Page 33 of Red Flagged
“Auri,” I said, voice instantly taut. I sat up fast, reaching for her. “What’s wrong? Talk to me.”
She sucked in a slow breath through her nose, eyes squeezing shut. “It’s okay,” she rasped. “It’s the endo. Sometimes it hits hard the morning after.”
Fuck. Fuck.
Of course it did. I’d had her in every position, bound her, spanked her, made her come so hard she squirted, then filled her to the hilt like I was trying to fuck my name into her womb.
She winced again, fingers trembling where they pressed into her belly.
“I’m sorry,” I said immediately, brushing her hair behind her ears and smoothing my hand over her back. “Shit, Auri—baby—why didn’t you tell me it hurt?”
God, I should’ve fuckingknown. She hadjust told meabout the endometriosis, and I took her submission as a gift and thenkept taking.
“It didn’t,” she said softly, cracking her eyes open to look at me. “Not then. Not during. I swear. I feltgood. I felt… perfect.” A weak smile tugged at her mouth. “It just catches up with me after sex sometimes. It’s normal.”
“Normal doesn’t mean acceptable,” I muttered under my breath, trying to keep the guilt and panic at bay. “You’ve never—I’ve never seen you in pain like this after sex.”
Aurélie opened her eyes, searching mine frantically. “We crossed into new territory last night, mon amour.”
My hand moved instinctively, massaging soft circles into her lower back, trying to soothe. My other hand slid over her hip to ghost over her belly, hesitant to press but desperate to dosomething. I fucking hated this—that she was in pain. That I’d doneanythingthat might’ve pushed her too far. That her body made her pay for something that had been so beautiful. Soholy.
“I’ll get you something,” I said, already climbing off the bed before I finished the sentence. “Water. Heat pack. Painkillers—where the fuck are your painkillers?”
“No,” she croaked as her fingers circled my wrist. “Just stay here in bed with me. S’il te plaît. It’ll fade soon.”
I froze, caught between the urge to listen and the need tofix it. My heart slammed against my ribs, every nerve screaming that she was hurting and I was standing here useless.
“I—baby, I can’t juststay,” I protested. “You’re in pain. I need to do something. I need to take care of you the way you took care of me.”
Her hand fell away like it took all her energy to even lift it. “Okay,” she rasped. “There’s a heating pad in the dresser. The lavender…” her voice faltered. She grimaced, face twisting both in discomfort and in thought. I loved when she made that face,because I knew she was trying to dig through her brain for the right word. “The, uh, the… lapin.” She winced. “Shit. What is it? Not a rabbit, the… the cute one. The baby. Oh! The bunny. The lavender bunny. Ugh, my English is compromised.”
Something about the way she said it—half pain, half frustration, all adorable—made my chest squeeze, but I didn’t dare smile. Not while she was hurting.
I blinked. “You have abunny?” The corner of my mouth twitched before the concern smothered it. “Of course you do.” It was ridiculous and so very Aurélie, but I didn’t laugh. I was on a mission.
I tore through her drawers, equal parts panicked and possessed, heart thundering like I was on the last lap of the season. T-shirts flew, landing on the floor before I found the plush purple bunny with the faint scent of chamomile and fabric softener. I cradled it in my hands for a moment, stupidly gentle as I gaped at it. It was long and weighted, and the label on the end was fading and in French. It was the kind of thing she probably bought years ago and something I never thought I’d see.
I shoved it into the microwave. The damn thing beeped too loud after I heated it up, making me flinch like I’d set off an alarm.Jesus, my nerves were already fried and it wasn’t even nine in the morning. I grabbed a cold bottle of water from the fridge on my way back, my hands trembling so badly the condensation nearly made it slip. Then I dug through her toiletry bag until I found the Vicodin tucked beside tampons and muscle rub.
I came back with everything I could carry—water, the bunny, the pill bottle, a protein bar I’d found in her overnight bag, and a brand-new pair of fuzzy socks that still had the tag hanging off them. At the end of the bed lay my old red shirt she wore lastnight. I stooped and snatched it off the ground, thinking she may want to be covered.
She blinked at me from the bed, pale and still curled on her side. A soft, amused smile curled the corners of her mouth when she saw the armful of chaos I brought with me.
“I didn’t know what else to grab,” I said quietly, sitting beside her. “I got the bunny warm. I brought water. Your meds. There’s a bar if you’re hungry. And, um, socks.”
“Cal,” she whispered, awe and exhaustion lacing her tone. “You look like you just raided a pharmacy and a gift shop.” Her amusement deepened as she slowly pushed herself up with a sharp inhale, grimacing but still trying to smile through it.
Even in pain she had a sense of humor. I loved her so goddamn much.
I wanted to laugh, but concern smothered it.
“Can you tell me how many?” I held the pill bottle out like it was a loaded weapon. I’d seen what two of them could do to her. If it could quietthiskind of pain, I didn’t know whether to thank it or fear it.
She looked at me—really looked—and I saw the moment something clicked behind her eyes. Maybe she remembered the night I’d mixed painkillers and whiskey after my crash. She’d gone white-faced with worry, told me about her mum’s painkiller experience, and then stayed up watching me breathe. She even set alarms on her phone to make sure I took them at just the right time. So yeah, she knew exactly why my voice was shaking now.
Her expression softened, all sleepy affection and understanding. The kind of tenderness that leveled me because onlyshecould soothe the chaos inside me. Only she could make me feel like I wasn’t too much. Like I was worth being seen—all of me, even the unlovable parts.
“Just one,” she said gently. “I need to be clear-headed for the GPDA dinner tonight.”
