As if my wolf heard my thoughts, she asks,are we going to pretend that wasn’t hot?
I search the room for anything to distract me from imagining it was a condom wrapper. And said distraction comes in the cool sting of the alcohol wipe on my wound.
I hiss, then groan. The pain is not at all unwelcome. Psychological pain has been my vice as of late, but there’s something grounding about physical endorphins.
He peers up at me. “Does that hurt?”
“Yes.”
He nods his approval. “Good.”
Bastard.
He enjoys seeing me in pain, but I’m too busy soaking in the familiar sensation. So much so, that I don’t care. This is the comfort I need right now.
Caleb runs the wipe slowly down my wound, and I exhale pleasure.
Tingles spread over my skin. My head lulls back, and my lips part slightly getting lost in the feeling of my own pain. I could fall asleep this way. Remembering where I am, I quickly recover and catch Caleb watching me closely.
He averts his eyes, clears his throat and discards the wipe.
Great, now he probably thinks I’m a freak. I can’t help but feel ashamed.
Gently, Caleb places his hand on the skin around my wound, inspecting it further. “I’m going to have to stitch you up.”
“Give it to me. I’ll do it.”
“No. You’ve lost your sharp object privileges,” he mutters. “Just hold still. I’ve done this a hundred times.”
His arrogance is exhausting. He doesn’t know as much as he thinks he does.
“Only a hundred?” I raise a brow.
“I’ve had plenty of training, and it’s a simple stitch,” he says.
“Yeah, right,” I scoff. “Training,” I mock, using one hand to create air quotes before tucking it back with the other across my chest. “Tell me. Out of all the times you’ve made stitches, how many of those were stab wounds?”
“I’ve done a few,” he says proudly.
Smirking, I lean my neck toward him. “Try a thousand. I’ve probably stitched up more wounds in a month than you have in your entire life.” I shake my head. “No. I’ll do it. I’d like to minimize the scarring. You’ll just mess it up, and I’ll have to redo it anyway.”
Clutching the shirt to my chest, I picture my skin. Jagged lines and rough texture strips away any sense of my femininity. “I don’t need any more unseemly scars,” I mutter.
But really, what I mean is, I don’t need another hit to my practically non-existent self-confidence.
I move to retreat further from him. I barely make it a step before Caleb grabs my arm and pulls me even closer.
Caleb’s voice deepens to one of seriousness. “What do you mean, more?”
He’s probably never experienced a true hardship in his cushy life. “Do you think you’re the first person to see a stray dog and think they can own and domesticate it for themselves? You’re not.”
His nostrils flare. You would’ve thought I stripped him of innocence. I can’t help but chuckle at the irony. He’s so appalled by the behavior of those before him, yet he’s doing the exact same thing.
“What? Don’t like that your pet had other owners before you?” I scoff.
After tucking the shirt under my armpits to free my hands, I bend down to snatch the sewing kit.
Needle in one hand, I moisten the end of the thread with my mouth. Once I’ve woven the thread through the needle, I begin weaving it through my skin and piercing the other fold.
