The bed sinks as he sits and I’m not ready for it. I topple over, rolling right into his lap. “Sorry!” In the process of sitting back up, I grab his thigh and brace a hand on his chest. His skin is hot and damp from the shower. “Sorry! Oh my God.”
He bursts out laughing. “I’m not complaining, honey.”
I snatch my hands away. My heart has no right to be racing this fast. Then I get another look at his Greek god body. Oh yeah, that’s why. I really wish I didn’t have the fantasy of him sliding a big, thick cock into me looping in my head.
It’s probably teeny tiny in real life. At least that’s what I try to tell myself to cool off.
“You gonna do anything?”
I tear my gaze from his defined shoulder blades and the muscled trunk below to find him looking right at me, and it’s obvious he knows exactly what I’m looking at. The corners of his eyes are crinkled in amusement and the smirk’s still there, knowing.
The wound’s not as bad as I thought. From the look of it, the jacket took the worst, and aside from a red line that’s seeping a little blood, it’s pretty clean. I kind of feel silly nursing a big, bad biker for a scratch, but I’ve come this far.
“This is going to sting,” I warn, tearing open one of the antiseptic wipes.
“Go for it.”
Aside from a quick, indrawn breath, he doesn’t flinch when I scrub the wipe across the graze left by the bullet. It could’ve been so much worse. My chest starts to ache, and my face flushes. All the emotions I’ve kept at bay for the past couple hours start to bubble up.
“You okay?” He asks, catching my hand and looking up with concern.
“Yeah… I’m fine.” I toss the wipe in the trash and proceed to mummify half his arm with gauze wrap and medical tape to hold it in place. It’s not pretty, but it’s covered and not going anywhere. “How’s that?”
He moves his arm around. It looks a little stiff, but the bandage holds. “Not bad. Thanks. I need to get dressed.”
“S—sure. I could use a shower.”
I don’t think I can handle him getting fully naked while I’m in the same room. Too much. I hurry up into the bathroom and close the door behind me before I see more than I’m ready for.
The hot water is nice. Really nice in spite of the less than amazing pressure and the questionable dark spots in the corners of the tile. My own dings and scrapes sting a little, but it’s hardly worth noticing. Not compared to Alpha’s bullet wound.
Wrinkling my nose, I put my dirty pajamas back on afterwards. They smell like smoke and are covered in all sorts of things I don’t want to examine, but they’re all I’ve got. Literally. Everything else is gone.
Crap. What do I do?
When I come back out, the lights are off and Alpha’s sprawled out on the floor with one of the pillows and the questionable looking floral bedcover that was over the real blanket. He looks ridiculously uncomfortable. Meanwhile, I’ve got a queen size bed all to myself. Everything looks clean at least, and the sheets feel nice after what’s been one of the roughest nights of my life.
I close my eyes.
And in spite of being more exhausted than I can ever remember, I lie there awake.
I’ve lost everything. All I’ve got left is in the bag by the door, and I can’t bring myself to go retrieve my childhood stuffed animal in front of Alpha.
Oh my God, I almost died today.
We all could have. The sounds of bullets and knives hitting flesh fill my head, making me wish all I had to think about was a dirty dream.
The corners of my eyes sting as tears well out. My face goes tight as I try to keep my sobs quiet. It’s not a full-fledged panic attack, at least not yet, and I try to pick out things in the room to ground me.
Light from the parking lot peeks through the blinds, letting me count them one by one. Muffled voices come from the next room, but I can’t make out what the guys are talking about. I even try to remember every feature of Alpha’s exposed skin while I was bandaging him, but it’s not working. My breath hitches.
The blanket is ripped away and the bed sinks right before a huge, muscular arm comes around me, yanking me close. My back presses up against Alpha’s powerful chest, and the backs of my thighs against the fronts of his as he pulls me in to be his little spoon. He tucks us back in, and his warmth seeps through the thin material of my pajamas, burning hot like a furnace.
“What are you doing?” I whisper, shocked. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“Go to sleep,” he grunts.
I should probably try to escape, but moving his arm is like trying to bend a steel bar. And I’ll admit I’m not trying very hard, because for the first time in days, I feel safe. Warm. I should hate this man. He broke into my house and stole my life. He also saved my life and took a bullet for me. They all did, even Blade.