Her lashes fluttered. The dimple appeared. He found himself looking into the deep blue of her eyes. His heart contracted. She was so fucking beautiful he had no right to even look at her. He’d heard the fairy tale—Beauty and the Beast. Sitting on her bed, looking at her face, that body that was created just for him . . . that story could have been theirs.
“Savage, why are you looking so sad? Everything ended the best way it could. The little boy lived. You lived.”
Once again, she touched him. This time on his face. That same brush of her fingers, featherlight, but she created that same strange, shimmering fire that sank under his skin and spread through his body like living flames. He should have knocked her hand away—that would have been the sensible thing to do—but already those flames had made their way into his bloodstream and were growing, spreading fast, picking up speed as the firestorm rushed through his body and then settled in his groin, robbing him of breath.
He wondered what she’d do if he took out his cock and jerked off. Could he do that without ordering his dick to actually work? Coat her skin with him? With his seed? Brand her his? Fuck. Write his name on her from breasts to pussy. His alone. His property.
“Savage? You look tired.”
She scooted over, wincing when she did. Her leg? She had it completely out of the sheet now. He ran his hand over it very lightly, feeling the swelling, feeling the scrapes, most of all aware of her body giving a little shudder as he inspected the damage. It obviously hurt her to be touched, but she didn’t pull away. She seemed to know he needed to see what she’d suffered on his behalf. What she didn’t know was that she was putting even more steel in his cock. So much so that he dropped his hand over the front of his jeans and rubbed in an effort to try to ease the ache. The burning. The rabid hunger that was beginning to consume him.
“That hurts, doesn’t it?” he whispered, stroking caresses over the scrapes. He could feel each individual laceration where the asphalt had chewed up her skin. He was the devil, courting disaster for both of them.
“Yes,” she admitted. “Not as bad as my head, but it hurts.”
He shifted his weight until both legs were on the bed and he could ease some of the strain on his groin. “Did you cry?”
“Yes.” She whispered the confession in that velvet voice that wrapped him up in sin and temptation.
He leaned back, and when he did, she lifted her head, took one of the pillows and pushed it behind his neck. When she moved, a soft, hastily cut-off groan escaped. He touched her face and found it wet with a few more tears leaking out. His cock reacted, leaking his own pearly drops as he leaned in to her to sip at the ones on her face. He closed his eyes to savor the taste of her teardrops.
“You need to stop moving around, Seychelle. Just lie still.” He made it a command. When he told others what to do, they tended to obey him. Her gaze moved over his face almost as if she found his tone amusing, but she didn’t attempt to move again.
His hand slid over her injured thigh and found more scrapes there. A very small shudder slid over her body when, featherlight, the pads of his fingers found the lacerations and stroked small caresses over them.
He kept his gaze on her face. It was easy to read her every expression. He moved his hand up higher, still gentle, still that light touch, stroking along her rib cage. “Are you hurt here? Bruised?”
“A small scrape. The road chewed me up more than the truck did. It was already stopping and caught me at an angle.”
He pushed her hospital gown aside, easy enough to do when it was simply tied around her neck. He leaned down to examine the laceration along her ribs. The scrape went up her side, shaving skin off, pitted where they’d clearly dug out some gravel. “Fuck, baby, this looks angry.”
He ran his finger up her side until he was touching the underside of her breast. “Did they put any antibiotic cream on this? Not certain I was worth all these scrapes and that goose egg.”
She started to move, but his gaze pinned her to the bed. She went very still again. “You were worth it, Savage. I honestly didn’t see the child at the angle I was coming from.” She winced when his finger slid back down the scrape and then over the side of her breast, where the full curve was scraped. The sensitive skin clearly hurt, because she shuddered when he ran the pads of his fingers over the marks, but she didn’t pull away.
“You need more ointment on this. Where is it?” His heart had nearly stopped when she admitted she’d flung herself in front of the truck for him. To keep him alive. To keep him safe.