so?"
I didn't know Vert knew ball.
There's no one else in this hotel room.
There's no one else here, and even still, who would give a fuck if I gave in to this?
I've never not wanted him, but I also have never had him play with me or tease me.
"Please," I beg, and it comes out sounding as small and needy as it could.