Chapter 11 #2
He busied himself digging through the drawers until he found the first-aid kit under the sink.
“That’s exactly the problem.” The box hit the countertop with more force than necessary, causing me to flinch.
“What did you think would happen, Grace? Your boss, who made it clear he was getting impatient, would be fine with you going out for a day of relaxation?”
I went to cross my arms but quickly regretted it as pain enveloped my entire arm. I tried to mask my reaction, instead laying my hand on my thigh. “They’ve never cared what I’ve done before.”
He untied the DIY tourniquet and slid it off me. “That’s because you’ve never disappointed them before.”
I pressed my lips together. “So you think I’m a disappointment.”
He studied the wound, jaw ticking. “Didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to,” I muttered, focusing on my lap so I wouldn’t have to look at him this close to me. The last time we were touching in a bathroom, he gave me one of the best orgasms of my life.
I wasn’t sure if I felt relieved or let down that the same wouldn’t be happening right now.
He began cleaning around the wound, the blood having slowed a bit thanks to his efforts. I winced at the sting.
“Have you never been injured like this before?” he asked, his voice a little softer now. Did he…feel bad?
“Not with a bullet, no. I’ve been punched, choked, almost knocked out, but I haven’t…bled like this because of someone else.”
His swallow was audible as he started pulling out the necessary supplies to stitch me up.
“If there wasn’t a needle and thread in there, what would you have done? Let me bleed out?” I asked, wanting to get off the heavier topic of my work and the repercussions that came with it.
“I’d have used floss,” he said blandly.
I frowned. “That sounds unsanitary.”
“You put it in your mouth, don’t you?” His hands returned to my arm, then I felt the burn.
I squeezed my eyes shut, not looking forward to how many times he’d have to guide that needle through my skin to shut the wound. I wasn’t even sure how big the graze was, but I didn’t want to look.
“Breathe, Grace.”
I let out a breath, forcing my fist to relax on my thigh. “It hurts.”
“Are you surprised?”
“You’re an asshole, you know that?”
“Well aware,” he muttered, stabbing my skin a little harder.
I flinched. He held my arm steady. “I should go to the hospital.”
“You don’t trust me?” he questioned.
I snorted. “You think I should?”
If he hadn’t been trying to concentrate, I was sure he would have shrugged. “I don’t know. I saved your life, despite you trying to take mine. I’d say a little trust is warranted, don’t you think?”
“The only reason you saved me is because you need me,” I stated.
His grip on the needle tightened, and I feared it might snap in half.
Torturous minutes of silence and repetitive pinches of pain passed, then he tied off the end and tossed the dirtied supplies in the small black trash can by the toilet.
He remained close, inspecting my arm.
“Will I have a gnarly scar?” I asked, more as a way of teasing him for a poor job.
His thumb ran alongside the stitches, finally pulling my eyes to the injury. It looked as perfect as a stitched wound could, not ugly or uneven at all. He’d clearly had a lot of practice with this type of stuff. I hated that I wanted to know why, and where he’d tended wounds on his own body.
A trail of blood followed the pad of his finger, dragging along my pale skin. He seemed transfixed on that little line of red. Was he still worried?
“You did amazing,” I said, not wanting him to dwell. I didn’t think a doctor could have done any better.
His pupils seemed to dilate as he pressed his thumb on another bead of blood, wetting the pad of his finger.
“Henley.”
He removed his hand, but rather than cleaning it off, he pressed his pointer finger to my mouth. My lips parted, and his focus fell to them.
His finger ran down my chin as he placed his thumb against my bottom lip. He dragged the flesh down, smearing blood across my mouth.
I sat stunned, unable to speak as my thighs pressed together.
He forced my mouth open a bit farther, sliding his thumb to the pad of my tongue.
The tang of iron filled my mouth, but I didn’t pull away.
The way he was looking at me had heat pooling in every corner of my body.
If it weren’t for the blood loss, I was sure my cheeks would be on fire.
My lips closed around his thumb, my tongue dragging up to lick my blood off him.
