Page 8 of Crave Me
Chapter Three
Chloe
Burning fire seeped through every pore of my body.
I was in Simon’s arms. Finally, the place I always wanted to be and it had only taken a sadistic Dom totally ignoring my safe word to get it to happen. I couldn’t even enjoy the moment or the way his lips continued brushing over the top of my head.
His strong arms surrounded me, every jolt of his quick movements pushed me tighter against him and with every bump, I whimpered. I’d cried so hard I couldn’t form any more tears.
“Simon,” I whispered. “Help me.”
Warm lips ghosted over my forehead again. “I’ve got you. Be still until I get you to the medical room.”
He turned a corner and opened a door. Light switches were flipped and a low glow illuminated the room. I forced my dried eyes open further and glanced around before Simon laid me down on my side.
“Let’s get you to your stomach, Chloe.”
I leaned into his hands on my shoulders and followed his movements.
Every shift made me cringe. My skin pulled and burned and I squeezed my eyes closed, shivering from the onslaught. “It hurts.”
“I know.” He brushed wisps of hair off my cheeks and crouched down until he was in my line of sight. “I’ll get you cream for your wounds, clean you up, and have someone look at you. Then, we’ll talk about what in the hell happened to you tonight. Hear me?”
“Okay.”
His thick, sandy brown eyebrows pulled together and he adjusted his glasses. “And why you were shouting my name.”
He flashed me a look, daring me to argue with him or refuse, but I wouldn’t. I was in too much pain. He’d heard me. I’d already humiliated myself once around Simon. And now this. I’d never be able to look at him again.
“Safe word,” I muttered and closed my eyes so I didn’t have to see his look of surprise. “It apparently didn’t work.”
Because what freaking moron chooses a man’s name, a man she’s always wanted and had a huge crush on, as her safe word?
This moron, that’s who.
A heavy silence filled the room, and Simon pushed away from me, the rustle of his jeans as he backed away. “I see.”
He didn’t. He could never know how much it had hurt when I first laid eyes on him the night I turned twenty-one. I’d desperately wanted to go after him. Instead, he saw Cassie first.
Claimed her instead. For the years they were together, I always tried to ignore the crush I had on him. I took what I could get from him, a friendship of sorts when we were around each other. I enjoyed talking with him when he spent time with my family, and I liked even more when I made him laugh. Never, did I ever think I would throw myself at him in such an embarrassing way.
I was just the little sister, after all. I was too wholesome to be sexy, too many freckles across the bridge of my nose to be beautiful. Cassie was the one who stunned men to stupidity. She wrapped them around her perfectly manicured, thin fingers in minutes. And who could blame them? She had the super model frame and features along with an unparalleled intelligence. I got the short end of the stick, literally, considering I was only five feet two inches, with all of it.
“I’m going to rub the opened wounds on your back with antibiotic cream, okay?” His hand ran over my shoulder in a soothing gesture. I jumped from the feel of his skin on mine, warming me. It made me tighten instead of relax. Simon was touching me, but by the gritted tone in his voice, he wasn’t thrilled about it. “Relax, Chloe.”
“I can’t.” I groaned as he massaged my shoulders.
“You can and you will.”
Deep pressure pushed into me by the strength of his thumbs. He started with small circles until his hands were doing large circles with little pressure along the top of my back and spine. He kneaded my flesh as if he had all night long to do nothing except touch me. The stress in my shoulders melted away like the low tide, rolling out to sea.
Relaxing like this around Simon was dangerous to me, and I had to stop it. I could too easily get lost in the feel of him, thinking it was more than the simple motions of taking care of a girl he used to know. I couldn’t allow my emotions to get twisted up in a fantasy.
“I’m relaxed now,” I muttered, my eyes growing heavy. The pain had begun to dissipate. The sting of my wounds no worse than the prick of a rose thorn. “Can you please get on with it?”
He laughed once, huskily and coolly at the same time. As if he sensed my irritation with him and my desire, and found itcute. Which was how men tended to see me.
I despised it.
