Page 138 of Married to My Sis’s Bratva Fiancé

My pants slid down. She looked once, and her cheeks flared hot.

The thing between my legs was hard and erect, so engorged with blood that it was a bit purplish.

She shot me a glare and turned on the water. Warm streams ran through my hair and over my shoulders. She used a sponge carefully around the dressing, wiped my neck, my chest, my arms. Every time she leaned closer, my body went tighter, hungrier.

The sponge reached my stomach. I gripped the armrest hard.

"Don't go lower," I said.

"I'm not done."

"If you keep going, I'm not going to be able to follow the doctor's orders."

Her breathing went light. Water rolled off her jaw and disappeared into her collar, the fabric sticking to her waist. I didn't look away.

She dropped the sponge.

Her fingers didn't stop there.

They slid down, slow and sure, like she was testing the edge of a cliff and deciding she liked the view. The second she touched me, my whole body jolted. Surprise hit first. Then heat. Then the sharp, stupid rush of wanting that made my head go blank.

"Elena," I said, rough.

Her eyes lifted to mine, wide but steady. "You said you wanted me to take care of you."

"That's not exactly what I mean," I managed, and my voice broke anyway.

"Liar." Her mouth trembled, not with fear this time. With something else. "Just... tell me if I hurt you."

"You didn't," I said. "You really didn't."

She swallowed, and her hand moved again. Clumsy at first, like she didn't know what to do with all that power, then more deliberate when she felt the way my body reacted. She watched my face like she was learning a language by sound.

I'd expected her to pull away. To apologize. To get embarrassed and run.

She didn't.

That alone nearly ruined me.

"Look at you," I muttered, the words dragging out of my throat. "Acting sweet, and you're killing me."

Her lashes lowered. "You look like you're in pain."

"I am," I said. "Not the kind you're trying to fix."

She made a quiet sound, half annoyed, half fascinated, and her hand tightened just enough to make my vision flash white at the edges. I gripped the chair until my knuckles went pale, fighting the urge to reach for her with my bad shoulder.

Her throat bobbed. She kept going, gaze darting between my face and her own hand like she couldn't decide which one she wanted to watch more.

I laughed under my breath, a raw sound. "Jesus. Elena."

"What?" she snapped softly, flustered. "Stop saying my name like that."

"Like what?" I asked.

"Like you..." She trailed off, cheeks burning again.

"Like I can't get enough," I said, and my voice turned lower, dirtier. "Because I can't."