Page 8 of Painkiller (Sin Records #3)

I jerk back, startled to be told I’m starting now. With zero clue what he expects. But if he’s paying? I’m good.

Following behind Dominic’s imposing form, we return to the back, the next set of fighters passing us on their way to the ring.

Dominic stops, turning around to face me.

“Just like before a fight, you’ll check on the fighters afterward.

Some of these guys are here alone and could use an extra hand—removing tape, cleaning cuts…

” He nods toward the man entering the room across from where we stand.

“It helps the doc, too. If he doesn’t have to waste time on that, he can get them stitched up faster and on to the next guy. Still sure you aren’t queasy?”

I chuckle, shaking my head. “Ever seen a ballet dancer’s feet? Bloody and broken toes are the norm. Imagine taking off your pointe shoes and finding your toenail missing.”

His brows hit his forehead. It seems I’ve shocked the unflappable man—and I do a mental happy dance—but he shakes it off quickly as he stops in front of a door.

The door swings open before he can twist the handle, and Will walks out looking irate.

After his reaction to the massacre that just happened in the arena, the questions I have about who’s on the other side of that door dissipate with Will’s emergence.

His eyes narrow on Dominic, his shoulder tensing with anger as he moves forward an inch, appearing ready to rip the other man’s head off his body, but when he notices me, he just shoulder bumps Dominic hard, knocking him back a step and storming off.

Dominic doesn’t react to the aggressive move, shrugging it off as if it were nothing more than a fly buzzing, pushing the partially opened door the rest of the way and gesturing me inside.

Nerves knot my stomach for no reason at all. None I’m willing to admit, anyway. I take a breath, shove down the worry, and follow Dominic into the room.

Jagger is standing with his back to us in nothing but a pair of boxer briefs, and I can’t help but watch as his muscles flex.

When he turns around, my jaw drops. I knew he’d be built well.

That much is obvious even with clothes. But I didn’t quite imagine this.

There can’t be an ounce of body fat on him.

His abs ripple like the ocean, glistening under a sheen of sweat.

Even beneath the tattoos, the definition of his corded arms makes my mouth water.

God didn’t just sculpt him. He flexed and called it perfect.

And for a second, I forget he’s off-limits and bloody. God, what’s wrong with me? I’m going to hell for ogling my friend’s brother—and my twin’s boyfriend? Her ex?—while blood runs down his face.

“Jagger, Ginger is going to help get your face cleaned up so the doc can check you out.”

Jagger directs his attention toward me, a hint of a grin on his lips. I glare at him, scrunching my nose. He may be hot, but player, player won’t get to any of these goods.

Says every girl never.

Shut up, brain!

Dominic doesn’t say anything else before leaving the room, and me, standing here without a clue.

Jagger takes a seat on a table, waiting for me to do something. My cheeks heat as I look around, not knowing where to start.

“Everything is in that cabinet.” He nods his dark head toward the wall behind me while he reaches for the elastic in his hair, freeing it from its confines.

With my lips tucked between my teeth in annoyance and embarrassment, I go to the cabinet and reach for the first aid kit.

“Grab that bottle of alcohol and the cotton pads, too. That shit in those kits is never enough.”

I take everything to him, setting it on the table next to him.

“Why even get the kit if I’m not going to use it?

” I grumble as I rip open the package of cotton pads.

I douse the pad with the alcohol and turn to him.

Biting my lip, I lift my hand to his face, then hesitate.

I don’t want to hurt him, and there’s no way the alcohol won’t burn.

Maybe it will soothe the bruises, but that nasty gash will turn to fire.

“You won’t hurt me,” he tells me, impatience tinting his voice.

Taking a breath and biting my cheek, I lift a hand and dab the blood at his temple, doing my best to be gentle. When the alcohol has evaporated and the pad is no longer usable, I toss it and grab another. Before I can reach for his face, he grabs me by the waist, pulling me between his legs.

“You’re not supposed to touch me.” God. Why did that come out so breathless?

“It’s not touching. It’s instructing.” He wraps his large hand around my much smaller one, lifting it to his face. “I said you won’t hurt me.” He presses the cotton pad to his face. “And if you keep acting like I’ll break, we’ll be here all night.”

