Page 107 of Prized Possession

I swipe my fingers over his cheek, washing away the small specks of blood that are dotted all over his face. When I get to those soft pink lips of his, I can’t help but drag my thumb along his bottom one, loving the feel of how silky it is.

Marcus’ bright blue eyes darken, and he looks down at me through hooded lashes, his chest rising and falling rapidly, confirming that he’s just as affected by this as I am.

I’m so lost, just staring into his almost hypnotic eyes, I don’t even see his mouth open, but I feel it under my touch. He pulls the tip of my thumb into his mouth, and my gaze drops to his lips instantly. He swirls his tongue around it before sucking gently.

A small gasp escapes, but it’s drowned out by the loud pounding of the water. Given the way Marcus shudders, he heard the noise.

He somewhat reluctantly releases my thumb, and I’m a little upset about it. How the hell is he capable of turning me on with just his mouth on my thumb? Imagine what he could do with access to my whole body.

Focus, Chloe,I remind myself.He might be injured, so focus on that, nothing else!

Except, given the way he’s staring at me, like he wants to devour me, it’s hard to think of anything else. I take a deep breath as I try to steady my nerves, to help me focus on the task at hand.

I reach out with both hands and, as carefully as I can, I shuck the jacket off his shoulders before sliding each arm out. Despite being super gentle, he winces a lot, even going as far as a hiss and grimace when I move his left arm out of the jacket.

He allows me to manipulate his limbs, making it easier for me to pull his jacket off. I then throw it onto the floor in the far corner of the shower, silently praising whoever designed this place for adding a walk-in shower big enough to house several people comfortably.

Once I’ve removed his tie, discarding that alongside his jacket, I lower my gaze to assess as much as I can see. Given he’s in a white shirt, which should be almost completely transparent by now because of the water, I was hoping I’d be able to get a clearer view of what injuries I’m dealing with without having to undress him further.

I should have known I’m not that lucky.

His once-white shirt is now completely covered in blood, and although the water has drenched it to the point it’s sticking to his skin, it’s done nothing to remove the blood stains.

I slowly lift my gaze to his, maintaining eye contact with him as I raise my hands towards his top button, making my intentions very clear. I move at a pace that would allow him to stop me if he didn’t feel comfortable with me doing this, but he doesn’t.

With slightly shaky hands, I begin unbuttoning his shirt. It’s harder than it should be, but my trembling fingers, the water continuing to hit us, and the slickness of the buttons, thanks to the water, makes it a much more complicated task than it needs to be.

With each button I finally manage to open, the air in the shower cubical seems to crackle. Although it’s the largest shower I’ve ever been in, the space begins to feel small with how close together we’re standing, yet neither of us steps away. We allow the steam to fill the air around us as we just stare at each other.

Both of our chests begin to rise and fall quicker, and once I get to the buttons over his pecs, I can feel his heart beating beneath my touch.

I hold my hand there for longer than is necessary, but I find comfort in knowing his heart is racing for me. He’s just as affected by this as I am, and that both thrills and scares me all at the same time.

As I reach the final button, I allow myself to ogle the perfect specimen of a man standing before me. He’s lean with just the right amount of muscles, without being too big.

I watch as water droplets cascade over his smooth pecs, along the hard ridges of his abs—a perfect six pack, of course—until it reaches the trail of hair that disappears below his belt.

I don’t even see the blood covering his pale skin, or the cut across his side straight away, as I’m too fixated on how annoyingly perfect he looks.

Once I slide his shirt off and he lets out a loud hiss, breaking the bubble I seem to have found myself in, I remember why we’re doing this in the first place. I’m not undressing him so I can drool over him, I’m supposed to be making sure he’s okay, and the wince of pain tells me he’s not.

The shirt joins his jacket in the corner as the water around us runs crimson with blood. This time when I really look at Marcus, I see the way he’s curling his right arm around his stomach, while trying not to move his left.

I take a small step back, just so I can get a better view. On the outside of his left arm, across his bicep, there’s a slash wound with blood trickling from it.

I reach over and wrap my small hand around his right wrist, his eyes widening as I begin to gently pull his hand away. I wouldn’t be able to move him if he didn’t allow me to, so I give him a small reassuring smile when he does.

He hisses loudly. “Fuck,” he mutters, breaking the tense silence that had been building between us.

Once his hand is out of the way, blood begins to ooze down his lower stomach, over his belt and trousers. I squat down slightly until I’m level withthe wound, so I can get a better look, placing my hands on Marcus’ hips for support.

It’s definitely a knife wound, same as the one on his arm, though this looks worse. The slash across his bicep looks more superficial than anything, whereas this doesn’t.

The wound seems to be around three inches long, but it’s not a straightforward injury. It’s almost like there are two wounds in one.

The outermost part nearest his side is long and shallow, similar to the slice on his arm, whereas the inner part, nearest his bellybutton, is deeper. About an inch of the wound looks to be very deep, like you’d expect to see in a stab wound.

I reach around Marcus and grab the flannel that’s hanging on a hook on the wall, making sure to wet it under the shower-head first.

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