Page 31 of Rattlin' Bones

He panted as he withdrew, leaning his head against the tile. “Lacey. Fuck.”

“Not good enough?” I teased.

“Best I ever had,” he growled. “You’re so fucking perfect.”

I rose as he reached for me, resting my head against his chest. “We need to take care of you.”

“You already did.”

I snorted. “Your wound, my sexy hero.”

He shook his head. “I’m no hero.”

“You are to me,” I replied softly, kissing the underside of his jaw. “Come on.”

I never saw anyone stitch themselves up. It wasn’t something I wanted to watch again. Every time the needle threaded through Skel’s skin, I winced. It must have been agony, and he showed no sign of distress or pain, just calmly tied off each stitch and moved to the next one.

“Are you sure you’re not a superhero?”

He laughed. “No, Baby. Just a man.”

“You seem so much more. Larger than life,” I admitted with awe. “You take down criminals. Sew up your own wounds. Wear a mask and eliminate your enemies. A sex god.”

He shook his head. “You’re somethin’ else, Sweet Girl. A fucking breath of fresh air. Just what these old bones need.”

“You’re not old.”

He paused to stare into my eyes. “A lot older than you.”

“I don’t care about that.”

“You might when I’m old and gray, and you’re still young and beautiful.”

“Skel.” It sounded like he was trying to convince me that we would never work. He should have thought about that before he fucked me. More than once. Or called me sweet girl. Or showed up and made me fall for him.

“Your father won’t allow it.”

So? “I’m an adult, Skel.”

“But you’re under his roof.”

“What if I lived under yours?”

He frowned. “You ever live with a guy before? Or anywhere with a roommate?”

No. I sighed. “That doesn’t mean I’m not capable of handling it.”

“And what if ten years from now, you want a family, and I can’t give you one?” Pain leaked through to strain his features before it vanished.

I didn’t reply. I froze. Was he unable to have kids? Did it matter to me? I wasn’t sure.

“And that’s the deal breaker right there.”

Skel returned to his stitches, bandaged the wound, and cleaned up. We didn’t speak until he tugged a shirt over his head. “I’m taking you home.”

I felt defeated. He’d shut me out. It was subtle, but I could still sense it. “I want to talk about this.”

“We will.”