Page 28 of Save Me

I mentally slap myself and contain myself to not slap the fucking doctor. Stepping out from behind him, I see him.

Pale and weak, but still undeniably handsome in his hospital gown. His eyes meet mine, and a cocky smirk plays on his lips. The doctor excuses himself and leaves, closing the door behind him.

I can’t tear my eyes away from Argent as I approach him. I take in the sight of him, his disheveled hair andtired eyes. The smell of sterile linens mingles with the faint scent of his cologne. “My girlfriend, was it?”

“Oh, shut it.” I dismiss him as I quickly make my way to him. Without hesitation, I lean down and press my lips against his, desperate for the reassurance that he’s okay.

“What the hell were you thinking?” I whisper against his lips, my hands gently cradling his face. I have no idea what I would've done if I lost him.

Carefully, I lower myself onto the edge of the plush bed, mindful of not causing him any discomfort. However, he firmly grasps my arm and effortlessly lifts me onto the bed, pulling back the warm blanket and drawing me in beside him.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” I manage to say, but my words are abruptly silenced as he fiercely presses his lips against mine, drawing me into an intense embrace.

“You can never hurt me, little star,” he rasps, his voice sending shivers of heat through my body, settling deep between my thighs.

For a few blissful moments, we lie in a soothing silence, gazing into each other’s eyes. I tenderly tracemy fingertips along his cheek, tangling my hand in his silky hair.

“Please, promise me you won’t do something stupid again,” I earnestly plead, locking my gaze with his captivating green eyes.

“I promise, I’ll be a good boy, baby,” he replies, flashing me a dazzling smile. Without hesitation, our lips reconnect once more, this time with a sense of urgency as his tongue slips past my parted lips, eliciting a strained moan.

Despite his pain, he hungrily devours me like a famished predator. I gasp as I feel his hand venture between my legs.

“We can’t—someone can walk in.”

“Then you’ll have to be extra quiet. Can you do that, little star?” he softly murmurs, his grip on the nape of my neck pulling me back into his demanding kiss while his hand ventures beneath the waistband of my jeans.

“You’re injured, Argent,” I breathe, barely able to speak as his fingers slip into my underwear, spreading the wetness between my folds.

“I was shot in the stomach, baby. My fingers are perfectly fine,” he whispers against my lips as he pushesa finger into me, causing me to bite down on my lip, attempting to suppress the moan that threatens to escape. A mischievous smirk dances across his mouth as he maintains an unwavering gaze.

He adds another finger, curling them up and I cling to his arm, burying my face in his neck, muffling the moans that tumble from my lips. A simmering warmth intensifies inside me, coursing up my spine as my eyes flutter closed.

Just as I threaten to tip over the edge, he withdraws his fingers. I lift my head, breathless, and gaze at him with a perplexed frown.

He brings his fingers to his smirking mouth and sensually sucks them clean. “If I don’t stop now—I will fuck you on this bed and against every wall of this room and let everyone hear who you belong to.”

Chapter 21

ARGENT

It has been threelong days since I returned home from the hospital, and the tension is building inside me like a ticking time bomb.

The incessant fussing and coddling from everyone around me makes me feel like a wounded puppy, and I’m growing damn tired of it.

To make matters worse, Starlet hasn’t gone back to therapy, prioritizing taking care of me despite my insistence that I’m fine.

I’m sprawled on the couch, a crime documentary playing on the television—Starlet’s favorite choice, as always. If I’m not mistaken, it’s a documentary about stalkers. Ironic.

In the kitchen, I can hear the clinking of cutlery and the occasional curse words, which elicit a chuckle that rumbles through my chest. It seems she has found a new hobby—cooking for me.

Suddenly, her petite footsteps emerge from the kitchen, and my gaze shifts to her as she appears, holding a tray adorned with a generous glass of orange juice and a plate piled high with fluffy pancakes and crispy bacon.

I know that once she’s finished ‘caring’ for me, I’ll have to go on a fucking diet.

With a proud announcement, she places the tray on the coffee table, exclaiming, “Tada—breakfast is served.” I give her a sidelong smile, adjusting my position to sit closer to the table.

“Looks delicious,” I comment, my eyes never leaving her.

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