Page 33 of Sinful Sharing

“You literally forced me in here. Besides, the blood is already starting to clot. The chance of me bleeding on your stupid floor is—“

His eyes narrow when I press two fingers against his lips. “Not another word.”

A sharp scoff leaves his mouth, but he says nothing. I rest the kit on the counter next to him, the restriction in my chest making it hard to breathe. I don’t know why the sight of him being injured rattles me so much. Sure, I promised his mother I’d take care of him, but he’s right. The wound is not that serious. I take out disinfectant and gauze from the kit. “Arm.”

Taylor extends the uninjured arm. He chuckles mildly at my stony gaze. “What? You didn’t say which one.”

Silence. He looks me up and down. “Seems as if you’re the one in pain, not me,” he mutters.

At my continued deadpan stare, he offers his left hand. I clutch his wrist. His skin is so warm, his pulse steadily beating beneath my fingers. My heartbeat soon becomes a problem. I try to focus on the injured arm, but every fiber of my being is aware of the man attached to it.

The disinfectant touches broken skin, and he hisses. I ignore him, mostly because I’m trying hard not to notice how close we are. His floral scent makes it impossible. It gets more difficult when he starts squirming on the stool, and I must be insane for envying a piece of furniture. I must be crazy for wanting him to squirm on my lap instead.

Hell, I want him to do more than squirm on my lap.

An image of him bent over on the counter assaults me. I reach for the roll of gauze, my hand quivering. Taylor jerks as I wrap it around his wrist. “Hold still,” I growl impatiently.

“This is a little too much, don’t you think?” he asks.

“A simple band-aid won’t do. Trust me, you don’t want bacteria getting into it. I know I don’t.“ I could probably kiss Natasha’s investment goodbye if her son returns home with an infection.

“Aww.” He tuts. “It sounds as if you care.”

I lift my gaze. He’s watching me. A teasing smirk tugs on his lips, but his eyes tell a different story. I’ve been on this earth long enough to know the look of a man who’s aroused.

And just like that, the kitchen starts feeling too small. Too warm. My body comes alive. The fantasy resurfaces of Taylor naked on that counter, taking every inch of my cock.

“Be honest. You care,” he teases.

“Do you think that’s what this is?”

“Isn’t it?” He cocks his head, giving me another once-over that makes me glad I’m wearing loose jeans. “I could’ve done this myself.”

I shift my gaze. If I didn’t, I’d probably say something stupid. Something dangerous.

Something honest.

Instead, I resume wrapping the bandage. One turn. Two. Three. My fingers brush against his skin. The contact only lasts for a second, but it still feels like a mistake—or maybe temptation.

Because all I want to do is touch him again.

Fuck my fucking life.

“You’re mad,” Taylor breaks the silence.

“I’m not.”

“Bullshit. You have a tell. When you get mad, your eyebrows bunch together, and you grind your teeth,” he says. “You’re doing it now.”

His voice carries a flirty edge that sends a sliver of awareness up my spine. I tie off the bandage. The air feels heavy and charged. A sense of danger sets off a warning in my head. Glancing up, I meet his stare once more. Those goddamn blue eyes, making me forget myself every time. I release his hand. “Maybe I am,” I reply. “I told you not to handle the equipment without supervision. You could have lost your hand.”

“You were busy.”

“That’s not the point.”

“What’s the point, then?”

The question comes softly. Too softly. Definitely flirty. Something hot and violent flutters in my belly. It’s hard to ignore what I’ve been dancing around since he got here—the same thing that has been keeping me up at night.