Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 60663 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 303(@200wpm)___ 243(@250wpm)___ 202(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60663 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 303(@200wpm)___ 243(@250wpm)___ 202(@300wpm)
Goddammit! My back is really hurting now. Aching.
“Why are you sitting out here?” I don’t answer him. Just put my hand on my back and groan. I feel him lean down and touch my back. I don’t even bother shooing him away, letting him untie the bow and part the two halves of my dress. “Fucking hell, you said it was fine.”
“It was,” I tell him.
“Clearly, it’s not. Your back is fucking red and bruised.” Without another word, he scoops me up as if I’m a child and carries me inside.
“I can walk, just so you’re aware,” I inform him. Then I scrunch my nose and tell him, “You smell.” He does smell, but it’s absolutely delicious. So it’s best he puts me down because no woman should be subjected to that scent.
He glances down at me, then back up, holding me in his arms as if I am as light as a feather, and I don’t avert my eyes from him.
“Stop staring,” he says and adjusts his hold on me. I wince and look away. “Fucking hell, you’ll have to ice it.” He kicks my bedroom door open and carries me to the bed before he gently lays me down. Glancing up at him, I notice he won’t look my way. He watches where he puts me before he turns and walks out of the room without saying a word. Sitting up, I let the dress fall from my shoulders and pool at my waist—I have no bra on, as one wasn’t needed with this dress—then I try to look at my back. I can’t see anything, but I can feel the pain when I twist.
Maybe this week is just that for me—pain.
But on the bright side, I’m in a place where it doesn’t stink, and no one is going to come in and try to hurt me. Well, that I’m aware of. Managing to get up, I go over to the full-length mirror and turn around so I can look over my shoulder to see how bad it is.
Shit.
It’s red.
But then again, I’ve had worse.
“You have small tits.” Whipping my head around, I see him standing at the door with a bag of ice in his hand. After a moment, he enters the room and moves behind me. He lifts the bag and places it on my back. I suck in a breath at his touch and the coldness of the ice against my skin. When I glance back at him, his eyes meet mine.
“Nothing wrong with small tits,” I tell him.
Kyson’s lips fight a smile, but he says nothing, just holds the bag to my back. I should care that he’s in the room with me while I’m half exposed, but he doesn’t give me a vibe that I need to cover up around him. Which is weird, considering who he is and what he’s done to me.
“I think I’ve got it from here.” I lift my hand and try to reach for the bag, but it hurts to put my arms in that position.
“Lie on the bed… And take that fucking dress off so I can burn it.”
I let the dress slip over my hips, and then I walk to the bed. Lying down in only a G-string, I feel something against my skin. Turning my head slightly, I can just see his features. His eyes are trained on my bare ass as he lays a towel on my back, then places the ice. “Go to fucking sleep,” he grumbles, throwing the sheet over me before he storms off.
I lie there confused.
What just happened?
My back is aching at a whole new level of pain.
I don’t even want to move—that’s how much it hurts. I hear footsteps, but my face is smushed into the pillow, and I’m too sore to shift my head to see who it is.
“Fucking hell,” Kyson says before I feel his hands on me, then something cold settles on my back. The relief is slight and not enough. I hear his footsteps retreat, and he’s gone for a minute before he’s back again and says, “You need to move to take these.”
“I don’t want to,” I whine.
“You move on your own, or I move you.” I know he means it, so I shift slowly until I’m on my side. The sheet that he threw over me is still slightly covering me, and the ice pack has fallen to the side, but I can still feel it against my back. “Take these. They will help the pain and inflammation.” He holds out a couple of tablets as well as a glass of water.
“I can’t take tablets,” I tell him.
“What do you mean? I’ve watched you drink. You have no problem with swallowing things that aren’t good for you.”
“I can’t take them. They don’t go down, and then I throw up.”