My excuse works, and he releases me quickly, stepping out of the way for me to back up toward the toilet. His brows dip in annoyance when I don’t lurch, and I twist my hands together sheepishly, shivering in the cold, damp atmosphere. “I just need to dry off and get dressed.”
He continues to stare at me but eventually motions to the new clothes and fresh towel on the mattress. Not wanting to create a bigger mess than I already have, I snatch the towel and clothes up, then rifle through the bags, praying he bought theright tampons. I was pretty fucking detailed with my notes, and just as my hope is dwindling, a bluish box gripped by his veiny hand enters my view. Clutching the fluffy towel tighter to my chest, I glance up at him and immediately regret it, that one-eyed monster weeping at me. Hastily yanking the box from him, I shuffle to the toilet and plop myself down, ripping into the cardboard like a starving raccoon. As soon as the innocuous little ball of packed cotton hidden in a blue plastic sheath is out of the wrapper, I pause to glare at him again.
“Can you like…not watch me for once? I’m not gonna somehow run away in my current state.”
He doesn’t move for a moment, then decides to draw closer, sinking to his knees in front of me. I put my foot up, pressing my cold, wet toes to his chest to keep him at a distance that’s still not far enough for my liking. He ignores me, instead pointing at the tampon gripped tightly in my fist. Brow furrowing, I hold it out for him to see. “It’s nothing special.”
His eyes bounce from mine to my open palm, an innocent curiosity to his gaze. Gently, he prods at it, further inspecting it. Meanwhile, I can feel my flow leaking into the toilet, and all I want is to be warm, dry, and pain free. Food filling my belly would be nice, too.
I’m realizing he isn’t about to look away, and this is a battle I really don’t care about losing right now. Pushing against his chest using my foot and all my might, he relents and falls to his ass, giving me a disgruntled huff. I can’t help but roll my eyes.
“Can’t believe I’m doing this,” I hiss to myself, reaching down to part my lips as I position the tampon with my other fingers. All the while, his gaze remains stoic yet intrigued, eyes focused with rapture on my bleeding pussy. Why it pulls on the cords of my heart, I don’t want to examine at the moment, but I can at least acknowledge to myself that I’ve never been around a man who wasn’t afraid of a period. My boyfriend in high school wouldcrack jokes to his buddies whenever it was my time of the month, and the guy I used to hook up with always refused to come near me when I bled.
It’s not like women choose this.
The second I push the applicator and tampon into myself, his eyes widen comically, and he leans forward, rough hands resting on my thighs, fingers digging possessively into my weakened muscles. It’s intrusive and intense but…when his eyes find mine again, there’s a type of gentleness and concern there I’ve never been lucky enough to behold before. Even my dad, amazing and kind as he is, gets all twitchy and weirded out about things like this.
“See?” I say softly, holding up the applicator, then tugging gently on the string to insure it’s snugly in place—at least for the next hour. The first few days are always a blood bath. “No big deal, no more blood. Now give me—hey, no!”
I smack his fingers away as he reaches for the dangling string. Shocked, he glares up at me. “It…it stays in, until I need a new one.”
He makes that annoyed huffing sound again, a sharp exhalation through his nose, and reaches for the box. His long fingers dive into the abyss, and he brings a new one out, ripping the wrapper off and tossing it over his shoulder. He reaches for the string dangling out of me again, and what he’s attempting finally clicks.
He wants to be the one to put it in.
CHAPTER TWELVE
KAGE
It’s endlessly frustrating,all the things I don’t know about the world and how it functions on a normal scale. But drop me into the midst of a brawl, or tell me to infiltrate a dangerous cult, or outsmart the devil himself, and I’d feel right at home. I don’t understand society’s boundaries even if I’ve learned to accept some of them.
But this? Taking care of Summer in what seems to be a vulnerable moment for her? It’s all my soul yearns for. So how can that be wrong, especially if I have no ill-intent?
My eyes jump to hers, a nervousness taking root in my core that I’m not familiar with. Her jaw is set, her body tense. Thighs spread as she sits before me like some heathen goddess, water still drips from her damp, curly hair and races down her freckled shoulders to her stiff, peaked nipples. They’re such a lush shade—like a dusky rose bud just beginning to bloom. She explored me in the shower with those alluring eyes, so now it’s my turn.
I’m just glad she’s stopped slapping my hands away.
She shivers as the basement cools another degree, and goosebumps scatter across her silky flesh. Even her belly button is cute, especially right now, folded in half because she’s seated. The impish boy in me who never had a chance to flirt or chasegirls around like they do in the movies wants to poke it, see if she’s ticklish.
“Don’t even think about it,” she says, and my eyes snap back to hers, a full grin stretching my cheeks and crinkling the corners of my eyes. I’m hardly worried about the way my mask is slipping. She’s not being mean to me right now; if anything, her warning seems like she’s teasing me back, and a rush of heat flows through me, making my cock twitch. I’ll listen to her today, but only because the amount of blood seeping from between her thighs has me concerned.
Everything I read online made this seem shitty but bearable. Witnessing it for myself, however, I’m questioning those sources. She’s puking from pain, her face pale and drawn, a weakness about her I haven’t witnessed before, and the volume of blood loss has surpassed what should be tolerable.
Those thoughts sober me and allow me to focus on the task at hand, my eyes dipping to my fingers that are still pinching the dainty string. Brows furrowing, I give a gentle pull, fascinated as her body keeps it so snugly in place. Cautious, I pull harder, feeling it give a little before it slips out, the cotton already soaked in crimson. I drop the offending thing in the toilet water and ready the next one, pausing to glance at her when she snorts.
“Your plumbing, not mine.”
Smirking, I shrug. Probably shouldn’t flush things that’ll clog ancient cast iron pipes. Readying the fresh tampon, I mimic her actions from earlier, leaning in for a better view as I use my free fingers to spread her bare lips. She tenses at my touch, and from the corner of my eye, I can see how her fingers grip her thighs. She’s scared I’ll use this moment to hurt her; I have to show her that I’m not that man—even if I really fucking like watching her cry.
She’s beautiful when she does.
Pressing the tip of the rounded plastic to her entrance, I gently glide everything inside her, the blood acting as a sort of lubricant. She squirms around on her ass a little, and my eyes jump to hers. “You have to push the thingy…fuck if I know what it’s called.”
I glance back down and understand what she means, pushing the plunger. Her hips wriggle again. “Deeper.”
Fuck.
I’ll replay that breathy note in my head for the rest of my life, and it’ll get me hard every goddamn time.
