Page 56 of Hate Me Like You Mean It
“I’m not. The king’s sloth prevents him from getting up or doing anything physical during the opponent’s turn but doesn’t prevent other people from servicing or punishing him. He just can’t participate or fight back. And the best part is”—he snatched the leather first aid kit off the floor and pushed to his feet—“you’re the one who had the idea to give the delegates traits with buffs and vulnerabilities.”
My brows hit my hairline. “And, what, you’re gonna carry me to the bathroom, wash my hands for me, and whoakay.”
My heart did a little backflip when he swooped me up into his arms, and I was infinitely thankful he couldn’t see the deep blush it immediately inspired over my cheeks.
Resting his phone against the wall and angling its flashlight to point at the sink, Dominic proceeded to gently wash my hands before reapplying the ointment and carefully wrapping them in gauze.
It was… anoverwhelmingexperience, sensory-wise. I’d never felt this close to a cardiac episode while simultaneously trying to breathe as little as possible. By the time he was halfway done wrapping my second hand, I was genuinely worried I’d pass out from the overstimulation of having him touch me as tenderly as he was, with such caring focus, or worse, do something stupid like stuff my face into his neck, trap him with my arms, and inhale until my lungs threatened to burst.
The way my body insisted on reacting to this man was so deeply upsetting. It knew better. We’d gone over it so many times.
“For the record, this was completely unnecessary,” I grumbled when he placed me back on the couch. “I wasn’t even bleeding anymore.”
I reached behind me to refasten the clip clamped over the back of my borrowed shorts, then picked up my hand and tossed my next card onto the field. “Queen of wrath, bitch. She steps out of the crowd and demands to speak to court management about the audacity of a lowly jack standing up to a mighty king.His ownmighty king, might she add. She accuses him of treason before taking matters into her own hands and cutting off his arm.”
Dominic rubbed at his twitching lower lip again.
“Congrats, idiot. You don’t have an arm for the rest of the game. How are you going to carry me around now?” Elated by my small victory, I fished out the roll of gauze again and got to my feet. “Put your arm behind your back.”
I wrapped the gauze around his wrist first, then his stomach, looping until I was satisfied with how securely his hand was fastened against his lower back.
He took his time, studying his remaining cards carefully before tossing one. “Six of greed. My jack’s envious of his king’s power, position, wealth, and lack of missing limbs, and steals six items of value off his person while he’s distracted.”
“I don’t have six items of value on me.”
“Sure you do. You’re a king.” He smirked evilly, like he knew he had me. “The clothes off your back alone are worth a fortune.”
I kept my expression steady as my pulse quickened again.
He waited, his smirk growing cockier by the second. After a minute or so, he nodded like he’d won. “Good game. Took a little longer than fifteen minutes, but I’m man enough to admit that it was fun while it lasted. There’s a charger on the desk if you still?—”
“I’m not forfeiting. Take whatever you want.”
He held my gaze for a beat, his smirk fading. “You don’t think I’ll do it?”
I flipped my hair over my shoulder. “No, I know you’ll do it. I just don’t think it’s a big deal.”
His tongue slashed across his lush bottom lip, eyes thinning competitively. He placed his cards down and inched closer, reaching toward my face with his free hand. My breath hitched when his fingers grazed my right ear. He started fumbling with my piercing, trying to unhook it.
Hard to do with one hand, it turned out.
“Can you pull your hair back?”
“No, sorry. I’m a sloth.” I slumped into the squishy cushions, letting my whole body go limp. So not only did he have to remove my earring with one hand, but he now also had to do it while supporting my head.
With an exasperated sigh, he moved off his seat to stand beside me for better leverage. Trying not to laugh, he manhandled me until my back was pressed to the backrest and my head was tilted to one side so he could somewhat see what he was doing.
“What the fuck. Does this thing even come out?”
“No idea. My servants put them in for me every morning.”
He chuckled at that. Then, deciding his current strategy wasn’t working, he leaned down and nuzzled the side of my head, gently biting down on the dangling stud so he could tug at it while gripping the fastener with his fingers.
My pulse tripped, my face warming as his nose and cheek brushed my skin, his cozy, masculine scent making my eyelids flutter.
God, he smelled good.
And, somehow, felt even better.
