She lifts her chin, blue eyes blazing with sudden anger. “You’ll take care of this? I can wait here? Who the hell do you think you’re talking to? I’m yourwife,Carlo. Tell me what happened, and you’re going to let me help you, you stubborn, reckless man.”
My lips twitch at her rage, and my black heart thud-thuds longingly over what it tells me. “Stubborn and reckless. Yes, I was tonight, far more than usual for me,” I admit. “Someone brings that out in me.” Confusion replaces her anger. How can she not know? “Your motheris here?” Alessio said as much but things were getting a little foggy when we finally reached home.
“She had too much wine. She’s in the bedroom near your office. We won’t disturb her.” Once I nod, she helps me peel the bloody shirt off where it’s stuck to my back. “You’ve been stabbed,” she whispers, her voice shaking.
“I turned at the last second. He only caught my shoulder.” It hurts like a motherfucker, but it will heal. “My cock’s been buried deeper inside you than that blade was.”
She fumbles with the bloody shirt, tears pooling in her pretty eyes. “It’s not a joke, Carlo.”
Fuck, I don’t want to upset her, but my wife deserves honesty. “Help me get cleaned up, and I’ll tell you everything, okay?”
She grasps my hand, tugging me up the stairs as if she means to lend me her strength. She has so much strength, more than I give her credit for. I let my eyes roam over her riot of red curls and sweet face as we climb, fucking grateful I came home to her tonight. Death is part of this world, but never being with Francesca again when we have our whole lives in front of us? What a depressing end that would be.
We go straight into the bathroom. She helps me finish undressing and then pulls off her own clothes. My cock stirs at the sight of her creamy skin, rosy nipples and the red curls that cover her mound. The corner of her mouth lifts in response to my inspection and its effect on my body. “None of that until you’re treated and all better.”
“Treated, okay. All better? There’s many ways you can make me all better,” I argue.
She rolls her eyes and pulls me into the shower. The water feels like blades at first as it bites into my wound but long acquaintance withpain soon numbs the sensation. I tip my head back, rinsing away blood and screams. Francesca grabs the bodywash, quietly washing my hands, my throat and chest. She massages my sore muscles, taking care not to aggravate the cut. “That feels like fucking heaven.”
She hums in response, moving down to my thighs. Blood rushes to my cock. I want her. I need her. As if she’s read my mind, she kisses my hipbone and kneels before me. “Would it really help you?”
She’s serious, her wide eyes reflecting both the siren and the choir girl within. Such an odd reason for my throat to tighten this way. “Not yet,” I murmur, swiping my thumb over her bottom lip.
She stands up again and lets me wash her. The spicy scent of the bodywash mixed with her lavender fragrance, the silky feel of her skin and womanly curves under my roughened hands, it relaxes me.
“Who did this to you?” she asks once we’re both washed, wrapping her arms around me from behind and hugging me. Her soft cheek presses against the center of my back. I don’t want any fresh blood to drip onto her.
“The asshole from last night, Roberto. It was his son.” I probe the wound with my finger. Not too deep, certainly not life threatening. Just a reminder for me to watch my fucking back at all times. “I may need help stitching it. I should’ve let Luca-”
“I’ll do it if you teach me how.”
But she keeps hugging me tightly and I let her, craving her gentleness after a night full of brutality. We stand under the showerhead together until the water starts to turn cold.
***
“I’ve never enjoyed getting stitches more.” Turning, I catch her grin before she gives me a stern look. Her eyes dip back down to my shoulder, but she’s still fighting a smile. I’m seated on the edge of our bed. She’s on her knees behind me, both of us naked while I tell her what to do. “Pull it tighter.”
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
Taking her hand, I brush my lips over her knuckles. “You won’t. Not when you’re taking care of me.”
When the needle pierces my flesh for the final time, she clucks her tongue with satisfaction. “Not bad for a beginner, I hope.”
“Not bad at all.”
“Maybe instead of music I should study medicine. It would be more useful as your wife.”
“You can study anything you like, but your music is the best gift I could ever wish for.”
“You mean that?”
“I do.”
She’s silent for a moment before she starts to sing quietly for me, tucked behind me but with her lips next to my ear. I don’t know the song, but it’s a love song. A haunting melody, a handful of lovely words, simple yet powerful. Fucking goosebumps. I didn’t even know I was capable of having them.
“What song is that?” I ask roughly once it ends.
“Something I wrote.”
