Page 67 of Rescued
WhenArloistuckedinto the shower, I exhale a deep breath, collecting myself for a second before I join him.
This was the first time I’d seen the extent of his burns. I wasn’t lying; I have seen worse. Much worse. I’ve seen burns so bad that the victim needed grafts. Fuck, I’ve seen it so bad that the skin was nearly melted off the bone, and there was basically no chance of survival.
All things considered, Arlo got lucky. It doesn’t feel lucky, though. It doesn’t matter that I’ve seen worse. It matters that mybaby boy has burns. It matters that he’s in pain. It matters that I can’t do anything about it at all, and it breaks my heart.
The worst part is that I’m gonna have to clean his wounds. It’s going to hurt. Preparing myself to physically harm him is… not easy.
I strip off my clothes, and with another long, slow exhale, climb into the shower behind him.
Arlo’s eyes fly open, and he looks at me. He’s standing half under the spray of water, trying to keep his burns from getting wet. “I wasn’t sure if I was allowed to keep the water on it.”
I nod. “You can. We just have to dry it well after and redress it.”
His hair is soaked through already, so I pump some shampoo into my palm and work to scrub the smell of fire from the locks.
He sighs, melting into my touch. “You know what sucks?”
“What’s that?” I ask, massaging his scalp.
“You’re standin’ there, stupid hot, big dick dripping water, and I can’t even get hard.”
I bark out a surprised laugh. “I mean, I think I’d be more surprised if youdidget hard.”
Frowning, he shakes his head. “No, it sucks, ’cause I don’t want you to think m’not interested.”
“Baby boy.” I chuckle, cupping his face. “Trust me, I know you’re interested.”
He pouts. “Obviously not,” he says, waving his hand around his very flaccid dick.
“Arlo.” He settles his beautiful eyes on mine. “I love you.”
He gives me a loopy smile. “I love you too.”
“Let’s get you cleaned up and in bed.”
All his adorable loopiness goes away the second I start cleaning his neck. I’m as gentle as I can be, using an unscented antibacterial soap and the barest touch with my fingers.
It doesn’t matter, of course. When I get to the worst parts of it, he grits his teeth and inhales deeply, a tremble taking over his body.
“Breathe, baby boy. I’m almost done.”
His eyes go glassy as he nods. “It hurts.”
My throat tightens. “I know. I’m so sorry.”
Nodding again, he breathes in deeply, then exhales. I must hit a slightly worse spot because he whimpers and squeezes his eyes closed as tears drip onto his cheeks.
My heart clenches painfully, my own eyes welling up. Hurting Arlo goes against literally all my instincts. “I’m sorry,” I repeat, my voice choked and wavering.
“I know,” he whispers.
His eyes shut even tighter when I get to his shoulder, and he drags in a deep breath as more tears fall down his face.
Seeing him in pain—in pain that I’ve caused—is more than I can handle. I swallow hard, trying to force back my own tears, but a few slip out without my permission.
“All done,” I whisper, and Arlo’s eyes slowly flutter open.
When he looks at me, his brows are drawn together. “You’re crying,” he whispers, a frown taking over his face.
