Page 37 of Altered By Fire (Undercover Sinners 1)
Mace shakes his head and gives me a small smile. "No, just through the muscle. We still can't take him to the ER though, you know?"
"Still can't believe you got shot and didn't fucking say anything until we got back here, you assface," Colt mutters, spearing Weston with a glare then paling and turning away.
"Can we, maybe, get the fuck on with this?" Weston grimaces, giving me a pleading look. "If that's okay, Natalia? I'm just bleeding a lot here …"
"Oh, right. Yeah. Um." I look around and find Mace setting up the tray I brought beside the bed. On it is a bowl of warm water and some cloth strips. They already have a wicked looking needle out and threaded with what looks like fishing twine or something, so I guess I'm good to start.
Taking the seat Mace vacated, I scoot a little closer to the bed and take a better look. It's a furrow through his trapezoid about a quarter inch wide where the bullet must have just grazed him, rather than penetrating. Curious, I reach out and pinch the two sides together, just to make sure they reach, and Weston curses.
"Sorry," I mutter, giving him a tight smile. "Not used to working with living fabric, you know?"
"It's fine," he grunts. "Just get it done."
Biting my lip, I dip one of the rags in the water and use it to clean off his skin a little better. I take the needle between my fingers and place it against the side of the wound, considering what type of stitch I should be using. Maybe a blanket stitch? It's kind of like a raw fabric edge, right? No, that won't work … Overcast stitch is probably the way to go here.
I pause, then position the needle from the other side, but the angles are all wrong from where I'm sitting. It'll need a decent amount of force to pierce flesh, which I won't be able to do from where I'm seated.
"What's wrong?" Weston asks me gruffly, his face pale and sweating.
"The angles aren't right," I admit. "Do you mind if I … um …"
He raises a pierced brow at me. "Just do whatever you need to do, Natalia. Get on with it."
Nodding, I take his permission and climb onto the bed to straddle him. This way, I’m front on to the injury and able to access both sides of the wound with equal force.
Weston grunts, shifting my weight a little until I'm not crushing him so badly, then gives me a tight nod to get started.
"Way better nurse than you," Colt whispers to Mace, but I try to block them out. It's bad enough that I'm about to stitch a man's flesh back together, but I've just realized I’m straddling Weston's bare midsection with absolutely nothing between us. My habit still covers me, but between my legs it’s just my bare pussy pressed against Weston's rock-hard abs.
He, too, is aware of this, and I feel him hardening beneath my ass.
"I'm … I'm starting now, okay?" I whisper in a voice that's husky and drenched with desire. Damn my rampant sex drive; now is not the time.
Weston puts his hands on my hips and pushes me down a little further, scooting the blankets out of our way as he goes, until I feel the hard, thick length of his shaft between my cheeks. The ones on my face burn red as West turns his dark eyes over to his companions.
"Get out," he says, and I look over just in time to see Colt open his mouth in protest. "No, don't speak, get the fuck out."
"Screw you, man," Colt starts, but Weston narrows his brown eyes and grits his teeth.
"I'm fucking bleeding to death!" he roars as I hear the door open behind me. Mace is already on his way out, casting a look at me that I just happen to catch. It says I'm here if you need me, and it's cute as hell, but … I wouldn't be doing this if I didn't want to. I might have eclectic tastes in the bedroom, but it's always my choice whether or not I participate in them.
And I so want to participate in this.
"You pulled this same damn shit with Portia," Colt starts, and the look he gets from his friend sends him to his feet, cursing and storming out the door. He slams it behind him, rattling the old walls and knocking a metal crucifix to the floor.
I turn back to Weston and meet his strong gaze, watching as he plays with the piercings in his lip.
"How can I earn the story of Portia?" I ask, and West goes ridiculously still, almost like he's stopped breathing altogether. His brown eyes shift to the side as he exhales.
"Stitch me," he whispers, voice husky and low. "If you do a good job, I'll think about it." He turns back to me with a gravely serious expression etched into his fine features. He has a more delicate jaw and a smaller brow than Colt, but he's just as masculine, just as handsome. "Do not ever ask Hawke or Arsen about her though, okay?"
