Ye Jun
I hissed through my teeth as he worked, dabbing carefully, then pressing firmer. It hurt like hell at first hot water on raw skin but after a minute the heat started to ease the worst of the ache. He was slow about it, almost careful, switching to a fresh part of the cloth every few seconds.
"You're such an asshole," I muttered, voice thick with tears and snot.
"Yeah," he said. No argument. "I got carried away."
"That's not an apology."
"I know."
I sniffled, hating how pathetic I sounded. "You're supposed to say sorry."
He paused, cloth hovering. "Sorry?."
It came out flat, but he said it.
"You'll never hear me say that." Just like I thought.
And then he kept cleaning me up—gentle wipes over my thighs where the handprints still burned red, then back to my hole, checking the damage like he actually gave a shit.
