He nods. “I can—“
He lifts his hand, and I smack it back. His cheeks redden slightly. It’s so out of character that I falter. I didn’t think this man had any shame. “Are you sure you’re feeling okay?”
“Yes,” he mutters, tilting his head up as he drags a hand through his hair. “I’m feeling very…okay.”
All the supplies are still on the counter from where I doctored my hands. Once I’ve unraveled and removed the thread, I dab the antiseptic against the cloth before gently blotting over what's left of his wound. Muscles flex in his abdomen under my touch, and he coughs again. “Maybe…you should let me do that,” he complains.
“Like you’d ever let me do it if it were me.”
“Well. Maybe I should.”
I grab the ointment and dab a finger into it, applying it to his wound as gently as possible. His body suddenly goes rigid. “I think that’s enough.”
“Did I hurt you?”
“No…” he drawls in what almost sounds like a warning.
“I was almost done.” He starts to back away, and I clamp my hand around his hip to keep him put as I finish dabbing the balm. He binds a hand around my wrist with a hiss.
I still fail to see his erection, straining against the fabric of his braies until just before he reaches down to cover it with his hand.
Oh. My lips form the shape of that one syllable, and I snatch my hand back.
He hurriedly turns his back to me, fumbling at his braies before he flees the bathroom. I stay sat on the counter, cheeks simmering. That’s why he wanted me to stop…and I foolishly persisted. Maybe I even took it a little too far…
It was working. I was affecting him. Iaffecthim. Maybe just as he affects me. That thought is dizzying.
Vera’s right. I don’t want fear to stop me from living anymore. Time isn’t guaranteed and I don’t want to waste any more of it.
I debate on whether I should exit the bathroom or allow him a bit more time when the door suddenly comes flying open. He appears in the doorway clothed in his trousers this time. “I’m sorry,” he rushes out.
“No—“
“I—I know your experience with men is limited, and I like to give you a hard time—“ His cheeks redden once more. “Not-- I would never do that intentionally,” he says, stuffing a hand through his hair, obviously flustered.
“I know,” I say quickly. “It was my fault. I didn’t listen.”
He freezes, brows shooting up. Did he expect I would be angry with him?But it was my fault.I had basically done it on purpose. This strange sense of pride and giddiness fills me.He really does feel that way for me.And maybe Vera was right that I should already know this but having the undeniable proof of it feels different. I fight back the urge to smile but it keeps bubbling up and up. I turn my head toward the wall to hide it and fail spectacularly as I begin giggling. I clamp a hand over my mouth, trying to quell them. It does me little good.
“Sorry,” I gasp out.Sorry, I did that to you.“I’m sorry,” I say again, fighting for composure as I turn back. “It was my fault.”
He’s frozen stiff, one hand still threaded through his hair, staring at me like he’s trying to work something out but he’s still a few steps behind. His other hand finds its way back to his chest. It suddenly drops back to his side—like he’s just realized what he’s doing but it’s a relieved gesture. He steps forward, grabs the bandages from the counter, and begins re-wrapping his wound. “You usually don’t,” he says eyes flicking up. “Listen.”
“I’ll try harder,” I say muffling a yawn behind my palm.
“Will you?”
“No promises,” I say with another yawn, lack of sleep finally catching up with me. I lean back on my palms. “I’d say we’re even now, wouldn’t you?”
“Even?”
Judging by the quizzical expression on his face he doesn’t know in which way I mean and then with the way his eyes trail down my body, I think he might think I’m referring to the fact that I justturned him on.Suddenly my body feels very hot. “You saved me,” I rush out in clarification. “I saved you.Even.”
He lets out a soft snort as he finishes wrapping his wound, rips the bandage off, and throws the roll on the counter. Somehow his gait has morphed from uncertainty back to his usual arrogance as he struts over to me. There’s something too knowing in his gaze and suddenly I think he might be seeing me, connecting the pieces all too well. My heart kicks up pace in my chest, that instinctual urge calling me to run because someone’s trying to come close to me. He leans forward, legs brushing my knees as he props one hand on the counter. “Your one to my five, pet. Six if you count Valik.”
I drop my head, making a great effort to order my thoughts with his very intentional proximity. “Yes, but mine was very stressful so that makes it equal to five of yours.”
He laughs softly. “You think it wasn’t stressful for me?”
