Page 32 of Forget Me Not

“No, Reid, they’re—” I protest, but he cuts me off with a finger to my lips. I’m so taken aback by the sudden touch, I actually shut up.

“Stay here.”

He takes the bloody towel, replacing it with a new one, and he’s gone before I can argue again. I sit on the dirty floor, cradling my hand in a towel that is probably covered in years of dust and who knows what else and try not to think about the sudden change in his demeanor toward me until he finally returns.

His footsteps echo along the halls before he reenters the bathroom, first aid kit in hand, and tosses the towel in the sink. I expect him to tell me to get up and move to the bed, but instead, he drops down with his back to the tub and opens the kit.

Listen, our kit isn’t great, but it does have surgical thread and needles, as well as bandages. I had hoped he would just get the bandages, but of course, he goes for the needle and thread as if he’s Nurse Ratched and I’m his unfortunate next victim.

Sliding a pair of gloves on that are way too small for his hands, he widens his stance, spreading his legs across from me like he’s the star in the raunchiest porno.

Then he gestures for me to sit between them.

“What?”

“Get over here.”

“You are not giving me stitches.”

He fixes me with a bored stare. One that tells me I’m not going to have much of a choice.

“Do I have to say it again, little bird?”

There’s that name, again. Little bird. As if he’s a cat, waiting to catch me when I’m not expecting it. Planning to swallow me whole before I can fly out of his grasp.

My mind tells me not to listen to him. He’s not my father and he for damn sure doesn’t get to boss me around. His eyes tell me that I’d better do what he tells me or there will be hell to pay.

And that gets me wondering what kind of punishment this man would hand out and my body tightens with need, despite everything.

God, am I becoming a sex-addict after one orgasm?

With less grace than a baby giraffe on new legs, I slip across the bathroom with one hand and pause in front of him. His eyes follow me, dark and looming, as if he can read my dirty thoughts and he doesn’t approve.

He motions for me to turn around, so I do because, honestly, it’s a welcome reprieve from looking at that stare. Silently, he pulls me to him until my back is nestled to his front and he can peer over my shoulder.

“This doesn’t feel like stitches,” I mumble, voice breathier than usual. If I wanted to be coy about his effect on me, it’s completely lost in this moment. Reid adjusts and when he does, I can feel his erection poking at my ass, as if it’s reminding me of how good it felt the last time his hands were on me.

“Give me your hand.” I’m pleased to hear his voice is just as thick as mine, as if the air in the room is dissipating now that we’re both on the same page.

He wants me just as bad as I want him, even if we shouldn’t.

Even if I can’t let it happen.

I place my hand in his and he turns it over, using the small bottle of peroxide to clean the cut without another word. I watch as he readies the needle over my shoulder, our height difference giving him the perfect view of the back of my hand.

This is definitely not conventional, though, right now, I’m not sure I’d want to get stitches any other way.

“Don’t watch,” he murmurs, but I can’t look away as he slides the needle through the torn and bleeding skin, piercing it as if he’s done this a million times.

Neither of us says a word and no one moves while he fixes me, stitch by stitch, until you can’t tell an actual nurse didn’t do it.

“Ask me how I got the first aid kit,” Reid says quietly from behind me as he’s finishing the last few stitches.

I swallow down past the lump in my throat and will my heart to stop hammering in my ears.

“How did you get the first aid kit.”

“I took it,” he murmurs darkly, as if it’s the answer to anything. “I didn’t ask. I didn’t explain. I took it.”

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