CHAPTER 53
**ZION**
As I pressed against her, the tip of my cock brushed her inner thighs, and the proximity only intensified my arousal. The heat between us was palpable, and despite my frustration, I could feel myself hardening, the pressure growing insistent.
It infuriated me that I was getting aroused by someone I considered the enemy. I noticed her eyes drifting downward, and my irritation flared. “Eyes up here,” I snapped, my voice edged with anger.
She licked her lips, trying to keep her gaze on mine, but I saw the way her eyes kept darting back. The heat in her gaze matched the intensity in mine as I tilted my head and traced my finger along her lips, then slipped it into my mouth with a slow, deliberate suck. She watched, mesmerized, clearly affected by the gesture.
Leaning in, I demanded, “Tell me, Snowflake, why did you come into my room?”
Her voice wavered as she spoke, barely holding steady. "I... I came because I brought the first aid kit," she said, her gaze flickering over his injuries. "I saw you were hurt, and I just wanted to help. I couldn't just ignore it."
I narrowed my eyes, skeptical. “Is that so?”
"Yes, yes" she said nodding her head.
I let out a harsh, mocking laugh. “Try to make your story a little more convincing, Snowflake.”
She shook her head quickly. “No, really. Look, it’s on the dresser.”
My eyes shifted to the dresser, and sure enough, there it was—the first aid kit, sitting untouched. I turned back to her, studying her face, trying to read what was really behind her actions.
Was she genuinely concerned, trying to be nice, or was this just a ploy to get on my good side so I’d back off?
The thought that she might be trying to manipulate me just fueled my resolve.
“No way,” I muttered to myself.
I released her and walked over to my drawer, feeling the need to distance myself from this confusing interaction. I pulled out a pair of jogger pants and slipped them on, not missing the slight tremor in her eyes. I needed to clear my head and regain control of the situation.
I watched her, still pressed against the wall, her body tense as she tried to avoid my gaze.
It was infuriating to think that I had jerked off yet again with images of her in my mind—images that had only fueled my frustration further. The fact that I’d called out her name, that she had heard me, only compounded my irritation.
Earlier, in the kitchen, when I had been pressed up against her, I’d lied about being hard because of Cindy. The truth was, it wasn’t her that had aroused me. It was her—Winter.
Her skin, her scent, the proximity. Just being near her had ignited something in me, and I’d had to get away from her as quickly as possible just to relieve the tension.
The sensation of her body against mine had made me painfully aware of my own arousal, and the only way to handle it was to retreat to the bathroom, where I could jerk off to her image in privacy. Now, facing her again, that same frustration and arousal churned within me, making me even more determined to push her out of my space.
"If you want, I can help apply ointment to your back," she offered, her voice hesitant.
Her eyes darted nervously, and I could feel my irritation rising—not just from her intrusion but from the way she was slowly burrowing under my skin. It was unsettling, and I needed to be more guarded around her.
With a swift, decisive movement, I crossed the room and seized her wrist, pulling her roughly. Her startled gasp barely registered as I yanked her towards me.
“I don’t need your fucking pity,” I snarled, my voice dripping with contempt. “I can handle myself just fine. These bruises, this pain—it’s a daily part of my life. I’ve learned to embrace it, to live with it. It’s my reality, and I don’t need anyone’s sympathy or help to deal with it.”
Her eyes, wide with confusion and hurt, only fueled my determination. “But you, Snowflake,” I said, my tone turning cold, “are a different kind of pain. One I fully intend to get rid of, sooner or later.”
I watched her, my anger simmering, but something shifted in her demeanor. She pushed off the wall, her posture straightening as she faced me with a determined glare.
“Fine,” she snapped, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “I shouldn’t have wasted my time trying to help you with your wounds. Obviously, you’re too ungrateful to deserve it. Maybe I’ll see if Ethan needs some help instead. I’m sure he’d appreciate it a hell of a lot more than you ever would.”
How dare she!
The instant she brought up Ethan—saying she should go take care of his wounds instead—was like a punch to the gut. I was the one she should be focused on, not him. Sure, I might have told her I didn’t need her help, but damn it, she should’ve pushed harder to make me accept it. The way she just brushed me off, like I didn’t matter, only added fuel to the fire, making my anger simmer.
The fact that she so easily offered her care to someone else, especially that prick Ethan, hit me harder than I wanted to admit. My fury surged, the image of her tending to him tightening my jaw until I thought my teeth might shatter.
I was on the verge of losing it. The urge to make her regret her dismissive attitude was overwhelming. I wanted her to drop that haughty stance, grab the damn first aid kit, and tend to my wounds like she should have. Instead, she stood there, glaring at me, unmoved. My fists clenched as I struggled to restrain myself, fighting the urge to confront her more aggressively and remind her of exactly who I was and why crossing me was a mistake she’d come to regret.
Instead, I shoved her sharply toward the door, my anger barely contained.
“Get out,” I ordered, my voice cold and harsh. “I don’t want to see you or your fake sympathy here again.”
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