Page 13 of Prey for You

I put a hand on his chest, trying to find the words to tell him what I was feeling, but his eyes dropped and he frowned. “We need to get that cleaned up.”

He took my hand from his chest, then reached for my other one and held them both there—the backs of both my hands abraded and scraped from the harsh bark of the tree.

“Come on,” he muttered. “I’ve got stuff back at the room.”

He tucked himself away and buttoned up, then took my hand and tugged me towards the road.

As we trotted back towards the hotel, I couldn’t stop smiling.

It was so dumb. Such a little thing. My hands would be fine. But it made meso happythat he cared.

4. Aftercare

~ SAM ~

It was a relief to get back to the room. Even though it was unlikely anyone was actively looking for me, when I was outside the room I couldn’t shake a creeping sense of being watched. It raised the hair on the back of my neck.

We showered together, then I caught Bridget before she could wander back out to the bed.

“What?” she asked, grinning playfully as I picked her up. She gave a little yelp when I plonked her straight onto the cold countertop between the two sinks. “Careful, that’s not a pleasant spot to get frostbite.”

I gave her a look and kissed her quickly—but to my surprise she wrapped her arms around me and rubbed her heel up and down the back of my leg.

When I pulled away, she sighed happily. “Another round already? My husband is sovirile.”

I shook my head and bent down to grab the first aid kit I’d brought and stored under the sink. It was the size of a laptop bag with several padded panels inside to keep things organized. I dropped it onto the counter next to her ass and she stopped smiling immediately.

“What’s that for?”

“I told you, we need to clean you up,” I said, unzipping my kit. Each of those interior panels was covered in different slots and pockets holding everything from burn creams to bandages to Narcan and an EpiPen.

Bridget looked at it as I flipped through and her brows popped up. “Are you planning to do surgery?” she asked, reaching towards the little pan of suture needles. I slapped her fingers and she yanked her hand back.

“No,” I muttered. “I’m planning on keeping you from getting an infection.”

She had scrapes, not cuts. There would be no need for stitches today.

Bridget eyed the small bottle of Betadine I pulled out and handed to her. She read the label on it while I dug back into the kit for tweezers and supplies.

She smiled.

I felt a little tense, though it wasn’t her fault.

I’d been rough on her, grinding her hands into that bark to make sure she didn’t get away. Rougher than I should have been—her sweater had slipped up while we were… engaged. So she’d gotten a few scrapes on her lower back, too, though not nearly as deep.

Even though she wasn’t mad, I found myself experiencing a pinch of guilt.

She wasn’t some client in need of a cathartic experience, or an unhinged housewife to be snapped out of a self-destructive spiral. She was mywife.I’d been making love to her.

Hot, rough love.

The thought made my cock thicken, but one look at the back of her hands deflated it.

I had hurt her.

But she liked it,my mind insisted.

She hadn’t asked for that.

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