“Excuse me? How would you know?”
“That depends. Do you want to question how private your medical history is?”
Son of bitch.
The breath rushes back into me when he steps back, and his eyes follow the line of my body with more intensity than I can handle. He shifts his weight when he makes it down my leg. It’s odd watching him blink hard when he gets to my foot, like there’s some internal battle he’s wrestling with.
Kohen clears his throat. “Take off your sock. I want to check your ankle.”
I frown, both because that’s a ridiculous request and because it makes me feel unreasonably special that he cares about me even when I’m trying to screw him up. “You’re not a doctor. Plus, you aren’t looking at my feet for free. This shit is a hot commodity.”
Kohen cuts me a blank look. “Stop talking, Blaze.”
Ugh, fuck it. Choose your battles and all that. Before I can play myindependent-young-womancard, his hands curve behind my calf. The agonizingly slow speed in which they travel down my leg to remove my sock, is enough for me to start thinking about old people so I can stop imagining things involving the hard object tenting his pants.
Is it just me, or has he been getting hard a lot recently? I also think this room is getting unseasonably hot. And I’m wearing far too many layers. So is he. Maybe he could move his hand a little higherto—
Nope. Not thinking about that.
“Does this hurt?”
“What—ow!” I jolt up, slapping his hand away from my very red, very swollen ankle. “Yes, it fucking hurts. What did you think would happen when you go poking at a sprain?”
“It could be partially dislocated.”
“Okay, Doctor,” I mock.
When I bend my knee to get my foot away from him, I don’t expect him to grab my other leg and bend it too, causing me to be too dumbstruck to do anything about it. The ibuprofen must be getting to my head; that’s the only explanation as to why he’s doing exactly what I was fantasizing before. One second his hand is around my leg, the next, both hands are at my hips pulling down my shorts—and, shit, the whiplash is sending a rush straight to my core.
Somehow, some way, I manage to stop thinking with my vagina for more than a millisecond to shove his hands away. “What the fuck do you think—”
“Shut the fuck up. I need this.”
I’m not sure whether it’s his words or how the gold in his eyes has turned into bronze embers against the poisonous green rings, but he manages to stun me into silence. He looks like he’s about to explode. The pyromaniac takes my silence as an opening to yank my panties and shorts down my thighs in one single move, and I screech.
“You’re—”
I’m bare from the waist down in the next heartbeat, barely able to breathe from the depleting oxygen in the room. I snap my legs closed, and the movement immediately sends a bolt of pain through my ankle. Still, I keep my thighs tightly shut so hedoesn’t see what his barbarian attitude is doing to my nether regions.
Kohen’s eyes flare, and he sounds like he’s skating the line of losing it. “I’m two seconds away from lighting a man on fire—if you don’t spread your legs for me right now, I’m sending us both to prison.”
It’s a leg workout with how hard I’m squeezing my thighs together, and it makes the examination sheet crinkle beneath me. “I’m not doing shit for you.”
“That’s part of the problem, isn’t it?” He pulls me down the bed, and I let out a pathetic little yelp when my shirt slides up with the friction. “You don’t need to do a goddamn thing, and my dick is constantly hard as a brick for you.”
My mouth falls. “What? Are you on drugs? What the fuck are you talking about?” By my count, I’ve seen this man hard twice. And if he hadn’t been turned on by me riding his leg, I would have been offended.
“I’m talking about how you take center stage in all my wet dreams, and I can’t go a single day without coming to the thought of you.”
I blink twice. “Come again?”
There’s no way I heard that right. Sure, I get that he recently developed some weird, deranged interest in me after deciding he doesn’t like it when I’m around other guys. But his delusion can’t be so bad that he’s in his room every day, touching himself while thinking about me.
Now that I think about it, it’s actually quite flattering.
My brain doesn’t compute the blur of movement until one of his hands cradles the back of my neck, and the other wraps around the column of my throat, lifting me so our lips brush against each other. A shiver skates down my spine as I barely stop myself from sealingthe deal.
You hate him,I remind myself.He burned your house and got you medically tortured.You H-A-T-E him.
