Page 9 of Scorned Beauty

I got an eyeful of an impressive semi-erect penis before I covered it with the towel. I put on my Sloane-means-business face.

“No anesthesia of any sort,” he said in a quiet, lethal voice. After getting whiplash so many times with his attitude change from tonight alone—and I didn’t mean mood swings—because Dom was in control of his moods, I became aware of the dangerous hyper-masculinity he kept hidden under his drama queen persona.

“I was just kidding about the Russians.”

“No anesthesia. I want to feel the pain of every stitch you give me.”

“Why?”

His mouth curved into a teasing, evil smile. “So I’ll remember what you owe me.”

“You’re speaking in riddles.” And as much as I liked to spar with him, there was suturing that needed to get done. “Be right back.”

“Where are you going?”

“To wash my hands.”

I entered the bathroom that bore the remnants of Dom’s quick shower. His trousers and briefs were neatly folded on the toilet seat. The man wasn’t a slob at least.

After washing my hands with antibacterial soap, I returned to the bedroom. Dom was on his back. His left arm, unscathed from whatever encounter he had earlier, was crooked under his head, nonchalant as he pleased, like he was about to be serviced with a blowjob and not sewn up without anesthesia.

“Last chance. You don’t need to prove your manhood by rejecting anesthesia.”

“I’m fine, beautiful. It’s not my first rodeo.”

“Huh.” I snorted and sat on the seat I already had in front of the bed and proceeded with his care.

I irrigated the wound with a sterile saline solution to flush out any debris, ignoring the hiss of Dom’s breath. He asked for no anesthesia, so he could simply suck it up.

As a nurse, it was illegal for me to perform sutures. Only surgeons were licensed. But I had stitched countless gunshot and knife wounds, and injuries from impalements when the underworld came calling.

After I’d cleaned the cut, I picked up the hemostat with the threaded needle and forceps and proceeded to close Dom’s four-inch uneven gash.

“So, care to explain what you meant when you said I’m the reason you got attacked with a knife?” I asked while I worked.

“I didn’t say you’re the reason I got knifed.”

“You were lying?”

“No. I said you were the reason I was bleeding out.”

I stopped after tightening a knot and stared at him. “I don’t follow.”

He peered down where I had paused and said, “Fuck. Remind me not to get into this position with you again.”

This made me smile because it confirmed what I’d concluded about his tactics.

“Why, Dom, feeling vulnerable?”

“Whatever you say, sweetheart.”

“You think I don’t have the power right now? I have a pair of medical shears close to your jewels.”

“You wouldn’t waste a prime example of the male species without trying it out?”

The arrogance…but he was backing it up with the force of his personality. I even had the feeling he was reining it in. Saliva had deserted me. His cock was a hard line underneath the towel and it was growing bigger. Oh my God.

“Please,” I taunted. “You’re forgetting, I’m a nurse. I’ve seen every form of balls, penises, and assholes. You’re nothing special.”