Page 71 of Power Term

His mischievous smirk causes heat to bloom in my lower belly and dampness to slick the inside of my thighs.

A predatory glint shines in his eyes as they sweep me from head to toe. Each step is steady, calculated from the door to where I lie trembling with excitement. Long fingers fist the mound of blankets covering my bare legs and slowly drag the heavy material to the floor, leaving me exposed in the ugly-as-sin hospital gown I’ve been forced to wear.

I nibble at my upper lip to keep my grimace from showing as I take in the state of my legs. Bruises and lacerations litter my upper thighs, and layers of gauze wrap from shin to ankle. I don’t let myself think about the damage that lies beneath. Not now. Not when the heat from Trey’s sweeping gaze could light the sheets beneath me on fire.

The bottom sheet snags on jagged nails as I ball it into a tight fist. Something about this triggers anxiety and sends my pulse racing. The bed, the basic sheet, bare legs exposed.

“Randi.”

I hear him call my name, but I just can’t look away from the sheet gripped between my fingers. The sight has me locked in a trance that transports me back to that basement.

“Randi, look at me.”

Shame and fear clash as I shift to stare at the hospital gown, grounding myself to the present. I really am broken. What if he doesn’t want to deal with this mess I’ve become?

“I’m a mess,” I whisper.

“You’ve always been my mess, Mess.”

“But now… now I’m more like some hoarder’s trailer than a mess. I’m unsalvageable. Not even a TLC special could clear out the baggage and trash that’s been shoved in here.” I tap the side of my head.

“Mess, baby, I hate to be the one to tell you this, but you’ve always been a bit of a work in progress.”

My eyes widen, challenge flaring in my chest. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t give me that look. All I’m saying is… fuck, I’m saying this wrong.”

“You think?” Indignation swirls within me.

“You’ve climbed an uphill battle your entire life and survived. Not only made it through but bettered your life. You clawed your way out of that trailer park, away from the life you were destined for. I know you can do the same now. It won’t be easy, you know that from experience, but this time you have me, and you have Tank and Sarah. We won’t let you go through this alone. Don’t ever think you’re too damaged or too much work to save. If that was the case, Tank would’ve walked away from me years ago. We don’t give up on family. We don’t give up on the ones we love.”

My lower lip trembles. “Promise?”

“Promise.” His eyes twinkle, completely at odds with the solemn conversation. “How about we seal it with a kiss?”

That desire-filled heat from earlier sparks in my lower gut again. I lick my chapped, healing lower lip.

“Full disclosure. I don’t know when I last brushed my teeth,” I admit, sinking into the pillow at my back as he prowls closer. I’ve showered several times in the en-suite bathroom, giving me confidence that I don’t reek of body odor or still have crusted blood covering me, at least.

“Madam President, I don’t give a flying fuck as long as I get to kiss you.”

I have a smart reply ready only for it to be swallowed up by his lips sealing to mine and his tongue pushing past to tangle with my own. He consumes me, each swipe of his tongue and moan of pleasure from the simple kiss burning away the fear and doubt of his desire for this broken version of myself.

It’s not enough. The kiss is perfection, but I’m desperate for all of him. Grasping on to his shoulders I urge him onto the bed with me.

If it were any other hospital bed, we might not fit. But it’s not. This king-size hospital bed really is fit for a king… or president. Finally the perks of the job are paying off, so I can fuck my fiancé in the hospital and still be comfortable.

The small tug is all it takes for him to toe off his shoes and climb onto the bed. Careful of my IV and other wires, Trey hovers over me, bracing himself on both elbows digging into the mattress on either side of my head. I run a finger down his hard chest over the soft material of his dark gray T-shirt.

Hooking the collar, I give it a quick yank. “Off.”

Trey smirks, hooking his own finger into the collar of the hospital gown. “Ditto, baby. I need a good look at what’s mine.”

I watch in awe, a bit of drool collecting and slipping out of the corner of my gaping mouth, as he rips the shirt over his head, those defined muscles rippling and stretching with the movement. Kneeling between my parted legs, he grins, hooking both thumbs into the waistband of his dark jeans. That deep V and those washboard abs have me licking my lips, itching for a taste. I bend, readying to sit up and lick his stomach and lower, only for a pinch of pain to stop me cold.

“What level of hell is this?” I hiss, gently cupping my ribs. “All I wanted was to lick your stomach.”

A dark chuckle scatters the remaining ache in my side, reminding me of the slow, steady throb between my thighs. “As much as I’d love that, baby, any licking will have to wait. Right now, I focus on you. Reminding you that no matter what you’ve been through, no matter the aches”—three of his fingers caress from one side of my ribs to the other, dragging the gown’s thin material with it—“or the bruises.” He trails those same fingers up, and I hiss through clenched teeth at the barely there touch over one nipple. Trey cups my jaw, swiping his thumb over my cheekbone. “I’ll remind you that no matter what, you’re still mine and so fucking beautiful it physically hurts.”

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