“Sophie dear, let’s take a look.” The doctor gently examines Sophie’s throat and the back of her head, asking questions inher calm, quiet voice. “How long do ye think he cut off your air supply?”
My fists tighten.
“I didn’t pass out,” Sophie croaks. “Probably just a minute or two. It didn’t take Ian long to break through the door.”
“Good,” Dr. MacTavish spreads some cream on Sophie’s throat. “Since ye can swallow easily, I dinnae think there’s any permanent damage. Soft foods for a couple of days and call me immediately if the swelling gets worse. Now, the back of your head. The laceration is too light to need stitches, and your pupil response and lack of dizziness make a concussion unlikely. Again, call me if any of the symptoms worsen.”
“We will,” I cut in. “Tell me what I should be looking for.”
She goes over symptoms and areas of concern as she carefully cleans the wound on Sophie’s head. Pressing a bottle of pills in my hand, she says, “She’ll need these for the pain, they’re not particularly strong, but they’ll make her sleepy.”
“Thank ye, Doc.” I shake her hand. “And I’m indebted to ye for coming so quickly.”
Ian sees her out as I get back to Sophie, covering her with a soft throw. “Are ye ready to call Martha?”
“Yes please.” I hand her my phone and Martha picks up on the second ring.
“Sophie! Sophie love, are you all right?” There’s crying and her mum insists on Facetiming her to view her injuries, which sets off another round of crying. I let them talk until Sophie’s voice gets too hoarse to talk.
“Martha, I need to get Sophie to bed,” I interrupt gently. “Ye can get together tomorrow, aye?”
“Of course,” she nods furiously, her eyes red. “You just take care of her. Michael?”
“Aye?”
Her face sculpts into lines of ice and now I can see how she looked as the Graves Mafia matriarch, back in the day. “You kill him. You burn his reputation into ashes and tear that mafia apart.”
“Ye have my word.”
I let Sophie sleep for a couple of hours before waking her on Dr. MacTavish’s instruction to check her. “How do ye feel?”
She smiles up at me, glassy-eyed. “I don’t know what was in those pills, but right now, I’m riding a purple sparkle unicorn and she’s taking me to Cotton Candy Mountain.”
That forces a chuckle out of me. “Well, ye and your unicorn friend enjoy your trip. I’ll be here when ye come back.” I pull her covers back up but she grabs my hand.
“Can you stay? Just for a little while?”
“Sweet butterfly… as long as ye like.” Taking off my jacket and dress shoes, I get into bed with her. To my surprise, she crawls onto my lap, settling herself sideways with her face buried in my neck. Her vanilla-sugar scent wraps around me and I take a deep breath. My wife is safe. She’s alive and in my arms.
I’ll never let her be hurt again.
The pain in my leg wakes me up. Sophie’s leg is thrown casually over mine, and resting right on the place where the nerve endings never seem to dull. Carefully moving my leg away from hers, I freeze as she clings to me, letting out a sleepy mumble.
“Do you have to go?” she sighs. The bedroom is dark, we must have slept through the afternoon.
“No, I just have to change positions,” I grunt.
“Here, let me move-” Sophie helpfully wiggles her hips, which does not get her off my lap but certainly adds some pressure to my already rapidly swelling cock. Pausing for a moment, she looks up at me with a wee bit of a grin. “I guess that didn’t help.”
“Dinnae ye try that innocent act on me, lass. It dinnae work when ye were a teenager and your act has not improved.”
“Hmm…” Going up on her knees, she swings one over me and straddles my lap. “What about now?” I stifle another groan as her hot center rubs against my dress pants. “No?”
My stern expression is not intimidating her. “Ye need to rest, baby. Ye had a rough day.”
“I feel much better now,” she says, making another slow circle with her damn hips. “My voice isn’t as croaky and my head feels fine.”
Another pass of her hips and my dick’s rubbing painfully against my zipper. I’d stripped her down to one of my clean t-shirts and her knickers before putting her in bed, and there’s only a thin layer of silk between my self-control and her exquisite wee pussy.
