He smirks at me, but nods anyway. “I’m in your capable hands.”
He’s got that right. It takes two hands to clutch the length of all that hot flesh. I slide my mouth over the head again and get to work, swirling and sucking, until I feel his hand tightening into my hair. He’s pushing my head up and down roughly, building up a tempo that I eagerly pick up.
“Fuck!” he grits out. I sneak a look up his body, past the crisscross of bandages over his chest, to where his jaw is clenched. I suck harder, feeling an answering clenching in my core when his head tips back. His throat works as he gives a hoarse groan. I can sense he’s already close. I lift a hand to cup his balls, grazing my nails lightly.
“Sweet Jesus…fuck…” he grinds out. “You’re so…so fucking good with that hot little mouth.” I love the encouragement, sucking him deeper, drawing at him. The scent of him surrounds me – just soap and good, clean, man-scent.Aliveman.Myman.
I pump my hand to match my mouth, then drop my head low in a swooping motion that takes him all the way back into my throat. His hand in my hair is almost painful when he gives a sharp shout. Thankfully, there’s enough of my weight over him to stop him from thrusting up at me as he shoots his load deep down my throat. If he tears a freaking stitch, I’ll never forgive myself. He’s still gasping moments later as I feel him easing down from the pleasure high. I look up into eyes that hold an emotion that’s almost scary in its intensity.
“Come here,” he says softly. I crawl up his body until our lips are pressed together. He sucks the taste of himself from my tongue before pulling away and looking into my face.
“That fucking chair can go,” he says. “You sleep in my bed with me from now on.” I nod mutely. “For always…” I swallow and nod again. This is a conversation for a different time. But I’m ready to have it.
Although now, my man needs sleep.
And dear God, so do I.
∞∞∞
It’s light when I wake, and the first thing I realize is that I’m alone in that huge bed.
I shoot up, looking around me in alarm.
“Dario?” I say, my voice still husky with sleep. “Dario!” I say more sharply.
My breath rushes out as I see him step out of the en suite bathroom with a dark towel draped around his hips. He’s removed the dressing from his upper body, and I swallow back a little choke at the sight of the flesh of his chest. It’s a network of stitches that probably should not be left unprotected, but when the hell did Dario Caraldi ever do anything he was ever told to do?
“Hey,” he says, heading over to the bed. He’s walking cautiously…but he’s walking! Dear God, I want to sob with relief. The doctor has given the all-clear, but I’ve been too afraid to believe it could be true. “Sleep well?” he asks as he settles on the bed beside me, brushing his lips over mine. His hair is curled damply against his neck. A little more unkempt than I’m used to. He’s shaved, though. I’d been attempting that myself these past days but always so terrified I’d nick him. Cause him yet more pain.
“Like a baby,” I eventually say, sinking back against the pillows and tucking a hand beneath one of them to settle into it more comfortably. Something hard and metallic grazes against my knuckles, and I frown. His eyes are still on mine when he leans down to capture my lips and eases his own hand to meet mine. When he sits up again, he’s holding a deadly-looking pistol that gleams a dull silver in the morning light.
“Dario, what—?”
“Precaution,” he says, setting the thing down on the bedside table. I shake my head.
“I don’t think…”
“I’d like you to know how to handle it,” he says, stroking my hair from my face. As if those hands hadn’t just been handling a lethal weapon. “Get cleaned up and change. I’m taking you to the shooting range.”
“The what?” I feel my eyebrows draw together. “Dario, you shouldn’t even be out of bed.”
“I’ll be just fine,” he says, already back on his feet and heading to his walk-in closet. “Now quit arguing with me, woman. I need you to know how to protect yourself if—” He seems to stop himself. “Just do as I ask.”
I pull myself from the bed, realizing that I’m still in the crumpled t-shirt and shorts I’d been wearing the previous day. If nothing else, I certainly need a shower. And to brush my teeth.Ugh.
“I’ll get some things from my room,” I say, then realize there’s a folded pile of clothing on the footstool beside the bed. A clean pair of jeans and a t-shirt. The lace lingerie set he’d picked out would probably be better suited to a centerfold model, but I’m not complaining. “How long have you been up?” I ask.
“Long enough,” he shrugs. “Considering I’ve been lounging around in that fucking bed for days, I’d say it’s time to get my ass moving. Now get in the damn shower before I carry you there!”
Part of me loves that idea. Sister Lovie knows better; he cannotlift me off the damn floor. I’m in the stall with the water on high before he can make good on his promise.
Minutes later, we’re making our way down the hall, my hand clasped firmly in his. He’s in black sweatpants and a snug black tank top. I’ve seen him in suits and even in swimming trunks, but somehow, this is always the outfit that makes my mouth water most. Although this time, I know he’s tucked that freaking weapon in the back of his pants. Frankly, I prefer the “weapon” he keeps in the front. But I’m not quite sure we’re ready for that yet.
“I have a small indoor range behind the gym,” he explains as he walks. It’s still ridiculously early, but I’m guessing he’s had enough sleep. This is a man who does not relish inactivity. I’m certain he hates vulnerability even more.
There’s a biometric keypad that unlocks a heavy door into a space that turns out to be a sparse room once he turns on the blinding lights. When he shuts the door behind us, it clicks locked, and I realize it’s completely silent in here. I’m guessing it’s soundproof; probably why I didn’t even know it existed. I have no doubt this is a place that sees regular use. At the far end, a number of squares seem to be suspended somehow, each bearing the shape of a dark figure; head, shoulders, torso.
Near where we’re standing, there is a row of partitions. Within each one, there’s a solid steel countertop; plain, utilitarian, there’s not much beauty in this room. But then, I guess that’s not the point of it.
