Chapter 400
[ 516 words ]
Chapter 400:
Startled by the sudden movement, she looked up. Her words died in her throat. His eyes were no longer playful or wounded. They were burning with a dark, consuming fire.
“Wait, I haven’t sprayed the…” she started, still clutching the can of antiseptic, trying to cling to the practical task at hand.
His mouth crashed down on hers, silencing her.
The kiss was rough, urgent, filled with the frantic joy of a man who had almost lost everything. He didn’t give her time to think or react. He pulled her up from the floor, his movements measured and deliberate to avoid jarring his braced side, and guided her toward the bed, keeping her close against him as they moved.
She struggled slightly, pushing against his chest. “Jarrod! Your hand!”
He loomed over her, pinning her with his body and his gaze. His voice was a low, ragged growl, thick with an emotion that was anything but playful.
𝖸𝘰𝗎𝘳 n𝖾x𝘁 𝘧a𝘷𝗈𝘳𝗶𝘁𝘦 re𝖺𝗱 𝗶s 𝗼𝗇 𝗴𝖺𝘭𝗻𝗼𝘃𝘦𝗹ѕ.𝘤𝗈𝗺
“First, business.”
He was declaring, with no room for argument, that she was the only mission that mattered now.
The small, plastic can of antiseptic spray slipped from her nerveless fingers, landing on the cheap carpet with a soft, muffled thud. The sound was a final, quiet surrender.
He used his knee to gently but firmly part her legs, settling his weight between them, an act of unequivocal possession. The air crackled with a tension that had been building for months. He reached up with his left hand, his movements wincing and restricted as he tried to loosen the top buttons of his uniform shirt, his jaw clenched against the stabbing pain in his mangled fingers.
His mouth found hers again, and then trailed down, a hot, open-mouthed path along her jawline, down the sensitive column of her throat. Every point of contact sent a jolt of liquid heat through her veins. Her mind went quiet, all resistance melting away under the focused, relentless assault of his touch.
This was it. The inevitable conclusion.
His hand moved to the front of her scrub top, his fingers brushing against the first button. And in that split second, as his thumb grazed the plastic, a thought, cold and sharp, pierced through the fog of her desire.
“Wait,” she gasped, pushing weakly at his shoulders, creating a sliver of space between them. “I… I need to take a shower.”
The words hung in the superheated air, a perfectly reasonable request that felt like a bucket of ice water.
Everything stopped.
The motion of his hand, the heat of his mouth, the pressure of his body—it all ceased as if a switch had been flipped. The passionate energy that had filled the room moments before was sucked into a vacuum. He went utterly still.
She watched, horrified, as the fire in his eyes died, the embers cooling to ash. His face, which had been alive with raw emotion, became a blank, frozen landscape.
He rolled off her without a word, settling onto his back beside her. Then, with a deliberate, final movement, he turned away, presenting her with the rigid, unyielding wall of his back.
The temperature in the room seemed to drop twenty degrees.
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