Page 23 of Imperfect Skin

“Right, I’m going to go downstairs and lock up, then I’ll be back.” Cal looked at the pyjamas he still held in his hand. “Did you need me to give you a hand changing?”

I could probably do it myself, but my back felt like a solid blanket of hurt right now. Just moving to stand caused the deeper welts to sting, like they were being struck again. I gripped the bed and struggled to my feet, stubbornly reaching out to grab my pyjamas.

Callum just shook his head. “You can barely stand. Lean on me while we get these damn jeans off.”

I felt my cheeks heat when Cal undid the top button of my jeans, blushing like I hadn’t done since I was a sixteen-year-old virgin.

“You really had to wear your tightest jeans tonight.” Callum huffed out a laugh as he tried to pull them down my legs. I held onto his shoulder, trying not to topple over or giggle at the strangeness of the situation.

“These jeans make my arse look banging,” I muttered, blushing a deeper red when I remembered exactly what underwear I had on and that I’d flashed them at Cal earlier in the night. What could I say? Rhys wasn’t the only one who’d discovered the lingerie shop on the high street.

“Your arse always looks banging. You don’t need to wear jeans tight enough to cut off the circulation to your cute little cock to prove it.” Callum said, yanking my jeans down far enough that I could step out of them.

I slapped my hand lightly on Cal’s shoulder. Who did he think he was, calling my cock little? “Oi, I’ve had no complaints about my cock—wait, you think my arse is banging?” I was too tired to make sense of anything tonight.

“I just said that, didn’t I? Now, kegs on or off?” Callum had his hands resting on his thighs, waiting for my permission.

Getting him to take my lacy G-string off might be a step too far for my frazzled self-control. “Leave them on. Don’t need you making any more fun of my poor willy.”

“Wasn’t making fun of you, boy. What would be more comfortable for you to sleep in? The panties are pretty, but they might get a bit uncomfortable during the night.”

I hated that he was right. I knew at some point during the night they and the PJ pants would get thrown off. I didn’t sleep well, and often woke up overheating.

“Off.” I said it fast and looked away, feeling naked and vulnerable in a way I’d never felt before.

“Alright, little Mouse, breathe easy. We’ll have you in bed in no time.” Cal moved with quiet efficiency, removing my underwear and slipping my pyjama pants on me without fuss.

I stood still, not really knowing what to do until Cal took my elbow and guided me back to the bed. He pulled the duvet back.

“Do you need the loo?”

I swear to God he would have probably taken me to the lav and helped me if I’d let him. I was tempted to tell him to stop being a mother hen—but I wasn’t sure I really wanted him to stop.

“I might need to go, but I don’t need you hovering over me like a bossy Daddy,” I huffed, moving slowly towards the ensuite.

“Seems to me you need a bit of bossing in your life.”

I waited for my normal angry reaction that sort of comment would trigger, but it didn’t come.

Cal thankfully waited at the door while I peed. The uncomfortable ache in my kidneys didn’t subside much, but at least the pressure was off them. I had to place my hand on the wall to stop myself falling forwards when a wave of nausea swept through me. My hands started to shake, and I stumbled. I fell to the bathroom floor, narrowly missing braining myself on the toilet. Emotions roared through me. I wanted to cry or scream—I couldn’t decide which—and the tears came of their own volition.

“Hey, little Mouse.” I could see the bottom of his jeans as Callum crouched down alongside me, before kneeling on the fluffy bathroom mat. He didn’t move to touch me, and irrationally my brain screamed at me of course he didn’t. You’re garbage. A fuckup.

Scrubbing my eyes with the back of my hand, I turned to look at Callum. But he didn’t look angry with me or disgusted like I’d expected. Instead he looked sad, his expression filled with concern. His brow was creased in the way it was when Alice hurt herself or when she was upset.

“I fucked up so badly. I’m sorry, please don’t hate me.” The words tumbled out along with my tears. I couldn’t have stopped them if I’d wanted to.

Shifting to lean against the vanity, Callum opened his arms for me, and I crawled forward, dropping my head onto his shoulder. His arms wrapped around my waist, avoiding my wounds. “You did nothing wrong, Mouse. Ziggy took advantage of you when you were vulnerable. He preyed on your needs as a submissive, but also as a man in pain. What he did to you was abuse, plain and simple. You withdrew consent. The guy who’d been in there yelled that you had called red and Ziggy ignored you. He planned on hurting you tonight, regardless of what you said or did.”

I could hear the quiet anger in Callum’s voice. Not directed at me, but for me. His shirt was bunched under my fingers, its fabric stained with my tears.

“I was stupid.”

“There was a decided lack of wisdom trusting Ziggy, but it’s understandable. You felt like you didn’t have any other choice,” Callum answered in a calm voice. His hand stroked my hip as if I was a nervous puppy.

“I thought it would help. I thought it would stop me thinking about shit I shouldn’t be,” I murmured, hoping Callum wouldn’t press on those reasons.

I shifted in the cradle of his arms and nuzzled his shoulder. It felt as safe and warm as I’d always dreamed it would. I just wished I was here for different reasons, and not because of a reckless situation that I’d once again put myself in.

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