Page 177 of Those Who Are Bound

Squatting down, he examined her foot. He wasn’t an expert, not by a longshot, but he’d seen plenty of broken limbs before. Hers wasn’t swollen or bruised; it looked fine, even if a bit pale from being in her Aircast for weeks. Lifting the appendage to his lips, he gave her a cheeky grin as he kissed her ankle bone. “There. Boo-boo’s all better.”

It dispelled her worried look, but another one replaced it. One that propelled him back to his feet because his face was too close to a part of her he’d been craving the taste of, and her expression had frankly asked to be tasted, like she’d missed it, too. It’d been brief, but it’d been there.

Clearing his throat, he said, “I don’t think you have anything to worry about. How about you get some rest, and I’ll check back in with you in a couple of hours? If your ankle hurts, or it’s swollen, I’ll take you to the hospital.”

She looked at him with absolute trust. She trusted him completely, yet…

The water from her hair still dripped down her face, shoulders, and back as she nodded. Taking the towel draped around her shoulders, he gave her head a quick and thorough rub down. She gasped at his roughness, reaching out with one hand, bracing herself against his chest.

Her touch, her fingers digging into his shirt, kicked his pulse into a higher gear. The look in her fucking fantastic gunmetal eyes was moving blood in a southward flow; it wasn’t what he needed right now. But her perfection, her rare vulnerability, and her nudity.He knew what it was like to be inside this woman. Despite her discomfort, he was having a hard time convincing his cock that there were other issues at hand, why his attraction right now was not appropriate. But as he’d pointed out to her once, his cock was convinced that its true home was inside her.

Finished with his hair-drying task, he tossed the towel aside. He slipped his arm around her waist and asked, “Can you stand?”

“On the one leg,” she assured him.

Pulling her body against him was torture. It was delightful and familiar but agonizing. He gritted his teeth because his cock was certain it was going home, and it was rising to the occasion.

She had one hand on his shoulder for support, the other behind herself to keep the towel in place, as she balanced on one leg. They were both looking down until her foot hit the floor. It allowed him to shift away, but the telltale bulge in his jeans wasn’t to be disguised.

Once both of her feet were on the ground, however, she fell against him. “You’re warm.”

He wrapped his arms around her, the giddy ache at odds with itself. She snuggled in to his warmth—he knew that’s all it was, despite that brief expression she’d had. If she’d noticed or felt his erection, she was giving no indication.

He shifted, catching sight of them in the mirror. He paused, staring. It took him back to that morning when they were flushed with happiness, wrapped in each other’s arms, staring at themselves. He’d commented on what a stunning couple they were; they still were, only… not a couple anymore.

He sensed her looking up at him. He glanced down in time to see her follow his line of sight to the mirror, where he caught her gaze. Her slight frown indicated that she remembered, too. It gave him hope. Hope, because there was something in her that acknowledged their connection, that she could so easily and quickly go to the same memory.

“We’re still stunning,” he said softly.

She turned her face and hid it against his shoulder. “I’m sorry.” It came out as a mumble.

He let the words hang between them. More than once, he’d told her not to apologize unless she intentionally hurt him. This time, he was going to accept the words. It had been purposeful on her part, walking away and shutting him down the way she had.

“I don’t understand.” He rubbed his cheek against her wet hair.

She shivered. Whether from his action or from her continued chill, he wasn’tcertain, but he needed to get her warm. “Come on, let’s go into the other room.”

“I can’t—”

But he’d already figured out that she couldn’t walk, so he bent down and swept her up into his arms. Her gasp wasn’t from surprise; she wasn’t surprised that he could pick her up. She liked it, that’s why.

But being stubborn, she grumbled, even as she placed her arm around his neck. “I don’t like being dependent.”

Jonah grinned. “I imagine you don’t, my little control freak.”

They exchanged a look, one of intimacy, wrapped in memory and warmth. It confused him even more, the sudden wall she’d built, when there was still so much between them.

“Where?”

“The bed.”

He took her there, fighting to keep memories out of his mind, their first time to their last. Of course, their last time had been against the dresser. Brilliantly decadent, every stroke inside her tight, hot pussy transportive. Their gazes locked in the mirror, it’d felt like he’d fucking conquered her in that moment, imprinting on her mind and soul definitively.

It was why the next twenty-four hours had taken him out emotionally. Because she was it for him. As fast as that morning had been, as brutal and raw, it’d been honest.Them. Unguarded. It was a promise of what more he could do to her—would—and she wanted it.

They were a match. And there was so much more for them. Sexually. Emotionally.

So, yeah, fucking blindsided.

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