Page 159 of Arrow

He kissed above my eye, a benediction. “I need you more,” he said.

I stared at him, this man who’d just brutalized and worshipped me in equal measure, and saw something I hadn’t expected. Vulnerability beneath the violence.

"You're bleeding," I said again, my voice steadier this time.

He glanced down at the wound, almost dismissive. “It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing. I stabbed you.” The reality of what I’d done hit me anew. I’d actually stabbed him. And he’d fucked me harder for it.

Arrow’s laugh was soft and dark. “Is that concern I hear, Harlowe Virelli? For a Romanov?”

I pushed against his chest, but there was no force behind it. “Fuck you. I just don’t want you bleeding out before the wedding. Think of the tabloids.”

He caught my wrist and pressed my palm flat against his chest, over his heart. I could feel it pounding beneath my fingertips, strong and steady, belying the calm on his face.

“The tabloids would love it,” he said. “Virelli Bride Stabs Groom Before Wedding. Blood-Soaked Ceremony Proceeds As Planned.”

Despite everything, I laughed. It hurt my ribs, my throat, every inch of me that had been used and abused in the last hour. My eyes drifted to the stab wound again.

“Let me clean that,” I said, sliding off the desk on unsteady legs.

Arrow caught me before I could fall, his hands gentle now. “I can handle it.”

“I did it, I’ll fix it,” I insisted, pushing away from him.

I limped to the bathroom, aware of his eyes tracking my every move.

The bathroom light flickered on automatically, illuminating my reflection in the mirror. I looked like I’d survived a war—hair wild, mascara streaked down my face, bruises blooming across my skin like violent flowers. My lips were swollen, my neck marked with his fingerprints.

I looked owned. Claimed. Ruined.

And I fucking loved it.

I wet a washcloth with warm water and grabbed the first aid kit from under the sink. When I returned, Arrow had removed his shirt, exposing the wound on his side. It wasn’t deep. I hadn’t wanted to kill him, just hurt him, but it was still bleeding.

“Sit,” I commanded, pointing to the edge of the bed.

Surprisingly, he obeyed, watching me with those predatory eyes. I cleaned the wound with antiseptic, watching him flinch slightly when the alcohol hit raw flesh. He didn’t complain, but kept his gaze fixed on my face as I worked.

“It’s not that deep,” I muttered, dabbing at the blood. “You’ll live.”

“Disappointed?” He asked, amused.

I pressed harder than necessary on the wound, satisfied when he hissed in pain. “If I wanted you dead, you’d be dead.”

His hand caught mine, stilling my movements. “I believe you, sadist.”

I looked up, caught in his stare. The penthouse was silent except for our breathing, still slightly ragged from everything that had happened.

“You went to her because you saw me with Svetlana,” he said.

I shrugged, focusing on applying butterfly bandages to his wound. “I went to her because I wanted to.”

“Liar.”

“You don’t know everything about me, Arrow.”

His finger traced my jawline, tilting my face up to his. “I know enough.”