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“God, yes. I fucking do. A lot.”

“Even though it was my fault you got hurt?”

The fact that I can laugh at all should more than make up for my lack of…fucking something, I don’t know. I hurt all over and want nothing more than to fall into bed and bury myself in Truie’s body and fuck away the past day and a half. But again, I fucking hurt.

“No part of that was your fault. My cousin has been toeing the line for longer than he ever should have been allowed to. He got one up on me this time, but it’ll be the last. He’s right and truly fucked now.” I take slow, careful steps toward the bedroom. “Will you come with me? Comfort me while I think of all the ways I want to kill him?”

“You-you’re kidding, right?” she asks picking up a basket of bandages and bottles and follows me.

“I’m not. He hurt me, tried to make it so I’d be useless to protect you and ran his mouth the entire fucking time he did. He was going to go after you next to get what he wanted. He deserves much worse than death.”

Weary, hurting, and frustrated as hell, I sit on the bench at the foot of my bed. If we were at my house, I’d happily grit my way through the pain, scream as needed, and show this woman just exactly how much I love her. Make her come over and over and over again until the only reason she has trouble forming words is because her synapses are in full meltdown.

Her basket in tow, Truie sits on the mattress behind me, legs loose on either side of my hips. Like she’s handling a fragile treasure, she tends to each of the wounds on my back, cleaning up any evidence of my mishap with leaning against the leather, unprotected.

“What’s that?” I ask as a thin film adheres to the stripes highest on my shoulder.

“The film tattoo artists use for healing?” Truie sounds like she’s reading that straight from a packaging.

“Where’d you get that?” I twist to see just what this magic basket contains, and it is indeed packets and packets of derma film, instant ice packs, and enough ibuprofen to choke a horse.

“The note says to dress the wounds on your back, ice your hands, and take ibuprofen as needed but the pain pills if you’re being a pain in my ass.” She works as she shares that tidbit and soon, my skin is covered with swaths of the thin film. And it feels somehow better. Like it won’t rip open and stick to the sheets or a shirt. Like I can lie on my back.

My eyes widen as hope surges and blood rushes straight to my dick. “Does it say who left this basket of treasures?” I turn to face Truie, scanning the mess scattered across the foot of the bed. She tilts the notecard so I can see that there is in fact no name, simply a stylized drawing of a rabbit. “Nice.”

“Does this mean anything to you?” she asks gathering the trash into a neat pile.

“It means the world to me.” I take Truie’s mouth and kiss her until she’s panting and breathless.

She pulls back just enough for her words to fill the space between our lips. “I think you should lay down. You-you’ve had a big day and…” She rolls her lips between her teeth, her tongue darting out to swipe a delicious path across her lush pink mouth.

“And what?” I stand and move to the side of the bed, looming over her, the scrub pants I grabbed before wandering down to Christophe’s office hiding not one bit of my intentions.

“Maybe you should… let me take care of you.” She shifts on her knees until she’s facing me, and that fucking lip is back between her teeth.

“Is that what you want, hummingbird? To take care of me?”

Her chin dips, and I swear to all that’s holy, there’s a fucking sparkle in her eye as she pulls at my drawstring. My pants slide down, pooling at my feet and Truie shuffles backward, making room for me.

She looks so beautiful kneeling in the center of my bed, cheeks flushed, eyes wide. Pupils blown. She’s a fucking vision.

I hate that I’m so limited, but I climb onto the bed, my back resting against the pile of pillows by the headboard. Gently, carefully, I shift down a little on the mattress, hips canted, knees bent. Useless fucking hands resting out to the sides.

And Truie Cochonette does just that—takes care of me—in the best way possible.

Chapter 24

Exertion

TEAGUE

The fact that I dragged my ass out of bed today shows just how dedicated I am to my job.

Pfft. Who am I kidding, this one is all for the soft, pliant woman in my bed. But I have to deal with Desmond and the sooner I have him taken care of, the better. All Christophe said was to make him go away. How I make that happen is entirely in my hands. So to speak.

“Where are you going?” Truie’s sleepy voice is hushed and sexy. Makes me want to just say fuck it all. I can’t think of a better way to spend my morning, my entire day, than buried between her thighs. Maybe lying on my back with her sitting on my face but standing here trying to figure out how to get dressed with limited use of my hands is just shitty.

“I have some things I need to take care of. Think you can help me?” Jesus, did I mention this is shitty? The goal for so long was to be taking our clothes off, never, never for her to be helping me put them back on.