He was sure the wound was more of a slice than a stab, meaning he was pretty certain he’d live, but there wasn’t a single iota of him that felt compelled to stop Francesca from kneeling between his legs again. It brought back lovely memories of two hours prior, when she’d had his cock down her throat and all was right with the world.
Watching her from under his lashes, he clarified, “Easton. None of this would be happening if it wasn’t for him.”
Francesca gently peeled his hand away from the wound. When blood didn’t immediately begin to spurt out like some shitty sprinkler, she began the awful process of unsticking his ruined dress shirt from where it had adhered to his skin.
Her expression tightened when she argued, “None of this would be happening if I didn’t try to take the easy way out of my problems.”
“You wouldn’t have been offered a bad deal if Easton wasn’t — ow,fuck,kitten, please be gentle with me — such a shitty businessman who doesn’t pay his debts.” He held his breath when she placed a hand on his stomach, steadying herself so she could look more closely at the nasty cut in his side.
In a rough voice, he continued, “And you wouldn’t have even needed the help if I hadn’t pussyfooted around. I liked playing house with you so much that I…”
Didn’t listen to my instincts. Didn’t think you needed protecting. Didn’t think about what you might be going through.
He’d fucked up in a myriad of ways, from not catching Easton before he’d put this bullshit event together to not slinging her over his shoulder when he had the chance. But by far the worst mistake was dancing around what he wanted.
Francesca rose without meeting his gaze. “I think I saw a first aid kit in the bathroom.”
Luis watched her scurry off, his gut tightening. He hated watching her leave him, even for a moment.
Is this how it’s supposed to be?
He leaned his head against the back of the lounge to stare at the ceiling. Luis was far better at handling other people’s feelings. His own were a foreign country full of undiscovered wilderness. He’d spent nearly a lifetime doing everything in his power to never venture there.
It felt a bit like he’d been dropped in the middle with neither compass nor guide.
But that wasn’t true. He hadn’t been deposited there. He’d walked, slowly but surely, of his own free will into that wild place.
Every time he looked at her, he took another step. Every time she fed him some tiny crumb of her trust, he ventured further. And every time she laughed, he fought the urge to run straight to the heart of it.
He’d gone in blind, but he’d done it willingly.
The problem was he had no fucking idea how to get her there with him.
Luis lifted his head up from the lounge when the soft patter of her footsteps approached. She came barreling into the sitting room, a semi-translucent first aid kit clutched in her white-knuckled fists.
“Found it,” she announced, holding the case up triumphantly.
“Great.” He curled his fingers toward her, asking for the case. “That looks like the high end kind. That’s smart to have around, considering what we get up to here. I just need to clean it up and pack on one of those m-bandages. One of the bigger rubber ones.”
“I can do it,” she declared.
Luis arched his eyebrows. “Have you patched up a stab wound before? If your answer is yes, we have some serious shit to talk about, kitten.”
Her cheeks flushed. “Well, no, but I’ve watched a lot of hospital shows. And if it’s as simple as you said, then why can’t I?”
Warmth tickled the nearly unused organ in his chest. Spreading his arms out along the back of the lounge, he drawled, “If you want to nurse me, have at it. I’ll never say no to some tender loving care.”
“I’m sure you wouldn’t,” she muttered, kneeling on the ground again.
It was an immensely distracting position for her to be in.
Luis was used to ignoring pain. He’d had his fair share, which was why he knew at a glance that the stab wound was a bigger threat to his pride than his life. It didn’t take much to punt the sensation aside so he could focus on just how good his girl looked when she shuffled between his spread legs, a sterile cleaning swab in hand.
He could’ve told her that it’d work just as well if she sat beside him, but where was the fun in that?
Luis dug his claws into the lounge as she began to slowly swipe at the blood around his wound. Without looking up at him, she muttered, “Your own knife, huh?”
He scowled. “Don’t remind me.”