“LET ME HELP YOU.”
As he spoke, Rune pressed something soft against the wound he’d created. I’d never been a heavy bleeder. In seconds, I knew, my blood would clot.
But I didn’t wriggle away. Instead, I stayed where I was until he released the pressure and peeked beneath the makeshift bandage. Lowering the square of fabric—it was a cloth handkerchief—he swiped at the trail of blood that had slipped down onto my collarbone.
Each stroke was soft yet firm. His fingers on my bare skin left me lightheaded. I clenched my teeth against a pleasure-filled hum.
Now his cloth dabbed lower, following the blood trail. The stain had slid past the ledge of my collarbone and down between my breasts. Rune’s eyes rather than his hands followed, but I still heard him swallow. Felt the immaterial touch.