Fine. If he’s not worried, then neither am I. At least not about hurting him. Now, the heat pouring off of him…his muscles flexing against my palm as I brace myself against him…thick fingers digging into my hips…

“There. All done.” I jump away, putting my back to him. “I’ll let the doctor know you’re ready to be seen.”

“Don’t bother. It’s not that deep. A couple of Steri-Strips will do. Want to help me out?”

“I think you should let the doctor decide that.”

“Trust me. Just grab a couple from the kit.”

I need out of here. My ability to ignore my hormones is weak today.

Not that he’s being anything but appropriate.

But it’s been a while since I’ve been able to trigger those particular endorphins, and he’s not just hot.

He’s quite possibly the hottest man I’ve laid eyes on.

He was with clothes, but now, wearing only his underwear…

Get a grip, you little slut. You need this job more than dick. There’s a perfectly acceptable vibrator in your nightstand at home.

“Okay, then.” I grab the strips, but when I return to stand in front of him, I realize he’s too tall. It was fine when I was just wiping the blood away and cleaning his cut, but this requires precision. “You’re too tall.”

“Or maybe you’re too short.” He grins mischievously.

“I’m not that short,” I huff.

His grin widens as his eyes trail from my head to my toes, making my cheeks flush with annoyance. “You’re barely half my size. You’re a half-pint at best.”

Jackass. “Can’t you just stoop or something?” I gesture, wild and flustered.

“I have a better idea.” Before I can ask what, I’m lifted off my feet and pulled to straddle his lap.

Jesus. Do not grind against him. You were afraid of him an hour ago. Remember?

Except that’s a damn lie. I wasn’t scared of him; I was terrified for him. That his darkness was swallowing him whole.

Forcing a slow, controlled breath, I reach up and apply a strip, then reach for another, avoiding his gaze at all costs. He’s hard beneath me. I convince myself it’s adrenaline.

It’s all I can do not to moan or allow my eyes to roll back into my head as his erection presses against my throbbing center while I maneuver on his lap, trying to get the second strip in place.

When I’m done, I try to make my getaway, but his powerful hands grip my hips, holding me in place.

I finally allow myself to look at him, finding blown pupils.

Palms move a slow, deliberate path up my back, one trailing higher to grip my neck.

His tongue drags across his bottom lip, slow and filthy, and I feel it between my thighs.

Moving…no, running is what I should do, but I can’t force myself away, trapped in a very sexy web of sweat, muscles, green eyes, and a very hard, enticing truth pressing against me.

I’m totally getting fired on my first night.

His eyes darken, full of something I feel down to my bones. My pulse flutters in my throat.

I don’t know what I want more. His mouth or a way out.

I should care more about the consequences. But I don’t.

I can regret whatever happens later.

Right now? I just need him to end this torture.

Breathing is no longer possible. I’m panting, shameless, waiting for him to put me out of my misery.

Then his lips crash into mine. I can taste the adrenaline he’s still feeling in the way his mouth claims mine.

This isn’t supposed to happen. Not with him. Not with the violence still bleeding from him. Not ever.

But I sink into it. Let him consume me until he becomes my air.

His fingers wrap around my ponytail, forcing my head back so he can dive deeper into my mouth.

His hips thrust upward as he presses me against his erection, and I moan into his mouth, brazen and wanting—no, needing the release he’s willingly offering as I grip his shoulders and roll my hips to feel more.

The hand at my back moves, traveling to the front, sliding beneath the tight tank top and my bra. Delicious pain zips down my spine as he finds my aching nipple, twisting it between calloused fingers.

I’m on the brink of orgasm, ready to ignite. With my friend’s brother. My sister’s… Oh God, I’m not just a wanton slut, I’m a traitorous whore.

And fuck my body for not giving two shits at the moment.

My entire being winds tight, white-hot promise surging through me.

I’m right th—

Then the doorknob clicks. I launch off his lap like I’ve been electrocuted, heat and guilt crashing through me as I scramble to right my clothes.

The doctor walks in. I don’t give him time to speak. Shame licks at my heels, and more sexually frustrated than I already was, I bolt out of there with his scent surrounding me and his sweat clinging to my skin.

And I promise myself it will never happen again .