Page 34 of Your Worst Fear
“I’d have used floss,” he said blandly.
I frowned. “That sounds unsanitary.”
“You put it in your mouth, don’t you?” His hands returned to my arm, then I felt the burn.
I squeezed my eyes shut, not looking forward to how many times he’d have to guide that needle through my skin to shut the wound. I wasn’t even sure how big the graze was, but I didn’t want to look.
“Breathe, Grace.”
I let out a breath, forcing my fist to relax on my thigh. “It hurts.”
“Are you surprised?”
“You’re an asshole, you know that?”
“Well aware,” he muttered, stabbing my skin a little harder.
I flinched. He held my arm steady. “I should go to the hospital.”
“You don’t trust me?” he questioned.
I snorted. “You think I should?”
If he hadn’t been trying to concentrate, I was sure he would have shrugged. “I don’t know. I saved your life, despite you trying to take mine. I’d say a little trust is warranted, don’t you think?”
“The only reason you saved me is because you need me,” I stated.
His grip on the needle tightened, and I feared it might snap in half.
Torturous minutes of silence and repetitive pinches ofpain passed, then he tied off the end and tossed the dirtied supplies in the small black trash can by the toilet.
He remained close, inspecting my arm.
“Will I have a gnarly scar?” I asked, more as a way of teasing him for a poor job.
His thumb ran alongside the stitches, finally pulling my eyes to the injury. It looked as perfect as a stitched wound could, not ugly or uneven at all. He’d clearly had a lot of practice with this type of stuff. I hated that I wanted to know why, and where he’d tended wounds on his own body.
A trail of blood followed the pad of his finger, dragging along my pale skin. He seemed transfixed on that little line of red. Was he still worried?
“You did amazing,” I said, not wanting him to dwell. I didn’t think a doctor could have done any better.
His pupils seemed to dilate as he pressed his thumb on another bead of blood, wetting the pad of his finger.
“Henley.”
He removed his hand, but rather than cleaning it off, he pressed his pointer finger to my mouth. My lips parted, and his focus fell to them.
His finger ran down my chin as he placed his thumb against my bottom lip. He dragged the flesh down, smearing blood across my mouth.
I sat stunned, unable to speak as my thighs pressed together. He forced my mouth open a bit farther, sliding his thumb to the pad of my tongue. The tang of iron filled my mouth, but I didn’t pull away. The way he was looking at me had heat pooling in every corner of my body. If itweren’t for the blood loss, I was sure my cheeks would be on fire.
My lips closed around his thumb, my tongue dragging up to lick my blood off him. Slowly, he slid his thumb out, pulling my bottom lip down on the way. He grabbed my chin, tilting it up slightly as he came around my knee and nudged my legs apart. I let them fall open, allowing him to step in between.
His eyes briefly left my mouth to meet my gaze. He looked like a starved man lost at sea, seeing salvation for the first time in years.
So slowly it was nearly painful, he came closer. Then he dragged his tongue up my chin.
My head fell back slightly, my lips parting on a long exhale.
