I lifted his shirt and found the bruise already blooming over his ribs, purple and black. There was a deep gash along his side, but it didn’t look life-threatening.
“Nothing poking out. I think you’ll live.”
He made a sound, not quite a laugh.
“Your lip is split,” I said, wiping away blood. “Don’t talk.”
He nodded, teeth stained red.
I worked in silence, cleaning the wounds, taping the worst of them shut. The air stank of sweat, iron, andbleach. I could hear the pit bulls whining, their bodies pressed to the doors, desperate for reassurance.
“You should see a doctor,” I said.
He shook his head. “Not yet.”
I swallowed, wiped my hands on my jeans.
“Dean?” I said, softer.
He looked at me, eyes steady.
“You didn’t have to do that. They would have left.”
He snorted, then winced at the pain. “They would have come back. For you. For the dogs.”
I felt the tears start, hot and angry. I pressed the gauze to his cheek, harder than necessary. “That’s not your job.”
He caught my wrist, gentle. “It is. Now.”
I leaned my forehead against his, the blood sticky but warm. “Promise me you’ll stop getting stabbed.”
He closed his eyes. “Only if you promise not to let idiots adopt our dogs.”
I nodded, and we sat like that, the two of us and the sound of the shelter settling back into itself, until the adrenaline faded and the only thing left was the clean, sharp ache of still being alive.
The rest of the day went by uneventfully, Dean staying at my side until closing. All day, I watched him, wondering, wanting, fidgeting. I sent the last tech home, told Taryn I’d close everything up, and sent her home.
“I need to do a final walkthrough of the kennels,” I said.
Dean followed me to the back, where rows and rows of eight-foot-tall cages worked across the room. Halfway across the room, in front of an empty cage that had been recently cleaned, I stopped and turned.
Nothing needed to be said. At some point in everyone’s lives, they feel some ancient, animal instinct kick in. Dean backed me into the cage, dogs barking on each side. He kissed me harder, forcing his tongue between my lips.
I should have bolted the cage behind us, made a joke about putting myself in “time out,” but I just let the door clang shut, Dean’s hands already tangled in my hair, pinning my head with just enough force to be a little scary—just enough to break me out of my self-destructive brain loop. He kissed me like I was air after drowning, all teeth. The mesh behind me rattled from the impact. Somewhere down the row, the dogs lost their minds, but Dean found my waistband and yanked me flush to him, his thigh prying open my knees. I’d never been more grateful for industrial-grade tile.
I hooked my thumbs through his belt loops. He jerked my hips forward, grinding us together so hard my molars rang. Kissed again, deeper—his tongue tasted like blood and coffee and chiles, hotter than I expected, so hot the burn shot straight to my chest and lower. I bit his bottomlip. He grunted, and the sound was so utterly animal it made my thighs go slick.
“Jesus, you’re bleeding,” I said, when he let me breathe for half a second. I reached up to check the cut on his cheek. It leaked, but he ignored it, moving my hand away, biting the heel of my palm, then licking the mark like an apology.
“Not as bad as you make me feel,” he said, voice rough, not kidding at all. “Let me—” He started on my buttons, popping them so fast I lost one and didn’t care. My collarbone hit the mesh, cold steel shocking through my skin. He shoved the shirt off my shoulders, clumsy from adrenaline, then ran his hands down my sides, found the edge of my bra, pushed under to cup me bare. His palms were hot, callused. His thumb found my nipple—it hurt in a way that made my whole body bow into him.
“Fuck,” I hissed. I didn’t recognize my own voice—needy, half-feral. I unbuckled his belt. His jeans already tented up, the seam wet where he pressed me, like he wanted to mark me right through the fabric. I wanted him inside, but I also wanted this moment to stretch and crack me open.
He didn’t talk, just shoved my jeans down, then lifted me into his hands and pinned me higher up the cage. My bare ass hit cold wire. The dogs howled, the two in thenext kennel barking so hard their feet scrabbled out from under them, but I was past caring. My boots scuffed the mesh; Dean’s hand snaked between my legs, dragging his fingers over the slick there, and he groaned—low, hungry, devastated.
I barely had time to claw his zipper down before he freed himself, cock already flushed and angry-looking. He lined us up, and I locked my legs around his hips, holding on like a drowning woman. He slid all the way in, thick and brutal, shoving the wind out of me so hard I slapped a hand over his mouth to keep from screaming.
“Don’t,” he said, voice muffled by my palm, “don’t you ever fucking hold back.”
