Chapter 6
He came back with a couple tins—one white cream, one bottle of brown oil.
“This one’s for open skin. The oil’s for bruises. It’ll sting.”
I nodded like a good girl.
“I’ll wait outside,” he said, stepping away.
I dabbed the cold cream on my cheek. It tingled but didn’t hurt. Then I stripped down, leaving only my underslip. Bruises lined my thighs and ribs.
I tried rubbing the oil in, but my back—especially my waist—was impossible to reach.
“…Ethan? Can you help?”
He opened the door and instantly froze, eyes darting away from the curve of my back and the flash of red fabric.
“What the hell are you doin’?”
“I can’t reach it,” I said, all pitiful. “Can you just… help?”
His throat bobbed. He poured some oil into his palms, rubbed them together, then came over.
“Go easy,” I warned.
He glanced at my bare waist, his entire body coiled like a spring.
“I’ll try,” he said, voice deep as thunder.
His hands landed on me—warm, rough, slow. Circling the bruises like he was trying to erase them with heat and pressure.
It hurt like hell.
I hissed, tears slipping again. Tried to squirm away.
He locked me in his arms. “Don’t move. If I don’t break it up, it’ll swell worse tomorrow.”
I didn’t care. I kicked. He pinned me down. I bit his arm.
Ethan didn’t even flinch. Just arched a brow.
“Still got some fight left in you, huh?”
When he finally finished, I was dripping with sweat, gasping.
“You jerk,” I muttered.
He raised his bitten arm, checking the tiny crescent of teeth marks. Smirking.
“Damn. You bite like a Chihuahua.”
