Page 134 of When It's Us
I rummage through the little cabinet and find gauze, antiseptic wipes and a couple of band-aids that look like they’ve been in here a while. But it will have to do.
When I come back, he’s still in the same spot, same expression. His fists are clenched in his lap, the right one still bleeding.
“Gimme your hand,” I say softly, kneeling between his knees.
It looks bad. Knuckles raw, blisters on his palms broken open and weeping. The pads of his fingers are pink and angry-looking.
“Jesus, baby,” I whisper, wrapping his right hand—the worst one—in a length of gauze. “You could have really hurt yourself.”
He doesn’t speak, just watches me with that same defeated posture.
I stand up to toss the wrappers, but he catches my waist with both hands before I can move.
He tugs me back between his knees and straight into his lap, straddling him.
“Hutch—” I say, with a hand on his chest.
He surges up and kisses me. It’s hard and desperate, clashing teeth and a soft grunt.
I gasp against his mouth, and his hands clutch onto my waist, gripping my shirt in his fists like I’m the only thing keeping him anchored to himself.
He moves his mouth down, rough and open, sucking and tasting against the skin of my throat, then lower. He shoves my T-shirt up, kissing a line between my breasts and grinding me down on his lap like he can’t get me close enough.
There’s zero doubt in my mind now.
Hutch Hayes owns me.
Not just my body. He’s had that from the start. No one’s ever touched me like he does, made me feel like I’m the only thing that matters. But it’s so much more than that now.
He’s wild, broken, but I love him.
Seeing him like this—exhausted and exposed—like there’s an invisible weight he’s been carrying for so long, finally slipped through the cracks he’s been desperately trying to hide. I don’t know what made him break today, but this feels like the beginning of him unraveling.
There’s something desperate in the way he presses hot, wet kisses to the tops of my breasts, alternating with hard, sucking bites. There’s an edge to him tonight that scares me.
“Hey,” I whisper, pulling back just enough to brush my thumb along his jaw. “Look at me.”
His gaze flickers up to meet mine.
“Talk to me,” I say, searching his eyes.
He squeezes them shut for a moment, then pulls away slightly. His fingers still grip my shirt at my hips, but the space between us feels like the Grand Canyon.
“Please don’t shut me out,” I tell him, my voice cracking. “If you need to shut out the world, fine. Skip dinner at the ranch, do whatever you need. But don’t shut me out, baby.”
He swallows, and the movement looks painful.
I touch his chest, his heart pounding hard and fast under my palm. “Not when it’s us.”
Hutch
“Whenit’sus,”Irepeat, heart hammering in my ears like those three words should mean something.
And they do. I mean, theydid. Ginger said it like it was the truth. Like I earned that title.Hers. Us.
But I didn’t. And I never would.
“There is no us, Ginger.”
