Page 139 of Intense
“You don’t have to,” I say, my voice raw.
“I know.” His gaze meets mine. “But I want to.”
He sterilizes the blade marks with practiced care, cooling antiseptic on warm skin. He bandages the deepest one near my hip and presses his thumb there to hold the gauze in place.
“You’re not used to being looked after,” he says softly, not as a question.
I shake my head, eyes glassy. “No one ever has.”
His jaw flexes. That controlled rage rising again, but not at me this time. For me.
“You should be,” he says. “You fucking deserve it.”
He tucks my hair behind my ear, then turns to clean himself, grabbing a sterile cloth from the drawer, pressing it over the cut I gave him like it’s nothing.
Like it’s sacred.
I sit up slowly, reaching for him on instinct. I swipe at the blood on his chest, tracing the line I made with a shaking fingertip.
“I didn’t mean to shake like that; you know I’m usually better than that,” I whisper.
“I did.”
“What?”
“I wanted to shake you. Ruin you. But only if I could put you back together after.”
God help me, I believe him.
Finn Quinn is many things. Disturbed, dominant, and terrifying in his control.
But this?
This quiet devotion?
It’s the most dangerous part of him.
Because I think I could fall in love with it.
And falling for a man like Finn is a death sentence.
So I lean my head on his shoulder, ignoring the voice in my head screaming at me to run.
Just for now, I let myself feel safe in the arms of the man who could destroy me completely.
And maybe already has.
“What do we do now?” I ask.
My head is a mess, and so is my body.
He frowns, checking the time on his Rolex.
“Well, I have a family party to be at,” he pauses, “half an hour ago.”
“Oh. Shit. I’m sorry.”
He chuckles, leaning in and pulling my lip back.
