Page 116 of Carnal Urges
When I hear the sound of a paper wrapper tearing, I say, “I’m not going to let you put that in.”
He says softly, “Show me how.”
“God, no.”
“Total trust, remember?”
“Nice try, Casanova. Even my gynecologist doesn’t have those privileges, and I’ve been spreading my legs for him for years.”
He chuckles and relents. “Give me your wrists.”
I lower my arms from above my head, and he unfastens his belt, releasing me. He rubs my wrists, then kisses both my palms, one at a time. It’s a sweet gesture, a nurturing one, and it makes me feel treasured.
Gazing at me with soft eyes, he murmurs, “You’re so beautiful, lass.”
I smile at him. “So beautifully sore.”
“I’ll get you aspirin. And some cream.”
He goes into the bathroom again, giving me time to insert thetampon he left beside me on the bed. I grimace when I see what’s become of the poor duvet underneath me and roll over, kicking it to one side. I flip it over on itself and push it off to the floor.
When Declan returns, holding a glass of water in one hand and a bottle of lotion in the other, he sees me lying there on top of the sheets, the duvet discarded. He quirks an eyebrow.
“It looked like a crime scene.”
“It’s only blood.”
His tone is entirely nonchalant. I think of the blood on the collar of his shirt, realizing he’s numb to the sight of it because he’s seen it so much. Like an emergency room doctor.
Or someone who kills people for a living.
He sets everything on the nightstand, helps me to a sitting position, drops two aspirin into my palm, and hands me the glass. I’m so thirsty, I drink the entire thing.
He takes the glass away and gently pushes me back down again, rolling me onto my belly. Resting my cheek on the pillow, I close my eyes as he lightly rubs lotion into my burning skin.
“You have the most perfect arse I’ve seen in my life.”
Sated and drowsy, my limbs heavy and my heart full, I have just enough strength to laugh. “Right? It should really be memorialized in plaster. No, something longer lasting. Cast in bronze.”
His chuckle is low. “Someday you’ll tell me how you got that self-confidence.”
“You have self-confidence, too.”
“It can’t hold a candle to yours.”
“Like your IQ.”
“I’ll let that go for now, considering the state of your arse, but I won’t forget it.”
We’re quiet for a while as he continues to carefully spread the lotion all over my throbbing cheeks. It’s strange that hands used to such rough business as his can be so tender.
“Declan?”
“Aye?”
“I don’t want you to die.”
The hand rubbing my ass cheek stills, then slides down to my upper thigh and squeezes.
