Spill by Melanie Pickering

Author:Melanie Pickering [Melanie Pickering]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Melanie Pickering
Published: 2021-11-02T00:00:00+00:00

Twenty minutes later, he was pushing open the door to his flat. Thankfully, he no longer had to worry about Mick turning up because his mum had put a temporary restraining order out on the bastard, and she’d be at work until late tonight, anyway.

The place smelled clean for the first time in months. Flynn took a cursory glance around as he pushed through. The kitchen was tidy. No dirty dishes stacked in the sink. No filthy ashtray overflowing on the coffee table. He breathed easily for the first time in ages. Fetching the first aid kit from the pantry, he led Amy straight to his bedroom and pushed her softly to his bed.

Kneeling on the carpet before her, he inspected her outstretched palm. Her skin felt so soft in his hands. He drew the cut to his lips and gently kissed it better. Her chest rose and fell rapidly before him. Letting go of her hand, he pulled out the antiseptic and swabbed the whole of her palm, ever-so-slowly in an infinity pattern. Then he drew her hand back to his mouth and blew softly across her skin to dry it, keeping his gaze firmly on hers. Her lips parted as his breath caressed her flesh.

‘Did you use the lancet?’ he asked, cutting a thin strip of gauze to cover the cut.

She nodded, silent.

He finished the dressing with a short length of sports tape and considered the small pair of scissors in his hand.

‘Why, Amy?’ he whispered. ‘Tell me why you felt the need to hurt yourself.’ He pushed himself to his feet, kicking off his shoes as he crawled onto the bed, eyes locked on hers. She scooted backwards, licking her lips and shaking her head. ‘I don’t know.’

‘I think you do.’ He dropped his voice, low and sultry. ‘You know. I just wish you’d talk to me.’

He pulled off his shirt and stretched out on his side, facing her, so his scars were visible. Her pupils dilated as her gaze skated across his bare chest, over his hipbones, and then finally, they dipped lower. He allowed himself the pleasure of watching her check him out before bringing the scissors in front of her face to redirect her attention.

‘Do you want to cut me, Amy? I’ll let you if that’s what you want. Spill my blood instead of yours.’

‘No,’ she gasped. ‘I don’t want that.’

‘What if I bled for you?’ He’d do it willingly—anything to stop her from harming herself further.

‘No.’ She lurched forward and snatched the scissors out of his hand, but he just as quickly locked his fingers around her wrist, holding firm.

‘You don’t want me to hurt myself, and yet—’ Leaning his head close to hers, he bore all his frustration into her worried gaze. ‘What makes you think it’s okay for you to do it?’

She shrank from him as he ripped the scissors from her grasp and flung them to the floor.

‘You’re bleeding yourself dry for a dead man.’ He rolled on top of her, pinning her to the bed with his chest, forearms on either side of her head.

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