Page 81 of At First Spark
“Take over.”
I glance up at him.
“And you always let me.”
Something shifts in his expression.
“Not always,” he says.
I gently press the damp cloth against his skin. He inhales sharply. The reaction hits me low in my chest.
“Hold still,” I say.
“I am.”
“You’re not.”
“I am trying very hard not to react to the fact that you’re touching me.”
My hand pauses for a second.
“Then stop reacting.”
“Not an option.”
I clean the edge of the wound carefully, focusing on the task, on the way the gauze needs to be replaced, on the steady rhythm of something practical. Something safe.
Though nothing about this feels safe anymore with him this close, with the heat of him pressing into the space between us, with the memory of his mouth still sitting too clearly in mine.
“You should sit,” I say.
“I'm alright.”
“You’re not.”
He exhales, slowly, then does it anyway.
Pulls out the chair at the table and lowers himself into it with a quiet grunt that confirms everything I already know.
I grab fresh gauze and tape. This time, I kneel between his knees. I realize immediately that I’ve made a mistake. A big one.Because now there’s no space, no distance, no pretending this is anything other than exactly what it is.
My hands move carefully. Deliberately, but my awareness is everywhere. The heat of his thighs on either side of me. His hands rest on the edge of the table like he’s holding himself in place. The way his gaze doesn’t leave me. Not once.
“You’re staring,” I say.
“You’re in my space.”
“You told me to fix it.”
“I didn’t tell you to stand there.”
I glance up and meet his eyes.
“You could move.”
Of course he doesn’t.
“Could,” he agrees.
