Page 37 of The Ripper

I shook my head, throwing that thought to the back of my mind and refusing to compare them.

If you’re so disgusted by him killing people, what are you still doing in his bathroom?

I splashed cold water on my face, then looked back at the floor where he lay as I took care of his wound. A wound he had because he shielded me from the bullet, because he protected me when I froze.

Goosebumps covered my skin when I imagined what my life would have looked like with him in it.

What? Taking care of patients during the day and cleaning up gunshot wounds and God knew what else during the night?

I pushed my hair back, then slowly made my way out of the bathroom, and found him lying in bed dressed only in a pair of black boxers.

Motherfucker.

He had his arms crossed under his head and only lazily opened his eyes when he heard me come in, a subtle smirk playing on his lips as he shamelessly allowed his gaze to roam over my body.

I wanted to walk away, but my eyes finally had a chance to look at him again, and that froze me in the doorway.

God, why did the devil have to be so beautiful?

Tattoos covered his body from his calves to his chin, and I unconsciously bit my lip as my gaze fell on his abdomen, more precisely on the trimmed section of hair that disappeared under the elastic of his underwear. I swallowed the fist-sized lump in my throat when something visibly awake twitched beneath the material and quickly moved my eyes to his taut chest. It rose and fell in sync with his breathing, and he didn’t move a muscle when my legs finally decided to walk.

Only they didn’t walk towards the exit, but towards his bed.

I want to stay, were the words I wanted to say. “I want to leave,” were the words that fell off my lips.

He nodded, seemingly unsure of my words, just as conflicted as me, but he slowly rose from the bed and walked to his dresser, not bothering to hide the effects my presence had on him.

I licked my lips while I unconsciously watched the way his back muscles rippled as he moved, and bit down on my tongue to stifle the whimper that threatened to escape when his fingers curled around the handle and opened the drawer.

He didn’t have to say or do anything to get me wet, because his image was stimulant enough.

“I’ll drive you,” he whispered in a low tone, coated with a slight rasp that sent shivers down my spine.

“I can call a cab,” I offered as he pulled on a pair of sweatpants. “You’re hurt, and you’ve been drinking. You should get some rest.”

I couldn’t help the worry that coated my voice, because my instinct, namely the part that wanted to help and cared about people, was much stronger than my intrinsic need to punish him. And although I wanted nothing more than to see him squirm a little, to have him feel as helpless as I did, the tall man in front of me continued to put on his clothes, ignoring my comment.

“You think some alcohol will stop me from making sure you get home safely?” he asked, his eyes scrutinizing me from top to bottom, then a subtle smirk curved the corner of his mouth.

He leaned against the dresser and crossed his arms in front of his chest, as his eyes roamed shamelessly over my body. I had no idea what he was looking at, or why he was staring at me like I was naked.

I realized what the problem was when I looked down at myself and saw that I was wearing a black T-shirt that barely covered my butt.

I wanted to crawl into a hole and stay there until the embarrassment passed, because I didn’t realize what I was wearing when I woke up, because I was too focused on the groans coming out of the bathroom, and I ran in that direction without noticing that my dress was missing.

Fuck, I didn’t see it when I looked in the mirror either, since I was too overwhelmed by everything else around me.

“You… when did… how… explain,” I stomped my foot on the floor like a spoiled child.

“Your dress was dirty,” he began, taking a few steps towards me. “And as much as it turned me on to see my blood on you, I couldn’t let you wake up covered in it.”

He stopped in front of me, his eyes searching my face for something.

I couldn’t figure out what exactly, and my cheeks caught fire at the knowledge that he undressed me while I was unconscious, and part of me throbbed when I wondered what else he did. My knees knocked against each other as I rubbed my thighs together, and the corners of his mouth tilted up as he brought his hands to my face and pushed my hair back, his fingertips lightly brushing over my neck with the motion.

“Does that excite you, Snezhinka? Knowing I have undressed you and washed my blood off your skin?” he asked, his voice coated in mischief as his index finger traced an invisible line from behind my ear down to my collarbone.

My breath cut off.

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