If You Were Mine(14)
Rofus was by me an instant later, his big hand cupping mine, his focus on my bleeding thumb. It wasn’t even a bad wound, but the intensity and concern on his face startled me.
“Come on, we should get this cleaned up.”
I wanted to argue that I was fine, that a dab of toilet paper on the pinprick-sized wound would be fine, but I kept my mouth shut and allowed him to lead me out of the greenhouse, down the hall, and into one of the bathrooms.
The feel of his hand wrapped loosely around my wrist sent fire up my forearm. I couldn’t describe the sensation that consumed me at that small touch. My body came alive, this feeling, one I’d never experienced before, consuming me.
He helped me sit on the edge of the claw-footed tub, and then he turned and grabbed the first aid kit out of the cabinet. I sat there in silence, watching as he tended to me. There was something comforting about watching a man such as Rofus, who exhibited brutality and strength, and who made me feel on edge yet wanting so much more, take care of me. This was all so strange, yet exhilarating. I didn’t know him, yet I felt like I did.
He was tender and meticulous as he cleaned the blood off, put some ointment on my finger, and placed a small bandage over it.
I found the act slightly humorous, given the fact I didn’t need all this attention for a tiny cut from the rose thorn. When it was all said and done he took a step back and I lifted my head to look up at him. He seemingly filled the entire bathroom, his body so big, so muscular.
“Thank you,” I said so softly I wondered if he’d heard me. I swallowed and looked at my hand, my flesh still on fire from where he’d touched me. “Why are you doing all of this?” I looked back up at him.
He took a second to respond. “Doing what?”
I licked my lips and broke eye contact for a second. When I looked at him again I wondered if he saw, sensed how vulnerable I felt. I was so confused, not sure why he was being so nice, why he was paying so much attention to me.
“Why the breakfast, the greenhouse?” I exhaled slowly. “Why are you taking care of me?” I lifted up my hand as if he wouldn’t know what I was talking about.
He took a step toward me again, helping me up from the edge of the tub, and I allowed myself to take his scent into my lungs.
“I did what I did because…” He stopped speaking, his gaze locked with mine. “Because I wanted to get to know you.” The air became thick, heated. “Because I want you as mine.”