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Summary
It was an accident, of course. He got a little too carried away last night. A little too lost in the haze of skin, and sweat, and sex.
As you stare at the bruise on your hips - in the perfect shape of his massive hand and long, thick fingers that smears across your hip bones and stretches all the way to your spine, the dip of your belly button - you can't stop that dark, gnarled thrill that coils, molten, in the pit of your abdomen at the sight of it.
Thomas would never intentionally hurt you.
But you can't help that little part of yourself that wants him to.