Page 8 of Bunker Down, Baby

Another tense pause. Then, begrudgingly he says, “Yes.”

I beam. “I knew it. I even made extra fries, because I know you always steal them from the nurses when you think no one’s looking.”

His lips part, like he’s about to argue, but he stops and narrows his eyes. “You watch me,” he says slowly.

I blink. “Of course.”

He leans back, lips pressing together in that thinking way, like he’s trying to read me.

“Okay,” he finally says. “So… do I get a safe word, or are we just skipping that part?”

Heat zings down my spine.

Oh. Oh, this one’s dangerous.

Because he’s still mad, still trying to figure me out, but he’s playing now.

I smile, slow and sweet. “That depends.”

His brows lift. “On?”

I prop my chin on my hand. “Do you need one?”

He holds my gaze for a beat too long. Then, finally, he exhales, shaking his head with a soft laugh that he doesn’t mean to let out.

He’s cracking.

Good.

But he’s also still covered in hospital filth, and I’m not about to let my prize be anything less than pristine.

I pop another fry into my mouth. “Okay, now that you’re fed, let’s get you cleaned up.”

His head snaps up. “Excuse me?”

“You need a shower,” I say.

He frowns. “I can do it myself.”

I hum, considering. “Mmm… I don’t know. You’re still a little groggy.”

“I’m fine,” he insists.

I stand. “Better safe than sorry.”

“I don’t…” he starts.

I grab the hem of his scrub top.

He tenses.

I start pulling it up.

His hands fly to mine, gripping my wrists tightly. “Absolutely fucking not.”

I tilt my head, feigning innocence. “You’re really going to be shy now? After everything?”

His jaw clenches. “This isn’t shyness,” he grits out.

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