CLARE — POV
He bent down again, clearly ready to scoop me up like I was some damsel in distress out of a gothic fairytale, but this time I wasn't having it.
"Nope," I said quickly, turning on my heel—or, well, limping slightly to the side with my not-so-cooperative ankle. "I'm still on my periods and currently bleeding, and since I don't have anything beneath me…" I gestured vaguely to the oversized shirt clinging to my damp skin, "I might get the stain on you."
He paused, blinking once as he looked up at me—expression puzzled at first, like the math wasn't mathing in his head. Then realization hit, and slowly, that wicked, soul-devouring grin stretched across his face.
"The thought of you wearing absolutely nothing under my shirt is… exhilarating," he said, voice low, smug, and so goddamn pleased with himself I wanted to slap him with a pinecone.
I stared at him. "Huh? That's what you took from what I said?"
