Page 38 of Kiss Me Like I Didn't Kill You
So yes, I must have done this before, whether with someone I cared for, or just something casual. I can’t remember. All I know is that I had condoms in my drawer.
Condoms.
I bury my face into the pillow beside me and let out a muffled scream. The fabric is laced with his scent, wild berries and rain.
I don’t regret sleeping with Arlo, the passion, the heat, all of it was there, but I do regret that it was him who woke this in me.
Him, of all people. The man is a complete arse, and never misses a chance to prove it with his words.
His voice echoes in my mind.
This means nothing. This is a hard fuck to get you out of my system.
I didn’t expect anything more. I’m not naïve. We have chemistry, and however much he claims to despise me, he can’t stay away. He stirs my body in ways I can’t ignore.
We’re both adults. We both wanted it. That’s all it was. A night we chose, even if he insists I’m the woman he hates.
I push the covers back and slip out of bed. The air is cool on my skin as I pad into the bathroom. A quick rinse under the shower, enough to feel fresh.
When I step out and catch my reflection in the mirror, the bruising across my ribs is still faintly purple, but less tender now.
My forehead itches, the stitches tugging, mercifully they come out today. My feet will need fresh dressings as well.
I wash my face, brush my teeth, run a comb through my hair until it behaves.
In the closet, I pull on my jodhpurs, tug on my riding boots, and shrug into a light jacket against the chill. My hair goes up in a plain ponytail, practical for the stables.
In the kitchen, I prick my finger and check my levels. Normal range. I draw up the dose, give myself the injection, then get on with breakfast.
I slice an avocado, mash it onto sourdough toast, and scatter a few cherry tomatoes on top. Light enough that it won’t weigh on me once I’m riding. I eat quickly, then clear the plate.
I grab my gloves and head for the door. The chair I’d shoved beneath the handle is gone, and the lock, fixed.
My brows lift. It must have been Arlo, who else? When on earth did he manage to have it repaired? I hadn’t heard a thing, which is odd, given I’m hardly a heavy sleeper. I shake it off, grateful enough not to press the thought further.
The corridor is silent as I step outside. Cold, morning air greets me, tightening my lungs. I set off across the grounds, the walk to the stables taking near twenty minutes. By the time I arrive, dawn is just beginning to stir at the edges of the horizon.
Bellamy is already waiting in his stall, ears pricked the moment he catches sight of me.
I murmur a greeting and step in close, cupping his face in my hands until his nose brushes mine. His breath warms my cheek, familiar and grounding.
I refill his water, run my hands down each leg to check him over, then set about the tack in proper order, saddle, girth, bridle.
I lead him out to the schooling arena and mount, muscle memory carrying me through the motion. The moment I’m in the saddle, something in me eases.
It’s only us now, his stride beneath me, the morning air cool against my face, the kind of focus that shuts everything else out.
We start simple, then move over a few jumps. Nothing wild, just enough to stretch him, and me along with him. With every stride, every landing, the weight I woke up with slips a little further away.
After training, I cool him down, untack, rub him dry, then finally feed him. Once his stall is set, I lock up and head back to the dorms.
I’m sweating, so another quick shower is in order before I dress for the day. I let my hair down, add a touch of makeup, and pack my bag.
I leave the dormitory building and choose to walk to the main hall rather than take the car. I make my way to the infirmary, where the nurse sees me straightaway.
The stitches at my temple are removed. My feet are cleaned and rebandaged, but she tells me I can manage them myself from now on.
Daily changes, careful watching, only to return if there’s swelling or redness. I nod, grateful.
