“I guess so,” I mutter, falling a little deeper into his gaze.
His thumb runs down the length of my nose, and while most of me is feeling pain, that sensation still drives quivers through my body. “Does that hurt?” he asks.
I shake my head, “Not too much,” I say, noticing a slight ache in my neck.
His thumb moves over to my right cheekbone and he presses gently. “How about that?” All I feel is the warmth from his skin. I shake my head again. He does the same for my left cheekbone. This time I wince. It hurts. I clench my eyes and I hear him yell to someone to grab ice. “Is this the first time he’s hit you?” Kemper’s brows are bowed toward his nose while his thumb continues to trace small circles around my cheek. I’d rather lean into his hand than respond.
In truth, I just don’t want to answer him, but he’s still staring at me, waiting for a response. I look down, away from his gaze. The ache in my chest, mixed with feeling like a weak woman, makes me want to cry, but I won’t cry in front of all these people. His finger curls under my chin and he tilts my face back up to look at him. His eyes are kind and caring, yet pained at the same time. The light is hitting them at the perfect angle, giving them the slightest shimmer in the center of each pupil. Then there are his lips—I can’t stop looking at those either. They’re full and capable. They look like they have the ability to kiss in a way I’ve definitely never been kissed. I want to touch his lips, but I belong to Trent—the asshole that just hit me.