Sinner's Revenge (Sinner's Creed MC #2)(19)
Grabbing some clean towels from the dryer, I rummage through my laundry basket until I find a clean shirt. I return to the room to find her sitting on the side of the bed. “Can you walk?” I ask, knowing good and damn well she can, but testing her to see how far she plans to go. Even though I feel sorry for her, and I’m willing to help her, doesn’t mean I trust one strand of hair on her pretty little head.
“Yeah,” she says softly, standing slowly. I admire the fight in her as she shuffles to the bathroom, using the walls as a crutch. “No bubbles?” She smirks. Well, at least she hasn’t lost her sense of humor.
“I like to save the romantics for women I like.” I give her a playful smile that she returns. “Sit,” I say, pointing to the toilet.
She obeys, and my dick twitches at the thought. Fucking pervert. Kneeling in front of her, I unbutton her top, keeping my eyes on her face as I do. Pushing it from her shoulders, I look down at the sports bra, wondering how in the hell I’m supposed to get that damn thing off without hurting her.
“Cut it,” she tells me, keeping that bruised and cut, yet still beautiful, face impassive.
Pulling my knife from my jeans, I flip it open. She turns her head slightly to the side, appraising me as I place it between her breasts. She doesn’t blink or look the least bit concerned. Either she trusts me not to kill her, or she doesn’t give a shit if I do.
Gripping the material in my hand, I pull it tight and feel the back of my fingers brush against her breasts that I’m sure taste just as delicious as her mouth. Sliding the blade down the material, it cuts easily, and soon it’s splayed open and barely covering her nipples.
“Don’t worry,” she says, the corner of her lips turning up. “I’m not very modest.”
Unsure of how that makes me feel, I give her a cold look. “I figured as much,” I mumble. Ridding her of the bra completely, I focus on her collarbone, refusing to look at the two perfect tits I know are begging for my attention.
Helping her to stand, I turn her around to avoid temptation, and force a shield over my mind, my thoughts, and my cock. I’ve thought about what Diem would look like naked plenty of times, but this isn’t how I want my first experience to be. I’m here to help her, not f*ck her. If this were Carrie or Saylor, there would be no lustful thoughts running through my brain. So I pretend she’s my sister. That she belongs to one of my brothers, so I show her and her body the same respect I would show them.
Pushing her shorts to her feet, I grab her hand as she steps out of them and lead her to the bathtub. Keeping a firm grip on her waist, I hold tight to her tiny body until she is seated. “Close your eyes,” I instruct, grabbing a plastic cup and filling it before pouring water over her head.
She sits silent and motionless, allowing me to wash her hair. When I’m finished, I focus on her back, carefully cleaning around the wound. I keep in mind that this is probably a lot harder for her than it is for me. Diem is not the type to be waited on, bathed, or pampered. I’m sure this is a first.
“You okay?” I ask, pushing the wet strands of hair back from her face as I mentally try to prepare myself for bathing the rest of her. She’s your sister. She’s your sister.
She avoids my gaze, looking down at her crippled hands in her lap. “I can’t do this,” she says, shaking her head. “Get out.”
I frown, not sure if I heard her right. “Diem, I don’t mind—”
“I said get out.” Her voice is firm as she turns those eyes of steel on me. She’s disappointed in herself and determined to do this on her own. And I get it.
I leave, closing the door behind me but making sure not to lock it. If she calls for me, I want to be able to get to her. But something tells me she probably won’t.
Lighting a smoke in the hall, I wait for her to finish. Standing right outside the door, I listen as the water splashes. Every once in a while, I hear a sharp intake of breath, a growl of frustration, and sometimes even a whimper. I allow her the space she needs, but I’m not happy about it. I wish her stubborn ass would just let me help.
When the bathroom grows quiet for longer than I think it should, I knock on the door. “Everything okay in there?” I ask, my hand already on the doorknob.
“I’m fine,” she snaps, and I smirk at the vision I have in my head of her glaring at me.
Figuring if she’s pissed, she really is fine, I make myself useful in the bedroom. I rip the sheets off the bed that are already stained with her blood. Throwing them in the washer, I dig through the closet until I find another set before remaking the bed.
There’s never shit to eat here, but I find a pack of nabs in my duffel and pour her a tall glass of water. Searching my pitiful medicine cabinet, I locate some over-the-counter pain meds. Then I roll a blunt, thinking it will help her sleep. If she refuses it, I’ll just smoke it myself. I’ll probably need it to sleep tonight too.
Just as I’m passing the bathroom, the door opens and Diem appears in a towel looking like she’s just run a marathon rather than take a bath. She’s out of breath. Her shoulders sag and her legs struggle to hold her up. She’s proved her point. Now I’m taking over, whether she likes it or not.
“Put your arm around my neck,” I say, bending my knees so I shrink to her level.
Without argument, she slides her arm across my shoulder, and my skin ignites at the touch. Cradling her knees under one arm, I move the other around her waist and lift her. Her head falls to my shoulder, clearly not having the energy to hold itself up any longer.