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The man wants me to rest, and he will do anything to ensure I do.
“Fuck.” He releases a heavy sigh and sets the bottle down on the table next to him. “How about a nice bath then to help you relax instead?”
Shit.
That backfired.
He found a way out of it, but as crazy as it sounds, my body practically melts at the thought of slipping into scalding hot water right now. As much as I hate not to stand my ground about wanting him sleeping beside me, there are times to push The Beast, and something tells me this isn’t one of them. “Okay.”
Weston pushes up from the chair, lumbering off the side of the bed, a mountain above me with his broad shoulders and strong muscles pulling his T-shirt tight over them. “I’m going to go run you some water, then I’ll come get you.”
He leans down and presses a kiss on my forehead, and the move is so soft, so gentle, I almost don’t recognize the man doing it.
Nothing about him has ever been soft and gentle.
Even when we’ve been together in this bed and in the library, it was always raw and primal, a violent, aggressive need satiated. Never sweet and slow. Certainly not soft and gentle. And I wouldn’t have expected it to be nor wanted it that way.
Now, he’s treating me like some porcelain doll that might break at the slightest touch. I want to be angry about that, but he could be right.
Maybe I am.
It certainly feels like I’m on the verge of shattering right now, barely clinging to my grip on reality and sanity, while so many things I don’t understand seem to be spinning out of control.
He disappears into the bathroom, and the sound of the water running fills the room.
I lean back against the headboard and wait, rubbing at my hip absently, where I surely have a massive bruise from the wooden step tread slamming into it.
He reappears with his brow furrowed, gaze locked on my hand. “Are you in pain?”
I bite my bottom lip.
Shit!
Do I tell him?
Weston is already dancing along the edge of losing control of his anger, by his own admission, and telling him my hip—and just about every other part on me—has ached since I woke will only push him over it.
I shake my head. “Nope. I’m okay.”
He moves closer. His scowl deepens, his hands fisting at his sides. “Don’t lie to me, Callista. You won’t like the result.”
A shudder rolls through me at the promise in his gaze because it isn’t a threat of more pain. Quite the opposite. Weston will use pleasure as a weapon, and I already know how well he wields that particular one.
In all my time here, I have never lied to Weston. I’ve kept things from him, but I’ve never said anything that wasn’t true at the time I spoke it.
Guilt for even attempting it makes me release an apologetic sigh. “My hip really hurts.”
He leans over and lifts the edge of my shorts up to my ass cheek until he can see the side of my right hip, the skin already darkening.
A low snarl falls from his lips, and he pulls back and takes my chin in his firm grasp. “Where else do you hurt?”
I swallow thickly, his eyes boring into mine from only a few inches away, his mouth so close that I’m tempted to lean forward and take it.
“Focus, Callista. Tell me where else it hurts.”
I slowly shift on the bed, moving my arms and legs, rolling my neck, trying to determine where the worst of the damage might be. Each time a little jolt of pain or a dull ache comes, I try to keep my expression neutral, so he won’t know how shitty I truly feel. “My left shoulder, my right elbow, my neck a little bit.”
“Jesus Christ.” He drops my chin and steps back, anger tightening his shoulders and tensing every muscle in his body until the rage vibrates from him. “I’m going to kill them.”
