Page 68 of Heroes & Hitmen
“Your leg, idiot,” she says, pointing. “You’re bleeding.”
I glance down, and sure as shit, my jeans are torn open below the knee, the denim wet with blood.
Kinda forgot about that little mishap with the retaining wall.
“It’s nothing,” I reply quickly, brushing it off. “Just caught the wall when we climbed over.”
Her lips twist in a scowl, arms folding over her chest. “Yeah, well it doesn’t look like nothing,” she grumbles, casting a wary glance up and down the alley before fixing me with a stern look that brokers zero room for argument. “Let me take a look at it.”
I start to protest, but she’s already pushing me back toward the brick wall with both hands, bound and determined to get a look at my injury. As soon as my back meets the bricks, she drops to a crouch in front of me, leaning in to inspect the damage.
“Jesus,” she mutters, shaking her head. “What did you try to do, skin yourself alive?”
“It’s fine,” I insist, but she’s in full triage mode, hands gentle but firm as she peels the torn denim back to get a better look.
“You a doctor now?” I joke, shifting my weight uncomfortably.
“No, but me and my sisters learned how to patch each other up so we wouldn’t have to go to the creepy-as-fuck medical floor,” she murmurs, trying and failing to get a good look at my wound through the tear in my jeans. “Ugh, I can’t see,” she huffs, pushing up on her knees and reaching for my belt with both hands. “Hold still,” she orders as she starts to unfasten it, quick and focused, like this is just another task to handle
I try to obey, but there’s a serious disconnect between my brain and body right now. The second she unzips my fly and starts tugging my jeans down, my cock thickens beneath my boxers, completely ignoring the context of this encounter.
“I’ve been trying to get you on your knees for weeks, but this isn’t exactly how I pictured it,” I tease, chuckling to myself.
She rolls her eyes at my vulgarity, but her cheeks flush a shade darker. “Shut up and let me see,” she grumbles, yanking my jeans down to my ankles.
We both get a good look at the damage– skin torn open, blood dripping– but the wound is also actively healing. I flex my leg, both of us watching as torn skin slowly knits itself back together in real time.
One of the major perks of shifter biology is that injuries heal quick. Severe wounds take longer, but in a few hours, this one won’t even leave a trace.
Miley swipes at the blood with the sleeve of her hoodie, muttering something under her breath about “men and their dumbass hero complex”.
“See? It’s fine,” I say.
She nods in assent, peering up at me through her eyelashes, but she doesn’t move to stand up. Doesn’t reach for my jeans. Doesn’t pull away.
She’s still kneeling there, hands warm against my thighs, close enough to taste. The tension in the air suddenly ratchets up, buzzing between us like electricity.
“Since you’re already down there…” I murmur teasingly, voice rough.
She exhales sharply, a breathy little sound that could be annoyance or interest.Maybe both.
“You’d love that, wouldn’t you?” she scoffs.
“Yeah,” I say. No point in pretending otherwise.
She tilts her head, studying me, something mischievous simmering behind her eyes. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen this side of Miley, but I like it. Rebellion looks damn good on her.
A smirk tilts her lips as her hand slowly glides up the inside of my thigh, her taunting touch stopping just shy of where I want it. My breath catches, pulse skipping, dick getting even harder.
“You want me to…” she muses, letting the question hang.
For once, I’m actually speechless, mouth hanging open as my brain short-circuits.
She won’t… will she?
Her smile curves, wicked and beautiful, and then she closes that last inch. Her palm presses against my shaft through my boxers, fingers curling with deliberate pressure.
My whole body jolts. I suck in a sharp inhale, hips arching toward her instinctively.
