Page 414 of Hate Mates

I step behind her, not touching her. Just close enough that I know she feels me.

“I need to check you over,” I say, my voice lower than I expect.

She meets my gaze in the mirror, her eyes stormy, unreadable.

“I’m fine,” she whispers.

I exhale sharply, reach for the small cloth folded beside the basin, and dip it into the water. “Let me be sure.”

I bring the cloth to her skin, swiping it gently over her forehead, erasing the dirt and dried blood. She doesn’t stop me.

Her breath shivers as I move lower, tracing the cloth over the curve of her jaw, her throat.

I swallow hard.

She closes her eyes, leaning into my touch.

The cloth slips lower, over her collarbone, brushing the edge of her dress. My fingers graze her skin where the fabric dips, and her lips part, a soft exhale leaving her mouth.

Heat coils low in my stomach.

I force myself to keep moving, cleaning the last of the grime from her arms, her hands, lingering on the places where I gripped her too hard.

She turns then, facing me fully.

I’m too close.

Her gaze drops to my wrist—to the mark glowing softly against my skin. She reaches for it, her fingers barely brushing the edges of it.

“This feels… different,” she murmurs.

I nod. “It is.”

Silence stretches between us. Thick. Heavy. Charged.

Then, softly, “I meant what I said before.”

I still.

She lifts her chin, meeting my gaze with something fierce, vulnerable. “You ruined me.”

I swallow against the lump forming in my throat.

“You ruined me first,” I murmur.

Her breath hitches.

She reaches for me, her hands sliding up my chest, her touch burning through my clothes. I catch her wrists, stopping her.

“You’re exhausted,” I rasp.

“I don’t care.”

I do.

I should.

But then she moves against me, pressing her body flush to mine, her hands slipping behind my neck.

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