Page 104 of Dirty Hit
“I’m not a dog,” I call after him, but my hands are already curling into the blanket to keep myself where he put me.
He laughs from the bathroom doorway. “You’re worse,” he says. “Dogs listen the first time.”
I hear the water turn on, the pipes in the old cottage groaning a little in protest. There’s the soft clink of bottles and the rustle of a clean towel being pulled off the shelf. He sings under his breath in Russian, some tuneless thing that makes the whole place feel smaller and safer. I finish the water, set the empty glass down, and lean my head back against the headboard.
Yeah, I’m sore. Yeah, it hurts. Yeah, my brain’s going to have a field day if I let it. But I’m here; I’m in his bed, my body a map of what we did, my heart still beating under a hand that’s proven over and over it knows exactly how to hold it without crushing. I’m not alone in this, not left to patch myself up in the dark and pretend nothing happened.
The water shuts off, and a minute later, he’s back in the doorway, one hand braced above his head on the frame, the other holding the door open.
“Bath’s ready,” he says. “Can you stand if I help you, or do you want the full dramatic carry?”
“The full dramatic carry is going to make me die of embarrassment,” I say. “So obviously that’s what you’re going to pick.”
He grins, wicked and fond. “Obviously. Come on, Little Sin. Let Daddy get you cleaned up.”
He slips his arm around my waist and helps me swing my legs over the side of the bed. The first attempt to stand makes my body light up with protest, but his hand is firm and steady, taking most of my weight. I cling to his shoulders, hiding my face against his chest as I breathe through it.
“Fuck,” I hiss. “You broke me.”
“You begged me to,” he reminds me in a low voice that sends an involuntary shiver down my spine.
My face burns so hot I’m amazed the cottage doesn’t catch fire. “Shut up,” I groan, burying my face in his neck.
He chuckles, the sound vibrating against my cheek. He sets me down carefully on my feet first so I can get my balance, then immediately braces an arm around my waist when my knees wobble.
“You good to stand if I let go?” he asks, watching my face.
I take a cautious breath, testing all the muscles that feel personally attacked. “Define good,” I mutter. “But yeah. Probably. Maybe. I don’t know.”
“That was a lot of answers for one question,” he says.
I roll my eyes, even though it makes me dizzy. “Yes, Daddy,” I say through gritted teeth.
“There’s my brat,” he says. “Okay, I’m going to step out and give you some privacy, but I’m right here if you need me. If you feel dizzy or anything, call me. Do not lock the door.”
“I don’t even do that in my own apartment,” I say, which is true. The first time he came over and saw the bathroom door latch, he made a face and said,“This stays open when I’m here,”in a tone that brooked no argument. “You’ve ruined my sense of privacy forever.”
“You’re welcome,” he says, then bends to kiss my forehead before walking out.
Peeing hurts, but not in a way that feels… wrong. Just in a way that reminds me exactly how thoroughly I got rearranged last night. I keep my eyes on the tile, breathing through it, cheeks burning with a mixture of humiliation and the leftover echo of his hands all over me.
There’s a weird overlay of sensations—my parents’ voices in my head, talking about sin and purity, my own voice, embarrassingly breathy, whispering “please, Daddy” into Dominic’s ear, his growl when he finally pushed in, and I let go of everything I’d been holding.
A second later, he’s back in the doorway, leaning against it, watching me with that soft, crooked half-smile that still short-circuits my brain.
“Alright,” he says. “I’ll help you in, you soak, and if you’re good, I’ll even make you coffee after.”
“You’re bribing me with caffeine,” I say. “This relationship is built on lies.”
“It’s built on mutual need and shared dysfunction,” he says. “Now get your cute, sore ass over here so I can put you in hot water. Let your smug Russian truck try to fix what he broke.”
“You broke it, you fix it,” I mutter, pushing myself up on my elbows as he slides an arm around my waist again. “That’s basic customer service.”
He laughs, the sound wrapping around me almost as warm as the steam rolling out of the tub. “Good thing you come with a lifetime warranty,” he says. “Come on, Little Sin. I’ve got you.”
Walking hurts less than before, but every step is still a reminder of just how thoroughly he wrecked me.
“Clothes off,” he says gently. “Slowly. I’ll help.”
