Page 115 of Carnal Games

“Please don’t blame yourself, Kian.” I see it in his gaze how much it’s tearing him up.Don’t kick me out of your life when I’ve just found you.“I’ll get better and you’ll find the person, so nobody else gets hurt.”

Suddenly, my eyes begin to feel heavy, as exertion and the meds threaten to pull me under. Talking is taking too much of my energy, too. Nonetheless, I power through. “Do you hear me, Kian? I’m not mad at you. So, you don’t get to be either.”

“You need rest.” He leans forward, tucking the blanket up to my neck. “Sleep.”

“Answer me first.”

He sighs. “I hear you.”

Believing him, I let sleep consume me.

***

Sometime during the night, I wake up with a start from a terrible nightmare, where the faceless attacker didn’t stop after hitting me. Lingering memories make me shiver and I clutch the blanket tighter to my chest.

“Hey.” Kian’s concerned voice floats to me. “Are you okay?”

The room is bathed in dim light as I twist my body to the other side, facing him. The slight twinge of pain gets lost in the hitch in my breath as my gaze lands on Kian across the bed.

Black rimmed glasses perch on his nose while he holds a leather-bound book in his lap. One thick arm is sprawled against the back of the couch while his bare feet are thrown on the small coffee table in the front.

It’s the most laid-back I’ve ever seen him, and gosh! It’s a sexy sight to behold.

A different kind of ache takes root between the apex of my thighs.

Those sinful glasses, turning him broodier, are hell on my libido. No one should be this attractive at all times. It’s unfair.

Who knew Kian loves to read late at night? Am I the only one privy to this tidbit? I hope so. I crave to know every little thing about him that nobody else does. It’s unhealthy how possessive I am, while I have no claim over him.

I can only imagine how obsessed I’ll become when he’s officially mine.

“Do you need water?” he asks.

Speech doesn’t come. So, I simply nod.

As he stands, I notice for the first time that he’s still in the suit he wore this morning, minus the jacket. It’s rumpled, the collar undone and the tie loosely hanging around it.

Has he not left my side at all since he got home?

Approaching me, he bends over the nightstand and pours me a glass of water. A whimper slips from my mouth as I try sitting up against the headboard, causing my ribs to sting.

Fuck! Being beaten up isn’t fun.

“Careful,” Kian murmurs, his chest coming dangerously close as he leans forward to support my back with one brawny arm. The contact and his scent, overpowering my senses. Holding me up, he raises the glass to my lips and I greedily swallow after the first sip hits my parched throat.

I didn’t realize how thirsty I was until I tasted water.

“How’s the pain on the scale of one to ten?” he asks, after I’ve drunk the entire glass.

“Five to six.”

“I’ll give you a pain relief tablet.” Grabbing it off the nightstand, he pulls one out and passes it to me. I gulp it down with a sip of water. Laying me back down, he reminds, “You’ll need to take it easy for the next couple of days. No dancing to loud music in the kitchen. The longer you rest in bed, the quicker you’ll heal.”

“Bedrest? I’ll get bored,” I complain.

“Doctor’s orders.”

“Sounds like yours,” I mutter.

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