Page 111
Story: Sinister Promise
"I think there is a large gash in your side, and most of your blood is pooling on the floor."
"Hospitals ask questions I am not prepared to answer. You don't have to be here, I can?—"
"Well, it's going to need stitches." She talked over me with a resigned sigh. "I'll prepare what's needed."
She tore open the suture packet with her teeth.
Under normal circumstances, that shouldn't have been sexy.
But fuck, it was.
My little kitten was a bit of a savage.
I knew she had a primal side, but I had been sure it only came out when she was backed into a corner, or she was pinned under me.
This was new, and I'd have to find a way to bring it out of her that didn't require a bullet. Maybe a shallow stabbing would suffice?
Alina worked methodically, gloved hands preparingmy wound, cleaning it, and removing any stray debris with the tweezers.
Her touch was surprisingly gentle, a lot better than Kostya's heavy-handed butterfingers.
"Do you want something for the pain?" she asked, eyeing a bottle of morphine.
"No, I want to stay clearheaded."
She met my gaze in the mirror and nodded. Then she touched the wound, and a flash of pain blinded me for a second as I sucked a breath in through my teeth.
"Maybe just an aspirin," I said and reached for the bottle.
"No, aspirin will thin your blood and make it harder to clot. You already lost too much."
"Careful, someone might think you care."
She met my eyes in the mirror again and raised her eyebrow at me.
"Someone has to pay for my grandmother's fancy new place."
Why was her attitude so fucking hot?
"Ready?"
This time, I gave her a nod and braced myself.
She slowly and precisely began stitching my flesh closed. Her small hands were so delicate, so dainty that I barely felt the stitch or even the pull of the thread through my skin.
The pressure of the fingers splayed on my back, the soft whoosh of her breath against my skin, were far more noticeable than the bite of the needle.
My skin was oversensitive, but not for the needle. For her.
"Where did you learn how to do this?" I couldn’t imagine where she would have picked up this particular skill set.
She sighed, her eyes closing for a moment before she reopened them and focused on my back.
"My grandmother. When her dementia got really bad, she started falling. There wasn't any money for frequent emergency room trips, so I watched hundreds of YouTube videos and learned how to care for her myself."
Fuck.
I had not expected that.
"Hospitals ask questions I am not prepared to answer. You don't have to be here, I can?—"
"Well, it's going to need stitches." She talked over me with a resigned sigh. "I'll prepare what's needed."
She tore open the suture packet with her teeth.
Under normal circumstances, that shouldn't have been sexy.
But fuck, it was.
My little kitten was a bit of a savage.
I knew she had a primal side, but I had been sure it only came out when she was backed into a corner, or she was pinned under me.
This was new, and I'd have to find a way to bring it out of her that didn't require a bullet. Maybe a shallow stabbing would suffice?
Alina worked methodically, gloved hands preparingmy wound, cleaning it, and removing any stray debris with the tweezers.
Her touch was surprisingly gentle, a lot better than Kostya's heavy-handed butterfingers.
"Do you want something for the pain?" she asked, eyeing a bottle of morphine.
"No, I want to stay clearheaded."
She met my gaze in the mirror and nodded. Then she touched the wound, and a flash of pain blinded me for a second as I sucked a breath in through my teeth.
"Maybe just an aspirin," I said and reached for the bottle.
"No, aspirin will thin your blood and make it harder to clot. You already lost too much."
"Careful, someone might think you care."
She met my eyes in the mirror again and raised her eyebrow at me.
"Someone has to pay for my grandmother's fancy new place."
Why was her attitude so fucking hot?
"Ready?"
This time, I gave her a nod and braced myself.
She slowly and precisely began stitching my flesh closed. Her small hands were so delicate, so dainty that I barely felt the stitch or even the pull of the thread through my skin.
The pressure of the fingers splayed on my back, the soft whoosh of her breath against my skin, were far more noticeable than the bite of the needle.
My skin was oversensitive, but not for the needle. For her.
"Where did you learn how to do this?" I couldn’t imagine where she would have picked up this particular skill set.
She sighed, her eyes closing for a moment before she reopened them and focused on my back.
"My grandmother. When her dementia got really bad, she started falling. There wasn't any money for frequent emergency room trips, so I watched hundreds of YouTube videos and learned how to care for her myself."
Fuck.
I had not expected that.
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