Slowly, he slid his thumb out, pulling my bottom lip down on the way.
He grabbed my chin, tilting it up slightly as he came around my knee and nudged my legs apart.
I let them fall open, allowing him to step in between.
His eyes briefly left my mouth to meet my gaze. He looked like a starved man lost at sea, seeing salvation for the first time in years.
So slowly it was nearly painful, he came closer. Then he dragged his tongue up my chin.
My head fell back slightly, my lips parting on a long exhale.
His hand wrapped around my neck, right below my jaw, holding my head in place. His tongue ran along my lips, traveled everywhere his thumb had spread the blood.
Beneath the robe, I was soaked. Wetness coated my thighs. I should not be getting wet for the man who wanted me dead. I should not be letting the man I was tasked to kill lick blood off my face.
We should not be doing any of this.
But I couldn’t bring myself to tell him to stop.
His mouth captured mine, his kiss punishing as I whimpered into him. His free hand slid down the side of my thigh, grabbing my knee and hooking it around his waist.
My hips moved, desperate for any sort of friction. The robe parted enough to expose my pussy, my clit rubbing along the rough material of his jeans, right over his hard bulge.
The hand on my neck held me upright as I braced my good arm behind me on the counter. His tongue slipped into my mouth, a metallic taste passing between us. Our breaths were heavy, our bodies on fire.
My hips moved faster, my clit aching for more.
Henley’s fingers dug into my bare leg. “That’s it, little killer. Rub that needy pussy all over me. Make my jeans a fucking mess.”
I moaned, hating that I was chasing a high only Henley seemed to give me. With other men, there was sex. With Henley, there was danger and desire and that rough edge I needed. We were dirty and starving, only able to quench each other’s thirst with what should have been forbidden between us.
His hand squeezed my throat tighter, cutting off just enough oxygen to make me feral. My pussy throbbed, aching to be filled. But sex felt like too much. Like the moment he entered me, we’d lose sight of the plan, and emotions would get skewed.
He released my leg, bracing his palm on the counter as he leaned into me harder. The pressure on my clit was just enough to have my core tightening.
His mouth continued devouring me, tongues exploring and teeth clashing.
My stomach twitched, my orgasm spilling out of me with a scream. He swallowed every sound, never once parting from me as my humping turned feverish.
He groaned, pressing harder and harder. One orgasm turned into two as he moved his hips, thrusting against me. At once, his movements ceased, and his teeth dug into my bottom lip.
Our breathing was erratic, my energy spent as he finally pulled away from me. My back slouched as I leaned back onto my good arm a bit more.
His gaze roamed down my body, eyes lingering between my legs. I didn’t care to close them, too tired to feel self-conscious that they were parted far too wide.
Darkness flickered over his features before he scooped me into his arms for the third time today.
My head immediately rested on his chest like it belonged there. “I could get used to this.”
“Orgasms, bullet wounds, and being carried?” he asked, walking into my bedroom.
“Mm-hmm,” I hummed, eyes heavy. Adrenaline crashes never hit me so hard, but I guessed the injury had a lot to do with my exhaustion. That, and the orgasm following my visit with Doctor Henley. I snorted to myself.
He looked down at me. “What?”
“Should I call you Dr. Henley now?” I asked, letting my eyes close.
“Please don’t.”
Softness enveloped me. Then I was moved around a bit as he pulled off my robe. I let him, somehow knowing he wasn’t doing it to be crude.
“I only got lightheaded because we’d planned to go to a sushi buffet after the spa. Not because of the blood,” I told him, my words sounding slightly drowsy. I didn’t want him to think I was weak.
“So, what? You starved yourself to fit more sushi?”
I lamely attempted to raise a finger. “Bingo.”
A blanket was pulled over my body, and I snuggled deep into my pillow. When only silence enveloped me after, I asked, “Are you staying?”
“Do you want me to?”
I hummed, not sure what my answer really was.
Maybe he didn’t either. But when I turned onto my side hours later, I found the bed next to me was warm, and a lump in the distinct shape of a man I once tried to kill lay beside me.
I slept better than I had in years.