Oh.
His breath caught as he shyly, uncertainly, returned it. He’d been kissed before, but it had never felt like this. Before, it had always been awkward and ungraceful, but this was like finding a piece of something he hadn’t realized he’d been missing.
Bridgette’s tongue darted out to taste him, and he gasped, allowing her access. He’d never been more aware of the small tusks that jutted up from his bottom row of teeth, or just how nice it felt to have someone nibble ever so lightly on the lip that covered them. He breathed in the scent, the taste of her, as he reached a shaking hand up to touch her shoulder. When she pulled back, he couldn’t stop a quiet sound of disapproval.
“Thank you for telling me.”
Garrett looked up at her in awe, unable to believe that she was still there. After so long seeking absolution, it was hard to believe that he’d finally found it. She smiled down at him, brushing away a hair that had escaped from his braid. “Let me stitch you up.”
He nodded, still in shock as he watched her string the catgut through the eye of the silver needle. When he finally tore his eyes away from her, he looked down to see that the cut started near his hip bone and stretched up to just barely kiss his navel. Once the needle was ready, Bridgette gently straddled his thighs to get the best angle on it.
“This is going to hurt like hell, but I’ll try to make it quick.”
Garrett braced himself before he nodded. Bridgette kissed his cheek as she slid the needle through his skin. He let out a shuddering breath, his hands clenching to fists at his sides.
She made quick work tying off the first stitch. The mix she’d given him seemed to be doing its job. While the pain was definitely there, it felt a little muted. Or maybe it was simply that the pain came from caring rather than malice that made it easier to bear.
Time seemed to stretch as the needle pierced through him a second time. The jolt of pain seemed to resonate through his whole body like a dulcimer string being plucked, yet underneath the pain, he found something he wasn’t expecting.
It took until the third stitch for him to put a name to the sensation. He gasped as the needle slid into him, arching as the pain tapered into pleasure as Bridgette tied the stitch closed.
“Are you alright?” she asked.
Garrett’s face grew hot, and he was all too aware of Bridgette’s warmth straddling his thighs. He nodded all the same. “Fine. I’ve… never had to get stitches before.”
“Well, aren’t you a lucky one?” she teased even as she slid the needle through again. The pain flashed bright, but Bridgette shifted as he did, and the feel of her scooting up onto his lap made the pleasure flash even hotter. He bit his lip as it thrummed through him, pulsing like a heartbeat. “I’ll have you know that every person I’ve ever had to stitch up heals quickly and cleanly.”
“Is that so?” Garrett asked, if only to distract himself from the mixed sensations. He didn’t know what to make of it all, but as Bridgette slid the needle through again, a quiet moan passed his lips.
“Hell, the cut that beast Vian left me with is almost healed already,” she said. “Wish I could shake a cold as fast. Last one, now.”
Garrett nodded, but as the needle slid through once more, he arched. Pain and bliss shot through him, overwhelming in its intensity. A strange tingle of energy seemed to radiate out from the cut - warmth with an undercurrent of… something else. But it was gone as quick as it had come, leaving him panting in the aftermath.
Bridgette tied off the final stitch before she froze. “What the hell?”
Garrett felt like he was floating an inch out of his body, the pain a distant memory in the wake of… whatever that had been. He let his arm fall from his eyes and craned his neck to see Bridgette staring at his newly stitched wound before she poked at the cut. He flinched, expecting pain, but it only tickled. Her eyes were wide as she met his.
“It’s healed.”
11
For a second, he was sure he had missed something in translation. “That’s impossible.”
Bridgette gave a short laugh. “You think I don’t know that?” She reached into her pack and found a small pair of scissors that she used to cut through the sutures she’d just tied. He shivered as she pulled the small threads free, but when he looked down, there was nothing but a pink scar where the cut had been.
“What the hell,” he breathed.
Bridgette’s brow furrowed. She touched his bare chest, and an echo of that same strange energy sang through him. “Your bruises.”
Garrett ran a hand over his side in awe. He’d been beaten black and blue, but the bruises on his ribs and chest suddenly looked like they were a week old, green and yellowing at the edges. The throbbing, dizzying ache in his head had dissipated, and even his swollen eye was able to open a little easier.
“Your herb mixes are a miracle,” he said in disbelief.
“This wasn’t my mix.” Bridgette’s voice shook with a breathless kind of excitement. Her hands stroked down his chest, and only then did he realize that the thrum of energy was coming as much from her as it was from him. Resonating from where their skin touched. “Garrett…”
He slid his hands over her waist, groaning as he arched underneath her. “Bri.”
Then her lips were on his again, and she was no longer soft and gentle. He met the fire of her kiss with a moan, his hands sliding up to cup the back of her neck. The energy between them pulsed as she deepened the kiss, tongue eager and exploring.
