Bruises • Luke Hemmings a.u

Seven.

Chapter Seven.

Luke unlocks the front door to our house, and when he closes and locks it behind us, he places the key on the key holder and then gently grabs hold of my hand.

The mere touch of his skin against mine sends a wave of goosebumps across my body, and I can't help but wonder what my body would do if he touched me in other places.

"Cold?" He asks.

I shake my head no.

His hand is so big that mine looks lost in his. His skin is so warm and inviting and I wish I could trace my fingers over his body.

All over his body.

Tracing the curvatures of his biceps, or over his pectoral muscles, or maybe my fingers would get greedy and roam down his body, until they reach below his waistband. This man, drives. Me. Insane.

He gives my hand a little squeeze, bringing my attention up to his face, and out of my vivid imagination.

His blue eyes almost look grey in our dimly lit hallway, and his chin is sporting slight stubble. His lips are tugging into an adoring smile.

"Let's get you cleaned up, yeah?"

I nod at his question, and with my hand still in his, he leads me to the master bathroom.

His bedroom.

I haven't been in his bedroom before. He moved out of the room he shared with my mum. That room is at the end of the hallway, we're the solid oak door has remained shut since her death. Neither of us brave enough to enter since he moved out of it.

His room is right at the top of the stairs. He opens his bedroom door and leads me inside, still holding my hand.

The walls are painted dark grey, with a feature wall, decorated with dark wallpaper. All his furniture is black. His bed is huge, and complimented with an oversized black iron headboard, and I can't help but think about him tying my wrists to it.

"Hop onto the counter, let me get a closer look at you," he says once we're in his en suit. The tiles and porcelain is white, but the darkness carries on in here too, with the walls black, along with the rug, taps and cupboards. I didn't know he liked black this much, and with the rest of the house being complimented by colour, I wonder if there is a reason he keeps his own personal space so dark.

I do as he says, and jump up backwards, placing myself on the black marble bathroom counter top, while Luke bends down, opening the bathroom cupboard.

He pulls out a clean white face flannel and runs it under the tap. He places one of his hands onto my cheek, rubbing his thumb against the skin there ever so gently.

With the flannel now damp, his eyes fall to my lips as he dabs the flannel against my sore bottom lip. Swiping ever so slightly to rid of the dried blood, and I can't help but wince at the slight pressure.

"Sorry," he says, his eyes darting up to mine. His eyes are so beautiful. I'll never get used to his eyes. His gaze is intense, and suddenly the room feels amplified by the short distance between us.

The heat of his finger tips against my cheek keeps me aware of how close we are. A few inches between us, close enough that I could straighten my back and kiss him.

And god, I would give anything to kiss him. To feel his lips against my own. Feel how ignited my body would become from his attention.

Without giving it a second thought, I reach my hand up to place it on his cheek. My thumb glides across his skin, and the stubble on his jaw line is prickly. Bringing my thumb back, I glide it against his bottom lip, causing him to suck in a sharp breath.