Page 60 of Bratva's Mercy
His fingers touched my skin, cool from the ointment, spreading it carefully over the burn. He was clinical about it, extremely detached, as though I was nothing more than a patient. I clenched my jaw, watching him work. Watching the way his brows furrowed slightly in concentration, the way his touch remained steady.
It shouldn’t have felt like rejection, but it did.
Beneath the pillow, my body had other ideas. My cock stirred, fully hard now despite myself, reacting to his proximity, his touch, the way he refused to acknowledge any of it. I shifted deliberately, letting the pillow slip. It hit the floor.
My erection stood between us, obvious, undeniable, but Leo didn’t even blink. He bent, picked up the pillow, and shoved it right back into my lap like he was covering a piece of equipment he had no need of.
“You’re so fucking cold,” I muttered.
“I’m working,” he said evenly, examining the more recent burns on my stomach. “Don’t distract me.”
Working. Right.
My lips pressed into a thin line as I leaned back slightly, forcing myself to stay still while he continued. The ointment soothed the sting of the burns, but it did nothing for the restlessness crawling under my skin.
Leo’s hand paused for just a second. His gaze shifted to my shoulder and to my neck. I followed it instinctively and saw he was looking at the new tattoo I had gotten while he was gone. The mark of his teeth, inked permanently into my skin. His hand trembled so subtly most people wouldn’t have noticed it, but I did.
The room seemed to go quiet around us as he traced the edge of it with his eyes, recognition and shock flickering across his expression. He finished applying the ointment after that, slower now, more careful, like his thoughts were somewhere else entirely.
When he was done, he screwed the lid back onto the jar and held it out to me.
“You can take it,” he said. “Apply it three times a day.”
I took it, watching him closely. “Maybe I want you to apply it.”
“I’ll be back at work in a couple of days,” he replied. “I’ll be busy.”
“Do I at least get a kiss for being good?”
His gaze snapped to mine. “You broke into my house while I was away. How exactly is that being good?”
Disappointment settled heavily in my chest. He turned, signaling he was done with me, and took a step toward the bathroom. Then he paused and turned back. He pressed his lips briefly to my forehead. Soft. Quick. Gone before I could even process it.
“I’m going to wash my hands,” he said, already stepping away. “Try not to inflict any more wounds while I’m away, or I’ll be very pissed.”
I sat there for a second, stunned.
That wasn’t the kind of kiss I’d meant.
Not even close.
But…
It felt…better.
Something shifted uneasily in my chest as I watched him disappear into the bathroom. I pushed to my feet, still naked, and followed him.
He stood at the sink, washing his hands like none of this was affecting him, like he hadn’t just unraveled me and left me sitting there trying to figure out the significance of the kiss.
“What does this mean?” I asked, crossing my arms over my chest as I leaned against the doorframe.
He didn’t look at me. “Get dressed.”
“No.”
He stilled slightly at that, and I took advantage of it. This time, I didn’t wait for permission. I closed the distance between us, grabbed him, and kissed him. His lips parted under mine with a sharp intake of breath, and his fists pressed to my chest as if he meant to push me away. But then they flattened, cupping my pecs, and it wasn’t just me in the kiss anymore. His lips parted, his tongue shoved in my mouth, and one of his hands tangled in my hair, angling my head.
The kiss turned messy fast, everything we’d been holding back crashing together all at once. My hands moved, tugging the towel from his waist, letting it fall to the floor as I dropped to my knees in front of him. He was already hard, and the scent of his precum made me heady.
