Page 67 of The Hunter

“Is that the only reason?” I smirked. “Or do you get off on watching people take a piss?”

She shook her head, rolling her eyes. “Definitely not.”

“Nothing to be embarrassed about,” I called out as I managed to limp into the bathroom and stand in front of the toilet.

Just to be on the safe side, I placed a hand on the wall to support myself while I went about my business.

“Everyone has secrets. Things they don’t think they’d like, but they secretly crave. It’s okay if watching people piss is one of yours.”

“Sorry to disappoint you, Henry, but it’s not.”

“Now you’ve got me curious,” I continued, carefully tucking myself back into my briefs.

“About?”

“What youdosecretly crave.”

“Idon’t even know that,” I heard her mumble softly as I inched toward the sink, turning on the water and running my hands beneath it.

Her statement gave me pause. Not the substance of it, but the way she said it. Wistful almost.

I was about to ask her what she meant when I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror. Blood still clung to theedges of my brow, dried and flaking. The swelling made my right eye look smaller than the left. The bandage stretched tight against the wound, the skin beneath it a mixture of black, blue, and purple.

“I should take a look at that,” Ariana’s voice sounded from behind me. “Change the bandage. Make sure it’s healing okay.”

Our eyes met in the mirror. She stood right outside the doorway, her fingers twisted in front of her.

“I can do it,” I said, a little too fast. “Don’t worry about it.”

“It’ll be easier and quicker if I do it. You need to stay off your feet.”

She crossed the threshold without waiting for permission and guided me toward the closed toilet lid, motioning for me to sit. I gave in with a reluctant grunt, settling down while she gathered supplies from the cabinet beneath the sink. Alcohol wipes. Gauze. Medical tape.

Then she crouched in front of me and leaned in close. “Hold still.”

My pulse instantly kicked up a notch, and I held my breath.

I wasn’t afraid of pain. Not after everything I’d survived. But Iwasafraid of the way she touched me like I was someone worth caring about.

I didn’t like it.

Or maybe I liked it too much.

The tape pulled at my skin as she peeled it away, and she muttered a quiet apology. Her fingers smelled like citrus and cinnamon. I couldn’t stop staring at her. At the way her tongue peeked out while she focused. At the tiny pulse fluttering in her neck.

I remained still, praying she couldn’t pick up on the growing bulge in my boxers as I stared at her skin. Imagined darting my tongue out and tasting it. Sinking my teeth into it. Marking her for all to see.

“Swelling’s gone down,” she murmured, pulling away. “Still looks rough, but you’re healing.”

“Good,” I said, my voice pitched higher than normal before I cleared my throat and tried again. “Good.”

Her analytical gaze swept over me for a moment longer than I was comfortable with. “Let me get a bandage back on it,” she said finally. “Then I want to check your ankle.”

The last thing I needed was her hands touching even more parts of my body, but I doubted she’d let me argue. So I remained silent as she pressed a fresh bandage over my wound, doing everything in my power not to gawk at her chest that was practically at eye level.

I imagined burying my face between her breasts, dragging my tongue along her milky skin, taking a nipple in my mouth and biting, seeing if she liked a little pleasure with her pain.

I had a feeling she did. After all, she had traces of finger imprints along her neck. I hated the idea of Victor being the one to know that side of her, which was a ridiculous thought.