“When you say it…” She swallowed, cheeks flushing as she stared at my chest instead of my eyes. “I melt.”
Fuck.
The smile that pulled at my mouth felt slow and dangerous and proud. Mine. I kissed her forehead. “Good.”
She tried to roll her eyes like she could balance it out. “You’re going to get smug.”
“I’m already smug.”
“You’re impossible.”
“And you’re holding onto me like,” I pointed out quietly, brushing her hair out of her face so I could see all of it. “So which one of us wins that round, baby?”
Her lips twitched. The smile that slipped out was small but real. She didn’t move her hand from my chain.
I tipped my head, narrowed my focus on her face. “How are you really feeling?”
“Fine.”
The word landed too fast. Dynasty-trained.
“Madeline.”
She blinked. “What?”
“That’s not what I asked.”
Her jaw flexed. Her eyes dipped away.
She tried to blink the tears back, but they pushed over anyway, spilling hot down to the pillow. My baby, my brave littlesub, who took everything I gave her, was crying because it hurt and she still tried to hide it from me.
“It hurts,” she whispered. “It hurts so fucking bad, Vince.”
Something in my chest split clean down the middle. The Crow in me bared his teeth at the idea that I’d hurt her, even if it was inevitable, even if she’d asked for it. It didn’t matter. Pain on her body felt like failure written across mine.
“Oh, baby…”
The blanket sat bunched around her waist. Carefully, slowly, I eased it back.
Her breath hitched.
She froze. My gaze followed hers—down the soft line of her stomach, over the curve of her hip, to the inside of her thigh.
Blood stained. Not enough to be dangerous. Just enough to punch through every protective instinct I had and light them on fire. More than I’d planned for. More than I was ever going to be comfortable seeing onmygirl.
My first instinct was violent—at myself, at every lesson I’d ever been taught. Crow men were raised on blood. I’d never hated it until I saw it on her.
Her hand flew for the blanket again, reaching to yank it up, to hide from me. I caught her wrist gently before she could.
“Don’t hide. Not from me, angel.”
Humiliation flared hot across her face.
“I’m sorry,” her eyes squeezing shut like she owed me perfection instead of pain.
“Don’t you dare apologize.”
My thumb stroked slow lines over her thigh, careful to avoid the red, just touching the skin I worshipped. In my head I went straight into triage. First time. No condom. Tight fit. Long stretch. I’d gone careful, slower than I’d ever gone in my life, checking every sound she made, every breath—but still. Had there been a tear? Had I taken too much from my girl?
