He winced as he sat up, holding his side. “But I’m fine.”
“You are not fine. You’re bruised and probably have some internal bleeding.”
“So, I’ll take care of it after you take care of me,” he grinned.
“Nice try.” I couldn’t help the smile that curved my lips. He was so freaking adorable when he was injured, but still begging for me to kiss him.
“You know, you could always play nurse for me.”
“Except I don’t know a thing about taking care of injuries.”
“I can walk you through it,” he said, his lips tilting up playfully.
I shook my head, unable to believe the words coming out of his mouth. “You would rather I take care of you than a trained medical person?”
“Any day of the week.” He frowned slightly. “Well, maybe not for surgery, but even then, things can be negotiated.”
“I’m not so sure I’d trust me with a scalpel.”
“You’d be amazing,” he said, reaching for me.
“I know,” I smiled, slipping my hand in his. “Which is why you never want me to hold one. I might purposely do more damage than actually help you.”
“Vicious,” he murmured, pulling me back against his lips. “I like it.”
I tore myself away again, even though I desperately wanted to pull my pants off and ride his cock. “You like it because you want sex.”
“Hey, that’s a lie. That’s only partly the reason.”
Shaking my head, I backed toward the bathroom, determined to get him cleaned up, even if it meant knocking him out to do it. The man looked terrible. With that swollen eye, he definitely needed an ice pack or a bag of cold peas, but going downstairs meant seeing my brothers, and that wasn’t a good idea right now.
I rummaged through the bathroom, finding nothing under the sink. But when I opened what I thought was the cabinet for towels, what I found was a whole medical supply station with everything I needed to clean him up.
And a whole host of things I had no idea what they were for.
Grabbing the basics, I headed back into the bedroom, only to find Rob pouting on the bed.
“Take off your shirt and lay down.”
“I like the sound of that,” he smirked, pulling at his shirt. But when he tried to pull it over his head, that’s when things got a little tricky.
“Need some help?”
He sighed, giving up when he couldn’t raise his arms all the way. “Do I look that pathetic?”
“Pathetic and cute.”
“Handsome,” he muttered. “Attractive, striking.”
“Fishing for compliments?”
“Fishing for anything that doesn’t describe me as a toddler,” he pouted.
Straddling his thighs once again, I took the hem of his shirt in my hands and slowly raised it up his chest, skimming my hands along the taut muscles contracting beneath my touch.
“Gorgeous,” I murmured, pressing my lips to his bruised ribs. “Hunky.”
My tongue slid over the damaged skin, up to his nipple.