“Yes, that hurts too.”
“Okay. Nothing feels broken, but you've got deep tissue damage. You need to ice this every few hours. Heat after forty-eight hours. And if you start pissing blood or the pain gets worse, you go to a hospital. Understand?”
“Yeah. I got it.”
He moved to my face next. Cleaned the cut above my eyebrow with the same careful attention, one hand cupping my jaw to hold me steady while the other worked.
I was acutely aware of how close he was. How his breath ghosted across my skin. How warm his palm felt against my face. How his thumb rested just below my ear, fingers spread across my throat in a way that should have felt clinical but didn't.
My body was responding in ways I couldn't control. Heat was building low in my stomach. My cock was starting to fill out in my underwear, interest I had no business feeling making itself known.
I tried to think about anything else. But it didn't work.
Because Declan's hands were on me. Gentle and careful and thorough. Touching me in ways that felt like care and devotion and all the things I'd been starving for without knowing it.
His fingers brushed the edge of my jaw and tilted my face slightly to get better light on the cut. The movement brought us even closer, close enough that I could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his breathing had gone shallow.
I looked down without meaning to. Couldn't help it. And yeah. There it was. The evidence that I wasn't the only one affected by this.
Declan was hard. I could see the outline of his cock straining against his jeans, could see the way he'd shifted his weight trying to hide it.
My mouth went dry.
This was bad. This was so fucking bad.
“You always this reckless?” Declan asked. His voice was rougher than it should have been. His hand was still on my jaw, thumb pressed just below my ear in a way that felt too deliberate to be accidental.
“What?”
“Buying a bike and immediately riding through Chicago alone when someone might be after you. That's fucking stupid, Troy.”
I pulled back slightly, irritated. “I didn't know someone was after me when I bought the bike.”
“But you knew after the first tail. And you still didn't call.” His fingers tightened fractionally on my jaw. “You could've been killed.”
“I handled it.”
“You got your ass kicked. That's not handling it.”
“I'm alive, aren't I?”
“Barely.” His other hand pressed against my ribs again, checking the damage with more force than necessary. I winced. “This could've been a lot worse.”
“Well it wasn't. So stop acting like I'm some fucking kid who needs a lecture.”
“Maybe if you stopped acting like one, I wouldn't have to.”
“I don't need you telling me how to live my life.”
“No, you just need me to patch you up every time you make stupid decisions.”
“Nobody asked you to.”
“Yeah, well. Too fucking bad. You're in my house, bleeding on my kitchen floor. I'm involved whether you like it or not.”
We glared at each other. Too close. His hand still cupping my jaw, fingers warm against my throat. His breathing had gone shallow, chest rising and falling too fast for someone who was just angry.
I could feel the heat radiating off him.
