𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐊𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒

𝟑𝟐 || 𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐌𝐒𝐎𝐍

As the buttons became undone, I pushed the rest of his shirt from off of his shoulders. "This feels familiar," he murmured. "You just love undressing me, don't you?"

I glared at him, tossing the bloodied fabric onto the counter."Will you shut up?" My gaze shifted to the wound on his side, a pensive concern replacing my annoyance. It didn't seem too deep, but it was definitely wide, and it needed proper care.

"Okay, now—" I began, placing my hands over his. But he interrupted me, his voice laced with stubborn determination. "I can do this part myself."

"Stop refusing my help," I insisted firmly, my tone unwavering. "My hands are steadier than yours, so let me help."

He groaned in reluctant agreement, his gaze flickering to the ceiling for a moment before he relented. "There's a medical box in the far left cabinet," he instructed, his voice quieter but no less determined, "and whiskey over there."

_______

Dominic's fingers traced the cool, metallic surface of my gun, his sharp eyes taking in every groove and component. "This is yours?"

I brushed his question to the side for a moment, concentrated on the stitching job in front of me. This was only my second time tending to an injury like this— his injury, to be precise— and I was still scared I might hurt him or mess up.

"You don't seemed surprised," I remarked.

He tilted his head to the slightly slightly. "Everyone has to protective themselves somehow," he said, but then his eyebrows furrowed as he examined the function of the gun even closer. "Where'd you get this?"

"Why?"

"The serial numbers are scratched off."

Guns had serial numbers? "It came that way." I took it from out of his hands and set it on the counter firmly. "I bought it when I lived alone."

"And you know how to use it?" he asked curiously.

"Somewhat," I answered. But what was 'somewhat?'

His breath hitched as I deftly threaded the last of the stitches, a reaction that didn't go unnoticed. The sensation of his body responding to my touch caused him to stand up straighter, his posture betraying the intensity of the moment.

"Stay still," I cautioned, my hand resting firmer against his abdomen as I tightened the final stitch, determined to complete the task with precision.

A low, strained groan escaped his lips, and his words hung in the air like an unspoken promise. "If you come downstairs tomorrow, I can show you," he murmured, the offer lingering between us, a tantalizing possibility that beckoned.

"Downstairs?" I inquired, a trace of curiosity coloring my tone.

The first night of my arrival, I was very clearly informed that I wasn't allowed in Dominic's office, bedroom, or down into the basement. Now, he had willingly let me into the first two, and was now inviting me down into the third.

"In the morning," he clarified.

"Okay," I agreed, my voice hushed, almost reverent. I wasn't sure why I was being so awkward or quiet— actually, never mind, I did.