Gifts for Writingrat
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Summary
He smirked but didn't laugh. Instead, he carefully stepped closer. The hallway light caught her face—wet lashes, bruised knuckles, split lip. He'd seen her wrecked before, but this was different.
"Come here," he beckoned, voice low.
Rae narrowed her eyes but didn't move. "Why?"
"Because you're dripping on the floor and pretending you're fine. And I don't believe you."
She didn't say anything, she just looked at him sharply. The kind of look that could cut you out or pull you in, depending on the person. Mark seemed the latter, she'd begrudgingly admit.
OR
Rae and Mark have stress-relieving shower sex.