Page 41 of Breaking Storm

Teagan puts her hand on my shoulder. “I’ll help you get cleaned up.”

I look at her and sarcastically say, “Are you sure? I mean, I’m not perfect. You—”

Sean breaks my comments. “Shut up! She doesn’t deserve it.”

“Right, because she deservesyou.”

My head turns toward the window, and I swallow. There are no boundaries to my jealousy. No situations that warrant another man in her thoughts or embrace. Teagan has broken a dam in me, and I can’t control the flood of possessiveness. Even Sean being in her head is like driving a stake into my heart. I’ve wanted her attention and affection for years. Instead, she’s giving it to my best friend.

Again, I push myself off the bed, use the bedside table and wall for support, yet my attempt fails. I’m about to face plant the floorboards again before Sean grabs my shirt and wraps an arm around my chest. This altercation has depleted my energy, so I let him put me back in bed. My breathing is thin from the broken ribs, and I splay my hands over them as a coughing fit comes on. When it dissipates, Sean gestures to Teagan, who goes into the washroom to fill a washtub with soap and water. She carries it back and places it on a small table setup for items I need, such as my medications. He takes off my removable splint on my leg.

Sean nods to her and leaves the room. Tea and I stare at each other. Even though she’s nervous, obvious by gnawing on her lower lip, it doesn’t dissuade her. Her fingers slip under the bottom of my T-shirt, shimmying it upward until it’s over my head, tossing it to the side. With a wet washcloth, Tea is gentle, wiping it over my face. I don’t have it in me to stop her. And I don’t want to. She’s caring for me. If it’s fake or out of pity, I’ll take it, as long as I’m in the spotlight.

From a bottle on the table, she pumps foam into her hand and runs it through my hair. It’s some kind of shampoo that doesn’t need to be washed out. My eyes close to the tingling sensation that starts at the roots of my scalp, trailing down to my toes. Tea’s small hands massage my scalp, and I unconsciously moan. I open my eyes to her smiling down at me, combing my hair back.

I grin and ask, “How does my hair look?”

She tilts her head to one side and then the other, as if examining her work. “Well, it no longer looks like roadkill.”

I burst out laughing, clutching my ribs, tears pouring down.

Teagan pats at my face. “Oh, Joey, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have made the joke.”

This stops my laughter, yet I wear a contented smile. My watchful eyes follow her hands when she returns to cleaning. The entire time she works, she avoids looking at me. Replacing the washcloth with a sponge, she soaks it, and rubs down my arms. I take in her work. Her mouth is slightly open, one hand holding my arm, while the other glides the sponge over it. Teagan doesn’t miss a spot: underarms, elbows, and hands. Her eyes narrow, eyebrows crinkle the skin between them, as she wipes and scrutinizes each finger. I have tattoos on each one to cover the scars. Designs and words.

She moves closer to one, squints, and asks, “What’s this date for?”

“Nothing special.”

Teagan pauses and our gaze doesn’t falter. She wants to ask more about the tat. Now is not the time. Maybe never. Her head shifts to the left side of my ribs, closing the distance to inspect another tattoo.

Her finger runs along the barbed wire, and the worddamagedas she whispers, “You’re not damaged.”

The delicateness of her fingertips sends shivers through me. Her face crumples, pained by my tattoo. Teagan doesn’t meet my gaze, resuming her cleaning. A stroke of the sponge. A caress of her hand. While tending to me, concentrating on the task, I’m captivated by her. Strands of hair fall from her messy bun, brushing against her cheeks that redden when her eyes glide down to the drawstring of my sweats. Her shaky hands pick up the ends of the strings, releasing the tie. I can’t prevent the smile from spreading when she holds her breath and purses her lips together. I pause at her pebbled nipples, and a small spark awakens my dick. Thank God it’s minute, because that’s going to be her next cleaning.

Teagan’s fingers skirt to my hips and under the elastic band of my sweats, and with care, she lowers them down with my underwear, slipping them off each foot. She lets out a heavy breath while taking in my naked form. Starting at my toes, her eyes wander over the disturbing colors of purple, green, and yellow from the different stages of healing. Her eyes stop at my cock, which has residual trauma to it. Teagan swallows hard and continues her assessment, evading my eyes.

Dipping the sponge back into the water, and like a professional, she cleans my lower half.The only time she speaks is to ask me to bend my legs so she can get underneath. Switching the sponge to a washcloth, apprehensive at first, Teagan glides it around my balls and dick. I’m getting harder and it hurts like hell. For the first time, I take my eyes off her, closing them to ward off the discomfort. When they open, she’s maneuvering a new pair of boxer briefs and sweats up my legs. I lift my ass to help. Once cleaned and dressed, she takes the bin into the washroom. As much as I want to hang on to this moment with Tea, sleep pulls me in.

Chapter 17

MY ANXIETY RISES, KNOWING WHAT needs to be done after being unable to get Kimberly to return to the house. Joey smells. Sean says we both can take care of it, so asking him to wash Joey seems like a no-brainer. Except itisa big deal. Sean confides he’s gay, and I laugh. Laugh! He’s a perfect guy… for someone else. And it turns out, he is the perfect guy for another guy. My admission regarding Sean triggers something in Joey, and anger flares like a two-headed monster. But Sean helps tame his dark side enough for me to wash him.

Washing Joey was something I didn’t want to do. Not because I don’t care for him. His nakedness worries me. Sure, we’ve had sex. Mind-blowing sex. The kind where a woman loses her senses. My body was on display in ungodly positions. Like an electric blanket on a hot summer’s day, a simple image of what he did to me causes my system to swelter. Thinking about it now, I shift to one leg to quash any evidence of arousal, and I wonder if men can smell it. He doesn’t show any sign of it, so I start.

Joey’s lost some weight yet his body is still a phenomenon. A freak of nature. An incredible specimen. Bruises mark the contours of his body. His geometry of points, lines, and angles is incomparable to anything I’ve seen.

The entire time I wash him, I can feel his watchful eyes. It doesn’t help when I see the barbed wire tattoo above the wordDamaged. A piece of me splinters that he thinks this way about himself. Sean has filled in some of the blanks regarding his life. For someone to put that word on their body means they have known suffering. Or manipulation. I plan on finding out what made him damaged.

If the colors of bruises on his body hadn’t pinched my heart, his red, inflamed cock and balls do. It’s a known fact a guy getting hit in the nuts is a painful experience. Joey’s privates suffered more than one strike.

After I finish cleaning up, Joey is fast asleep, so I sit on the edge of the bed and peruse his masculine face. The stubble has now grown into a beard, yet he’s still breathtaking. And when his mint green eyes are on me, I forget my name, and my hate for what he did. His gaze forces me to recognize my attraction to him. I sigh, taking in his body. It matches his domineering personality, and although strong, he has a firm but lightness to his touch.

Downstairs, I inform Sean Joey is asleep. He heads to the gym, so I pick up my phone to call Erin. The last time we spoke was at Colin’s wake. I miss her and the normalcy she brings to my life. It’s early afternoon, so I cross my fingers, hoping she’ll be available.

She answers on the third ring. “Hello, my friend.”

“Erin! I miss you.”

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