Forbidden Feelings

I watched as he knelt in front of me, carefully cleaning and dressing the wound on my knee. His touch was tender, and his focus unwavering. "This might sting a bit," he warned before applying the antiseptic. As soon as the cotton ball touched the small cut, I hissed and jerked my knee. Atlas’s hand came to my thigh, holding it firmly in place. His cold, wet palm gently squeezed my thigh. "Hold still," he softly instructed.

I gulped, watching him kneeling in front of me, completely soaked. His white shirt clung to his body, revealing the contours of his chest and arms. His attention was so keen on my injury, his face so close to my knee that I could feel his warm breath on my skin, sending shivers up and down my legs. When he pressed the cotton ball on the wound again, I hissed once more but didn't jerk my leg this time as he was holding it steady.

“It’s okay,” he muttered gently, cleaning the wound with care. It wasn’t a big injury, just a small cut. One swipe and it was clean. After