Page 36 of Mischief Mayhem
“It’s just a hypothetical,” I said instead.
Hollywood grinned and arched up to kiss me, his lips warm and soft despite how rough around the edges he was. The sensation shot down the back of my legs and curled my toes, and I smiled into the connection, knowing he’d gone so long without doing this to anyone. Admittedly, I hadn’t kissed anyone in a while, either, and hell, how I had missed it.
We talked a little more but eventually fell into comfortable silence. He grabbed the washcloth and lathered soap up my legs and feet. I took it from him and washed his torso and his back, taking my time to memorize the bumpy pattern of his scars, especially the one we’d gotten together. Then, he turned around and pushed up on his knees so he could do the same to me.
He paused when he dragged the cloth over my chest, over the permanent purple memory of that night, his gaze focused on the angry mark. Yes, it marked the fact that I had survived that night, but who wanted a scar right in the middle of what they once loved about themselves? Suddenly more self-conscious than I needed to be, I grabbed the rag from him and squeezed out the excess water.
“We’re starting to prune,” I said. “It’s time for bed.”
“Can I stay?” he asked, his expression too hopeful to refuse.
“Of course, Hollywood,” I said. “You’re welcome here anytime you want.”
His answering grin twisted down my chest and squeezed my heart even harder. Fuck, I shouldn’t be feeling this giddy around him, and I definitely shouldn’t look forward to him sleeping in my bed. But I knew, as we let the water go down the drain and made our way into my bedroom, this was my favorite part. Yeah, it was nice to carve my name into his flesh and shove him to his knees to eat me out, but my deepest, darkest secret was I liked aftercare. I liked holding my partner until they fell asleep in my arms. I liked knowing the intimacy of our connection didn’t end in the dungeon.
I hadn’t trusted anyone with this side of me in a long time.
Did I trust Hollywood?
No. This was just my own hormone comedown, the domme version of subspace.
Naked and wrapped in a big fluffy towel, Hollywood crawled into my bed and shoved his long legs under the covers, his feet hanging off the edge because of how tall he was. I grabbed the antiseptic and a few cotton swabs before getting on the mattress with my knees and crawling over to him so I could straddle his ass.
He groaned and looked over his shoulder. “I don’t need that shit, V.”
“Hush,” I said, dabbing some cream on the deepest gash. I hadn’t meant to make him bleed, but now that I had, I needed to clean it up. “No one else takes care of you. So let me.”
“Hmm.” He didn’t argue anymore, and by the time I’d finished, his breathing had evened out to a slow, steady pace. I climbed off him to throw the used swabs away and wash my hands. When I returned, I crawled under the covers next to him and turned off the lamp, letting my eyes adjust to the moonlight trickling in through the window.
Completely at peace like this, Hollywood looked even more beautiful. The fake face he put on for everyone else had dropped, making him nearly unrecognizable. He wasn’t the cocky playboy I knew from high school, nor was he the lovable goofball that had patched into the SRMC. Like this, he’d been stripped of those personas, pulled apart at the seams, and put back together as his authentic self. He seemed so innocent, so endearingly fragile.
I ran a finger down the center of his forehead, over his nose, to his lips, memorizing the feel of his skin under mine and the way his features curved. I told myself not to get used to it. I didn’t trust these emotions rumbling around in my chest or the thoughts drifting through my head.
But as I lay in that bed with nothing but the moon and the stars to confess to, I let myself admit maybe . . . just maybe . . . I could let him in . . . one day.
13
HOLLYWOOD
“I didn’t think you’d arrange it this fast,” Leo said, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his hoodie. After Saint had gotten in contact with Julia Caputi, she’d wanted to meet Leo right away. I received a text from Bear this morning telling me to get my ass over to Leo’s crash pad as soon as I could. I said goodbye to V, promised to come back over tonight, and headed out. Now that I was here, I couldn’t help the skip in my step, nor the perpetual grin on my face.
“You said you wanted to see her,” I explained. “She was in a hurry to see you, too.”
Leo narrowed his dark eyes on me and ran the length of my body before meeting my gaze again. “You fucked your girl, didn’t you?”
I gasped and clutched my imaginary pearls. “Leonardo Elizabeth Caputi. How dare you speak to me like that? I am a lady!”
He ignored my mock protest. “You did, didn’t you?”
“We didn’t fuck,” I confessed, shifting my shoulders as the aches on my back pulled in a glorious stretch. I had an enormous V in bite bruises going from one shoulder to the other, and between me and God, I’d been thinking about getting them tattooed there permanently. I liked knowing she’d roughed me up. The filthy things she’d said to me played on a loop in my head, and my cock gave half a jump anytime I thought about it.
“But you fooled around.” Leo crossed his arms and grinned. “Good for you.”
I cleared my throat and shifted my weight, aware the only person I could talk to about this was him. No one else could find out about this, at least not until she and I were both okay with the news getting out. We agreed it wasn’t anyone’s business.
“How was it?” He raised his eyebrows, awaiting my response.
“Fucking amazing,” I murmured.