“You betcha,” Daisy replied and her eyes found mine.
“We’l get you taken care of, sugar bunch, not to worry.” Then she was off.
Mace’s hands were at my fly.
“Hey! What’re you doing?” I snapped and slapped at his hands. He caught my wrists and gave them a smal jerk so I stopped struggling.
“Stel a, we have to get the jeans off and see the wound,” Mace explained calmly.
Nope. That was not gonna happen.
“No you don’t. Let me cal Floyd. He and Emily wil –”
“You aren’t cal ing Floyd,” Mace stated.
“I am,” I retorted and shook my hair angrily for good measure.
“You aren’t,” Mace repeated.
“I am!” I shouted.
I started struggling, got my wrists free and then started slapping his hands again.
This went on for half a second before he caught my wrists again and pul ed them around my back. The front of my body hit the front of his and I stil ed at the shock of it.
“Cuff her,” Mace said to Luke.
I unstil ed.
“What? ” I screamed, back to struggling in earnest.
There was a clink and my hands were cuffed behind my back. Then Luke gripped my waist holding me stil and Mace worked on my jeans.
Please tell me this is not happening, my brain begged.
Mace unbuttoned the button and I heard and felt the zip going down.
This was happening.
“I’m not wearing any underwear,” I lied.
“I’l close my eyes,” Mace lied back.
“I won’t,” Luke put in.
Shitsofuckit!
I decided to stop talking and stop struggling. I also decided this was good, no this was great. No. This was absolutely fantastic. The longer this went on, the more I hated Mace and since I’d spent a year loving him and not having him, hating was a much, much better emotion to hold onto.
Mace went into a crouch and, careful y and slowly, he peeled down my jeans. Down, down, just over the wound at the very bottom of the hip, right before my leg started. I sucked in breath between my teeth when he exposed it, he stopped and his hands closed around it, one on my hip, one on my thigh.
I could swear I was blushing. Since his hands and his mouth had been there and everywhere and he’d seen me in much less than just my pants rol ed down, exposing a pair of plain, white, shorts-style panties with a little pink bow, wel , I shouldn’t be blushing.
But I was.
“Flesh wound,” he muttered.
“Told you,” I hissed, powering through the blush.