Sinner's Revenge (Sinner's Creed MC #2)(20)
Gently, I set her on the bed before grabbing the bandages and wrapping both her wrists. Finished, I crawl behind her and rub ointment on the cut centered in her back before covering it with the gauze Carrie had left for her.
I slip my T-shirt over her head, and the moment it’s on, she practically falls to her side. “I’ll rot before I do that again,” she breathes, her hair disheveled all over her pale face.
Reaching my hand under her shirt, she stills. “Just getting the towel, baby. Don’t get excited.” I give her a wink, and her hand lifts. I know she’s attempting to give me the finger but it’s impossible with her hands wrapped. Throwing the towel to the floor, I stand and tuck her legs under the covers before pulling them up to her shoulders.
“I got you some stuff,” I say, standing beside the bed as I look down at her. Now that she’s tucked in and there’s nothing left for me to do, I feel helpless.
She starts to speak, but has to close her mouth and swallow before she can. “I can’t sit back up. Just let me lay here.”
“You hurting?” I ask, even though I already know the answer.
“I’m dying.”
I smirk. She’s so dramatic. “I got something that will help you relax. You trust me?”
She gives me an uneasy look before her eyes settle on the blunt I hold between my fingers. Lighting it, I take a few drags. Her eyes close a moment as she inhales the smoke from a distance. When it fades, she looks up at me and nods, wanting more.
Kneeling beside the bed, I take a pull from the cigar. Holding the smoke in my mouth, I lean in, keeping my lips just a hairsbreadth away from hers. She draws in a breath, inhaling the smoke as it floats out of my mouth and between her lips. She takes only what her lungs can handle—closing her mouth when she’s had enough, then parting her lips when she’s ready for more.
Before the blunt is finished, her eyes are heavy and her body relaxed. On the last drag she pulls from me, she whispers against my lips, “Kiss me.”
I don’t know if it’s the weed talking, or if she’s as worked up about being this close to me as I am about her. But I don’t question it. I simply give the lady what she asks for. I kiss her softly, teasing her with my tongue as she lazily kisses me back. My dick hardens at the contact. This is the most delicious she’s ever tasted. Two of my favorite flavors combined.
Before she becomes breathless and I lose control, I pull back slowly. “Sleep, pretty girl,” I whisper. And with one final nod, she does just as I ask.
*
Diem sleeps all night and most of the next day. I checked in on her from time to time, but she never stirred. She still hasn’t eaten, but she did drink some water sometime during the night. When she finally wakes up, she doesn’t say much. She just names off some things she needs, then asks for her bag. I’m hesitant to leave her, but I do and head into town for everything she listed.
By the time I’m back, she’s showered and is standing in the kitchen. I freeze at what I see. She’s wearing one of my shirts. Even though I’d dressed her in it, I’d yet to notice. Now that I am, I realize I like what I see.
“You can’t pack for shit. What did you think, I was gonna sleep naked?” She’s leaning over the sink, peeling boiled eggs with one hand while she holds the other near her stomach.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m eating boiled eggs. It’s the only damn thing you have here.” She looks better—like she feels better too.
“Well, I wasn’t expecting company,” I say, setting the bags on the counter. I grab a beer, then lean against the fridge watching her. She’s all legs in my workout T-shirt that has the arms and neck cut out, giving me a view of her sides and hips. There isn’t any underwear in sight and I shift at the thought. Fucking pervert. The woman can barely get around.
“I changed your sheets. I didn’t feel comfortable sleeping on something that might be infested with some STD.” Popping an entire egg in her mouth, she starts the process of peeling another one.
I don’t bother telling her I’d already changed them. I’ll just let her think what she wants. “You shouldn’t have. Really. ’Cause you’re sleeping on the couch.” I might be nice, but I’m not that nice. Clearly, she can take care of herself. And this Diem isn’t the one I saw yesterday.
“The f*ck I am,” she says, her mouth full. “You forced me here, so I’m taking the bedroom. You can sleep on the couch.”
I shake my head. “Not happening. And you can leave anytime you want. What happened to ‘Please help me, Zeke’?” I say, imitating a whiny voice that sounds nothing like her.
“I had a moment of weakness. Starvation and dehydration will do that to you.” For emphasis, she downs a glass of water, then puts another egg in her mouth.
“You’re such a pig.” I smirk.
She just shrugs. “Call me whatever you want. I’m still sleeping in the bed. I don’t give a shit if you’re in it or not.” Images of Diem in my bed wearing nothing but my shirt are something I don’t want flashing in my mind. “Did you get the stuff?” she asks, and suddenly I feel like it’s my balls she’s chewing on. Not eggs. And I don’t like the feeling.
I don’t answer as I walk out of the house, slamming the door behind me. Taking my frustrations out on my punching bag in the shed, I try to find the answer to the one question probing my brain. What the hell am I doing? Not only do I not know her, there is something about her I don’t trust. And I’m letting her sleep in my house? What the f*ck?