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His fingers slip against the goosebumps on my thighs and he growls low under his breath before removing his hand completely.
“Sweet is not the word I’d use to describe the things I’m going to do to you, little doe. Don’t think I’m not going to punish you.” He presses a kiss to my temple and then another to my cheek and finally, his fingers grip my chin and he gently turns my faceto his. I slip my tongue against his, a small whimper climbing up my throat.
He growls against my lips, his fingers tightening on my chin with a small tremor.
He’s real? God, how is he real?
He breaks the kiss with a soft groan and leans his forehead against mine.
“Fuck, I love you, Hannah.”
“And I love you.”
“Get some sleep. You’re going to need it. I’m willing to bet my mother will be here as soon as they let her in.”
I chuckle, but when he tries to leave, I grip his fingers in mine and wrap them over my stomach.
“Stay.”
“Always, little doe.”
Mason
My mother has adopted Hannah like a stray kitten.
“I’ve already arranged for a nice in-home nurse to come help you take a shower. Iknowyou must be wanting arealshower.”
“Do I stink?”
“Never dear, but it’s amazing what a good shower can do for the soul.”
Hannah’s eyes flit back to me nervously. “It’s okay. Mason’s been helping me.”
“I suppose he could, though, you better keep your hands to yourself, young man. She’s off-limits for another six weeks.”
Don’t fucking remind me.
All I’ve wanted to do since I got Hannah back is bury myself inside her and not come up for air for days, but . . . with the new wound in her shoulder, I can’t. Doctor’s fucking orders.
I’m happy to wait. I want her. Not sex.
But fuck if it wouldn’t make this shit a little bit easier if I could touch her without worrying I’m going to hurt her.
I’ve come to a new conclusion. Hannah likes to see me suffer. It’s fine. I’ll gladly suffer at her hand whenever she wants me to, but when she’s licking banana pudding off a spoon like a porn star at noon on a Tuesday when my family is in and out, it’s mildly fucking difficult to hide a hard-on.
Judging by the twinkle in her eye when she does it, I know she’s doing it on purpose.
Little brat.
“And Bailey sent you this,” Mom produces a stack of books from the box beside her, most of which were written by my sister, but there are a few others thrown in there, too.
“Oh, thank God,” Hannah groans, taking the first one with a wince. “I was so bored yesterday.”
“We’re going to have to move out of here,” I chime from the wall, but no one pays an ounce of attention to me.
After we left the hospital last week, Mom brought us back to her house and the spare room—with new furniture, of course. I’m not complaining, mostly because as much as I don’t want to, I’ve had to step out to deal with insurance shit at the garage and I refuse to leave Hannah alone right now.
Though she’s able to move around and her stitches are healing nicely, I know Hannah and her penchant for doing shit she’s not supposed to.
