Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 113047 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 377(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113047 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 377(@300wpm)
Now it’s my turn to gape. Um. Who the fuck would be comfortable with a random stranger sticking a needle into their flesh?
“Uh, are you… a paramedic or something?”
He shakes his head.
“But you know how to do stitches.”
He nods. Well, shit, I guess it can’t really be worse than it is now….
I shrug my assent and Rafe nods. I stand to go to the shower and immediately start to sway. Rafe catches me with one hand on my back and the other around my shoulder. My head is swimming, and I want to just collapse. And somehow, I know Rafe would catch me. I’ve never felt like that about anyone. I mean, maybe Pop when I was a really little kid… but, no, he would’ve just told me to shake it off….
I shiver at how close Rafe is, and he gives me a little squeeze. I press my forehead against his shoulder before I’m even aware I’ve done it and pull away as soon as I notice. But when Rafe runs a hand up my back I have a much worse problem.
I try and shift my hips away from Rafe so he won’t feel it, but he pulls me back toward him and tips my face up. His eyes are burning. For a second, it’s like everything is suspended—Rafe’s arms around me, his warmth, his smell, that damned hair I keep wanting to touch. I feel like he could do anything to me. I want him to. Want to just float away from myself and let him do what he wants—no responsibility, no repercussions, no blame.
Then he leans back and the moment is over. He shakes his head, like I’ve done something confusing, and takes a deep breath.
“Okay,” Rafe says. “I’ll be back in fifteen.”
I nod and close the door without meeting his eyes. When the hot water hits my cut hand, it feels like razor blades. After soaping up, I slap my stupid dick, trying to get my hard-on to go away. No dice. I can’t get the feeling out of my head—Rafe surrounding me. The warmth of his chest, his heavy arms around me.
“Fuck,” I groan, getting more turned on just thinking about it.
I grab my dick and stroke hard, my hand slick with soap. I picture Rafe pushing me up against the wall, eyes blazing, hair wild. He’d give me no choice, just hold me there, pinned like a butterfly—no. I shake that image off, replacing it with Rafe biting my neck, hands all over me. I stroke faster, so hard it’s almost painful, and that turns me on more. After only a few more strokes, I come, a pathetic, gasping orgasm that leaves me light-headed. The moment it’s over, hot shame rushes through me and I squeeze my eyes shut to try and disappear.
I can’t believe I just jerked off in the shower thinking about a guy I’m going to see in five minutes. But, more, I can’t believe I feel the same way I always do after some stranger sucks me off: so fucking ashamed I want to die.
I blast cold water for a minute and drag myself out of the shower. I hardly ever look in the mirror if I can help it, but catching a glimpse of myself as I brush my teeth confirms that I look as bad as I feel. Jesus, I look tired. The kind of tired that a good night’s sleep won’t ease. The shadows under my eyes are matched by the ones under my cheekbones, sharp and dangerous looking.
My mother’s eyes look back at me, but where hers were a soft blue, mine just look empty. I have her light brown hair, too, but it’s usually buzzed so short you can barely tell what color it is. Rafe is right, though. I haven’t had it this long in years—maybe an inch long—and it’s lighter even than I remember. My brothers all have Pop’s dark hair and pale skin. Daniel has green eyes, though, where Brian and Sam have brown, like Pop. I’m not sure how Daniel ended up with them. It’s like genetics conspired to mark him as different.
By the time I throw on some sweats, Rafe is back. I don’t know how I’m going to look him in the face after what I just did, so I linger in the bedroom, zipping my sweatshirt up to my neck and running a cautious finger over Shelby’s sleeping back.
I drink some water while Rafe showers. My hand hangs at my side, a giant, throbbing heartbeat of pain, and my legs feel weak and shaky. I sip the water slowly, and my stomach is so empty that I can feel the path the water takes as it trickles down my throat and into my intestines. I feel… miserable.
Dangerously miserable.
I haven’t felt quite this bad in a while, and last time—