Page 52 of Heart of Thorns
I shrug. “It’s over if I want it to be over.”
He laughs, and my breath hitches.
It’s a nice laugh. A genuine one. It’s the type of laugh that has my lips begging to curve.
“I see that I’m dealing withgrumpy catthis evening instead of my adorable little kitten.”
I gag, and his smile widens.
My hands fall to the handles of the bike, and I begin working my knee beyond what it’s capable of. I hide my winces from Thorne and bite the inside of my cheek. The taste of metal fills my mouth.
“No.”
I snap my attention to him. He’s standing with his arms crossed, mere feet from me.
“What?” I act innocent.
He shakes his head and sighs exasperatedly. “Have you even stretched?”
My shoulders slump. Of course I haven’t.
“Up,” he demands.
The defiant streak that runs wildly inside me wants to refuse. Except Thorne doesn’t give me a chance to. He unplugs the bike and holds the cord hostage as he stares at me in an authoritative way.
It’s sort of…hot. A tendril of his dark, messy hair falls over his forehead, and he quickly tips his sharp jaw, flinging it out of his face. “If you want to get back to one hundred percent, you’re going to listen to me.”
Heat falls to the pit of my belly with his command.
He didn’t ask, and I have a feeling he won’t put up with my refusal. This is what I signed up for, right? I just didn’t expect him to be so… bossy about it.
I concede and slowly swing my legs to the side of the machine, all while keeping a hold of his stern gaze. It isn’t until I’m standing right in front of him that I bend down and touch my toes. If I wanted to be a brat, I’d turn around and put my ass on full display. Maybe it’d set him back a couple of notches.
After a few more stretches, I start back toward the bike, but Thorne clears his throat, stopping me in place.
I spin slowly. His eyebrow hitches, and he moves his finger, wagging it toward him.
“Come here.”
My hands fall to my hips. “Why?”
He smirks. “Because you’re not done stretching, kitten.”
I narrow my gaze and slowly force myself over to him. “If you keep calling me that, I may start meowing.”
His hot chuckle distracts me long enough for him to place his hand behind my thigh. His other hand falls to my hip, and before I know it, my bad leg is hanging over his shoulder.
I grunt. “Ow.”
The stretch in my thigh is deliciously painful. I gasp when he pushes more while still keeping me steady with his other hand.
“I changed my mind,” I say through clenched teeth. “I’m not going to start meowing. I’m going to startclawing.”
He presses harder, and I glare at him.
“Watch it, kitten. I may like that.”
The tug in my stomach shouldn’t catch me by surprise, but it does. I don’t know if it’s from our close proximity, or how I feel safe with his hand wrapped around my waist, or because I haven’t been touched since before the accident, but I am learning that I amverysensitive when it comes to him.