Laura, can you do this as a three word prompt: I unbroke Beckett
— KIMSTYL
#315 (continuation of #15 He broke her)
She woke sometime in the middle of the night, sore, pulse throbbing in her head. And between her legs.
A good sore. And a bad sore. All at once.
Kate licked her lips and shifted a knee in his bed, felt the ripple of pain across her back, her ribs. Hurt to breathe too deeply, though she hadn't noticed it when she'd come to him in the midst of this thunder storm.
The lightning still flared woefully from time to time. Illuminated his bedroom, his body. His arm out as if he had wanted to pin her to the mattress, keep her there.
She had to go to the bathroom. She ached in ways she couldn't yet distinguish, too exhausted, too grateful.
Kate eased her foot to the floor and slid out from under the sheet. Her knee dipped when her weight came on it, and she had to clutch at the side table to keep her balance.
Breath rattled in her lungs. Her heart was thumping like a caught thing in a trap. She felt - faintly - sick, and she had to move away from the bed towards the bathroom, so carefully.
She closed the door only halfway after her and turned on the vanity light, winced at the harsh exposure and turned it off again. In the blessed cool relief of darkness, she used the bathroom, eyes closed, swaying for a moment on the seat.
She finished, cleaned up, shifted towards the bathroom sink.
That's when she saw him, backlit by lightning in the doorway.
Fear spiked through her, but then she saw it was him, shambling towards her in the storm-licked darkness.
"Your back is covered in bruises," he husked. His voice made her insides turn out, her spine shiver. "Kate, it looks bad."
She turned before the mirror, her hands still soapy, the water running, both of them naked in the bathroom. She saw in the mirror what he must have seen in the flare of lightning, the mottled black blossoms along her ribs and spine.
His hands touched her first, before his body was there, warmth and heat and electricity. She forgot to breathe, and then her lungs pinched, and the water washed away the soap from her hands.
He leaned past her and turned off the faucet, one hand catching her by the wrists. He had a towel, he was drying her hands and then caressing her spine very lightly with fingertips, with the towel's softness, with his lips.
She swayed again, lids slamming shut. His kisses touched a random pattern across her back, must be one for every bruise, and she whimpered as her breath seized and her heart kicked.
"Come back to bed. I can help."
She turned into him, her lips instinctively searching for skin, for his neck or that salted place at his collarbone where her teeth had already made their mark. "You already have."
"Pretty as that sentiment is-" His voice was a burr that nudged her feet into movement, following him as he tugged.
She crawled back into his bed and laid on her stomach in the cool, soft sheets. She heard him in the bathroom, rifling in drawers, bottles knocking into each other. He hadn't followed?
She opened her eyes just as he came back to her, she watched him squat down beside the bed. His hand was so large. It dwarfed her face, made her feel cherished. Or dominated. Depending on how he used it, how he used her.
She kissed the meat of his thumb and then nipped it, and his mouth curved into a terribly erotic smile.
His eyebrows danced. "I bet I can make arnica gel and Icy Hot sexy."
She laughed, and it hurt, but it made her lift her hand and touch his jaw, the soft skin under his chin. "It's a bet," she smiled.
He crawled right into bed over her with a happy little noise.
She closed her eyes and shivered as he got to work.
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