"Hate what?" She asked, feigning ignorance. Instead of answering, Quinn pulled her closer, his grip firm around her waist, securing her against him.
"What are you doing? I need to tend to your wounds," she exclaimed, her eyes widening as her heart raced. Their proximity was overwhelming, her chest pressed against his, their faces so close she could see the intricate patterns in his pupils.
It was only now she noticed the faint trace of gold in his eyes, an unusual detail that made him impossibly alluring.
"I hate…" he began, his breath brushing against her face. Belle's gaze betrayed her, falling to his lips. They were pink and inviting, and before she realized it, she swallowed hard, imagining their taste—imagining *him* on her lips once more.
"I hate that you touch another man. These hands," he picked up her right hand, his tone possessive, "are mine and mine alone."
Snapping back to her senses, Belle retorted, "Why do you care? I am your ex-wife, in case you have forgotten. I have already asked the King to let Sofia stay in the castle. If you are so needy, go find her instead." She delivered her words sharply, as if to remind him of their reality. She hated his audacity, hated that he made her feel this way, hated his refusal to reject her. Did he know she burned with fury toward him? Could she even voice the depths of her hatred?
"Fine," he said unexpectedly, releasing her. The sudden loss of contact left her unsettled, but she quickly turned her focus back to tending to his injuries.
Taking up an ointment, she dabbed some onto her palm, mixing it with medicinal powder. "Let me know if it hurts," she said without looking at him, focusing on the injury on his shoulder. She worked carefully, using just one finger to avoid infecting the wound further.
Quinn, however, wasn't watching her technique, he was watching her. His gaze was unrelenting, as though studying her every move, every expression.
When she found another wound on his chest, she dropped her finger onto it cautiously.
"Mmm," he groaned, and Belle panicked, thinking she had hurt him. But when she glanced up, his head was tilted back, eyes closed, as though savoring her touch.
"You are enjoying this," She blurted, in disbelief.
"Who fights a bull naked?" She muttered under her breath, forgetting for a moment that werewolves could hear even the faintest whisper.
"I thought women liked it," he responded with a smirk, and she quickly cleared her throat, pretending not to hear him.
Then, he gently cupped her chin, lifting her gaze to meet his. "I wanted to impress you. Did I fail?"
"Why would you want to impress me? Impress Sofia instead. Think of how she would feel if she hears about today," Belle replied, her voice steady but her words cutting, as though speaking for herself.
"Just like the way you felt?" He asked, his tone soft but deliberate.
Silence fell between them.
His words stirred the memory of his betrayal, sharp and vivid. Her hands clenched into fists as anger surged through her veins. To think he felt no remorse for what he had done to her, yet now he was dragging Sofia into the same turmoil. How could he?
"Do you not feel bad for Sofia at all?" Belle leaned back, her tone laced with disdain.
Quinn chuckled, unbothered. "She's already my wife, isn't she? Isn't that what you women want? To be called the man's wife?"
Belle scoffed, incredulous. "You think all we want is a title?" She challenged, her gaze piercing into his.
"Pray tell, isn't that why you are so eager to marry the King? For a title?" he retorted, a sly smirk tugging at his lips.
Her patience snapped. "Ahh!" He groaned as she deliberately pressed harder on his wound.
"I will be moving down here. Bear with it," she announced coolly, ignoring his question as though it hadn't been asked.
"I am all yours, Belle," he quipped playfully, shifting slightly to give her better access to the injury on his lower abdomen.
Belle hesitated, her anxiety mounting as she realized how close the wound was to his manhood. She tried to stay focused, though the memories from the past nudged at her. If he weren't her ex-husband, this would have been easier, there would be no memories. But she had seen every inch of him before, just as he had of her, and the past loomed uncomfortably over them.
"Does it remind you of the past?" He teased, breaking the silence.
Belle's response was sharp. "I have seen every part of your body. You think I am bothered by this? Are you also curious about mine?"
"Yes, I am," he admitted without hesitation, leaving her stunned.
Her eyes widened slightly. "You are absurd," she muttered, shaking her head as she resumed tending to his wound.
To her relief, he didn't taunt her further, nor did he interrupt her as she worked. Minutes later, she finished bandaging his injuries.
"Get Sofia to do this in two days. You should be fine by then," she instructed, preparing to stand when, without warning, Quinn grabbed her, pulling her onto the bed beneath him. His grin was playful yet undeniably mischievous.
"Quinn! I need to get back to Mia and Aurora, they will be worried!" She protested, pushing against him as carefully as she could to avoid his injuries. Her eyes darted toward the tent's entrance, checking if anyone could see them.
"It's just the two of us here," he murmured, his voice low and suggestive. "On the bed, away from it all. Does this not remind you of us?"
Belle's breath hitched, and her heart raced against her will. Since the moment she stepped into the tent, she had been on edge, and now his proximity made it nearly impossible to remain composed.
"No," she said firmly, turning her face away from his. "We barely had moments like this, except for the two times we had sex. There's nothing to remember about us."
Quinn smirked, undeterred. "Then let's create more memories like this, moments of intimacy. Let me savor you while I eat you alive."