“Twice what?”
“Fair warning though,” he goes on, ignoring my confusion. “I’ll want to do it one more time just because I think I’ll be fucking addicted to your taste. I’m already fucking addicted to your scent. Jasmine, is it? But you’ll be trembling, and you’ll tell me to stop so I’ll decide to have mercy on you. Just this once.”
Taste.
What…
My eyes go wide when I understand, when I get what he means.
And when Idoget it, his features grow sharp, dangerous… seductive. “But then it’ll be my turn, Fae. And trust me when I say that ten minutes is not going to cut it.”
“It’s n-not?”
He shakes his head slowly. “I’m not so easy to take care of. When you’re done taking care of me, you’ll be going home with scraped up knees and swollen, dripping lips. Your brother will take one look at you and call the cops on me for doing bad things to his sister’s pretty mouth in a storage closet. Not that I mind. But yeah, your math is slightly off there. I don’t think ten minutes is enough.”
The first aid kit’s digging into my ribs by the time he finishes.
And I think I already have bruised knees and a swollen mouth, just because of the picture he’s painted with his dirty words. I think my brother would know it anyway, that I was with him in a storage closet.
“It’s geranium. And sugar. M-my scent.”
“Geranium.”
I nodded. “Yes, it’s rare. It says on the bottle. I like rare body oils.”
“I bet.”
I hug the first aid kit to my chest even more tightly. “I…”
I don’t know what to say except,I’ll do it.
Oh my God, that’s what I want to say, isn’t it?
I want to tell him that I’ll take care of him for as long as he wants.
I’m a ballerina. I’m not afraid of a little pain in my knees and bleeding skin.
I’ll take care of him just like I dance for him in the woods when he puts on the music in his Mustang and sits on the hood to watch me.
Like he’s the king of the world and I’m his slave girl.
Like he’s my villain and I’m his ballerina.
But then he moves away from the shelf and approaches me, taking away all my thoughts.
He glances down at the first aid kit and my blinking, blushing face. “Do it.”
My heart stops beating. “What?”
“You want to take care of my split lip, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Do it then.”
Then without me having to say it, he drags the stepstool over with his foot for me to stand on. So it’ll be easier for me to reach his injury. And all the while I take care of his bruise, my knees feel sore and my mouth feels swollen.
But I guess most of all, I want to tell my brothers how he helps me with my routine.
