Page 34 of Tempt Thy Neighbor

My brows pinch together, unsure what he’s referring to.

He lifts his eyes skyward, clearly annoyed by me. Instead of explaining himself, he swoops me into his arms and carries me down the hall like a groom would the bride.

I yelp in surprise. “What the—put me down!”

“Quiet.”

I smack at his chest, and I don’t know why I’m so surprised when I find nothing but solid muscle beneath my palm. I’ve been up close and personal with Sutton plenty of times before, but still this revelation shocks me into silence as he continues to carry me toward the bathroom.

He deposits me on the counter, then drops to his knees. A hand lands on each of my thighs and he shoves my legs apart like he belongs between them.

My breath catches in my throat and heat floods my core.

For a moment, I forget why we’re in here.

My rational thoughts are replaced with images of Sutton peeling my underwear down my legs and burying his tongue between them. My head thrown back as I buck against him. Him freeing his cock and slamming into me.

There’s a soft chuckle, and reality comes crashing back down around me.

I glower down at him as he pulls open the cabinet and reaches inside, retrieving the first aid kit. I work hard to get my breathing back to normal.

“Someone is thinking dirty thoughts,” he teases, setting the kit on the counter beside me, flicking open the box, and sifting around for something to clean my wound with.

“Please. You wish.”

He stops digging and pins me with his stare. It’s dark and heated as he leans down into me. I can feel his breath ghosting along my neck as he drops his lips to my ear.

“Your flush says otherwise. Tell me, Holls, you thinking about giving in already?”

“I’m thinking about ramming my foot between your legs, but I suspect you’d prefer to not have bloodstains on those fancy jeans of yours.” I bat my lashes innocently.

He gives me another dark chuckle before shaking his head and resuming his search for supplies.

He comes up with an alcohol wipe, some gauze, antibiotic ointment, and a wrap.

“It’s a fairly long cut and we don’t have any Band-Aids that will cover the whole thing, so wrapping your foot will have to do.”

He drops to his haunches and grabs the towel hanging on the wall. When it’s situated on his leg, he curls his fingers around my ankle and gently places my foot on his thigh.

He peels open the alcohol wipe and glances up at me. “This is gonna sting,” he warns, and I can almost see something resembling an apology in his gaze.

I don’t flinch when he presses the pad against my cut, and it’s clear he’s impressed by my lack of reaction.

I watch him work quietly and calmly. His touches are gentle, making sure he doesn’t do anything to cause me further pain.

“There,” he says when I’m all bandaged up. “That should work. It’s not deep enough for stitches, but I’d still keep an eye on it just in case it splits open with movement.”

“Where’d you learn first aid?” I ask as he cleans up his workspace.

“My nanny. I was a wild kid, always getting scraped and bruised up. After the second time I got in trouble and got spanked instead of taken to the hospital for the nasty cut on my arm, she taught me how to take care of it myself when she saw me avoiding telling anyone I was hurt.”

There’s a dull ache in my chest at the way he says it so casually, like it’s normal for parents to not take care of their hurt children.

He drops down to put the first aid kit back under the sink, and I suck my breath in at the sight of him between my legs again.

There is no way he doesn’t miss it.

But this time he doesn’t call me on it.

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