His lips narrow and I focus back on his finger to avoid the change. My comment was meant as flippant, but it obviously didn’t land that way.
“Sorry,” I mutter, fully submerging his hand before taking another look at the damage. About as good as it’s going to get. I pat his wounded hand dry and leave the bed, setting the bowl near the door. Just that tiny distance helps me breathe more easily.
“Why don’t you wear makeup?”
The question is so unexpected that I scrunch up my face and chew on the inside of my cheek for a long second before answering, “Makeup’s expensive.”
“Ever heard of a five-finger discount?”
“I’m too twitchy. The one time I tried, the store clerk never took his eyes off me the whole time I was in the chemist.”
“Yeah.” His eyes raked across me from head to toe. “You do look like you’re trying to hide something.”
“Besides, I wouldn’t know how to wear it even if I got it.”
“Don’t you have friends to show you?”
The question makes me wince. “Not any longer.”
My eyes travel to a photograph of Tessa, pinned above my dresser. It was taken at a family day picnic. Like open days for kids no one wants to foster. Adults desperate for a family could come along and express interest in children that had already learned the lesson that no one wanted them.
The food was usually good, I’ll give them that.
In the image, her head is thrown back, mouth open in a laugh. Something scandalous probably. Her sense of humour started at risqué and moved down from there.
Two years ago, that was. A newly wedded middle-aged couple had chatted to the two of us that day, lovely people. They’d brought along an older son—eighteen, nineteen—from a previous marriage. Maybe to get his approval before they installed a second-hand replacement in the house.
They didn’t say which side he belonged to, and I never got the chance to find out. When he poked fun at my curly hair, Tessa punched him in the face.
Goodbye family.
My lips curl in a smile at the memory.
“Who were you talking to out there?” He jerks his chin towards the kitchen.
I press my weight back against the door as though it were about to fly open. “Just my roommates.”
His eyebrows stay raised and I hasten to add, “Finley and Rosa. They’re nothing to do with”—I wave my hand vaguely around me—“with this. I didn’t even know them until last week.”
“Get on your knees.”
The order is barely out of his mouth before my fear obeys him, collapsing my legs so my exposed knees smack against the floorboards and I bite my cheek to stop a cry of pain.
“Not there.” When I glance over, he rolls his eyes. “In front of me. What the fuck am I going to do with you half the room away?”
A voice in my head screams at me to ignore him, but my body doesn’t hear, slowly advancing on all fours. My legs pick up every grain of dirt and dust on the floor as his eyes trap me with their gaze, dragging me inexorably forward.
My heart thumps.
My eyes widen with dread.
Then his uninjured hand caresses my face and heat sparks from the touch. He cups my chin with his right while trailing the knuckles of his left along my cheek. He pushes my fringe back, tightening the grip on my chin to turn me in one direction, then the other. “You’re so lovely.”
The purr of his voice rolls in a wave of tingles down my spine. My lips part and he rubs the bottom one with his thumb, pushing in until the rough pad rests on my tongue.
I suck before he asks me. My wide eyes try to read his face, anticipate the next command before he needs to say it. Desperate to do well. Do whatever he wants. The fear wrestling with a new entrant; desire.
What the hell is wrong with you?
