Page 48 of Skin Deep

“Now thatissignificant.” Shepherd pointed the knife at me. “Such a confession requires first admitting you require being saved, and I’ve never known you to admit to vulnerability. The important thing here is how it makes you feel.”

“Fuck off,” I growled and swallowed some of the wine. “Don’t shrink me.”

He sighed and turned back to the stove. “I am what I am. However, I can see you look strained and exhausted. You’ve been through a lot in the last twenty-four hours by your own account. New relationships can be taxing.”

I snorted at that, looking away. I’d told him a lot, but not everything. He knew Pax and I were sleeping together, and he knew about my masochistic tendencies, but he likely assumed I wouldn’t go that far with someone so early. A sane person wouldn’t.

“How are you feeling?”

“I don’t know.” My hand fell on the bandages, rubbing them through my clothing. “I’m sore all over. Can’t get warm. Think I might be coming down with something.”

Shepherd abandoned whatever he was doing at the stove, washed his hands and came to stand in front of me. “Well, let’s clear that up, shall we?”

I sighed and let him feel the lymph nodes along my chin, knowing full well I wasn’t actually sick.

“It’s possible you’re feeling the effects of not eating for several days and a lack of sleep plus stress,” Shepherd said eventually, dropping his hands.

“I let him cut me last night,” I blurted, and then blushed. “I… Maybe it’s infected.”

“Or maybe you’re experiencing some guilt,” Shepherd added. He eyed me up and down before walking back to the stove. “Flu-like symptoms, depression, anxiety, and ten to one, you’re craving sugar like there’s no tomorrow.”

I frowned. “How did you know?”

A plate landed in front of me containing two slices of his famous Amish apple bread with apple butter, one of my favorite treats. “You’re experiencing sub-drop.”

I frowned up at him, though he was probably right. I hated when he was right. If anyone would know about that, however, it was Shepherd. Not only did he co-own a BDSM club and live that lifestyle, but it was his area of study as a psychiatrist.

I blinked and glanced around. “Speaking of that, where are yours?”

It was rare for Shepherd to be alone. He usually had two or three submissives at any time, some of which had even lived with him in that role twenty-four-seven. I couldn’t fathom how exhausting that would be, to be someone’s possession every hour of every day. That was a bridge too far for me, but it seemed to steady Shepherd. Bondage and domination were his favorite mood stabilizers.

He sighed and sank onto the stool across from me clutching his own mug of coffee. “I’m taking a break.”

“Taking a break?” I took a small bite of the bread. “Since when do you take breaks?”

He shrugged. “It’s burn out, I think. I feel as if I’ve done everything with everyone I want to. I’m bored with it, so I’m taking the summer off to focus on other things. Like this ripper case of yours.”

The door to Shepherd’s apartment suddenly swung open and both of us went on alert, reaching for our weapons until we heard Xander shout, “Honey, I’m home!”

Shepherd put down the meat cleaver he’d grabbed and narrowed his eyes. “Remind me to change my locks again.”

“You know Xander. He doesn’t believe in a thing calledboundaries.” I said it loud enough that Xander surely heard all of it even before he sauntered into the kitchen with plastic bags dangling from his fingers and a dish covered in foil.

Xander placed the foil covered dish on the counter. “Homemade potatoes from Mom, and these are from me.” He placed the bags on the counter.

Shepherd frowned and pushed open a bag like it was full of snakes before lifting a bag of Flamin’ Hot Cheetos. “So you’re the one who’s been feeding Bryce’s snack food habit.”

“Bryce has good taste,” Xander said with a shrug. “Speaking of, where’s he keeping his pot stash?”

“No,” I said firmly. “We’re working tonight. You’re not allowed to get high.”

Xander rolled his eyes and snatched a piece of the apple bread for himself. “Fine. So, Bowen, huh?”

“BowenIvanski?” Shepherd’s dark eyes focused on me.

I ignored him, prying up the foil on the mashed potatoes Annie had sent. “It’s a job I’m doing for Nikita. It’s not a big deal.”

Shepherd slapped my fingers away. “It is if you’re hunting Bowen Ivanski. Spill. Now.”

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