“Let me be clear, kitten,” he says, his eyes darkening. “While we’re working together, I am theonlyone you’ll be finishing with.”
Chapter 20
Rule twenty:When in doubt, flash your enemies.
An outraged gasp gets caught in my throatas Sin finishes pulling up my underwear. His hands graze my ass, and they feel like a brand.
This is it. I’ve bled out. That’s the only reason I’m enjoying Sin’s hands on me. But then he releases me, snapping me out of the blood-loss daze.
“That’s not your choice,” I snap back.
I’m so over being bossed around by men.
Sin just laughs, and the sound goes straight to my core. I try to kick him with my non-injured leg, but he catches my foot easily as his other hand reaches for the cloth on my injured leg.
“Easy kitten, you’re just going to hurt yourself some more. Do I need to knock you out while I sew you back together?” he asks, his thumb rubbingcircles on my calf.
I blanch. “Please don’t.”
Sin frowns. “You need stitches, these are too deep and –”
“Sew me up, but don’t knock me out,” I correct him, trying to ignore my panicked heartbeat.
Sin almost looks hurt as he nods and releases my leg. “I would never–”
“No, no!” I backtrack. “That’s not it at all. I just – I don’t want magic influencing my brain anymore. It scares me,” I admit.
It’s the full truth. The thought that I went days with magic influencing my thoughts still haunts me. It’s not something I ever want to experience again.
Sin nods, understanding.
“This is going to hurt,” he notes as he opens the small case Magnus brought in.
My eyes lock onto the needle and thread, and I swallow. Sin picks up the supplies and glances up at me for permission before starting.
“Do it,” I whisper.
Holy fuck.
I feel sorry for any pants I ever hemmed. The feeling of thread pulling through my skin is nauseating, and I lay back, squeezing my eyes shut. I need a distraction.
“This sucked less when Magnus and Damien were here,” I grumble.
Pissing off Sin is a solid distraction. I peek and notice the faint glow that pulses through Sin’s tattoos.
Mission accomplished.
His gaze hardens, but he says nothing.
“Hey, warlord wannabe, you could at least talk to me,” I huff.
Sin quirks an eyebrow as he pauses from his task to look up at me. My pulse picks up at the sight, and I’m blaming it on my injuries.
“Why would I want to do that?” he asks mildly before going back to sewing me up.
I bite the inside of my cheek at the pain before gritting out, “You kicked out my distractions. You could at least try to take my mind off what you’re doing.”
His mouth quirks up with the hint of a smile. “What do you want to talk about?”
