Chapter Six

CHAPTER SIX

Cinna

“I say this with a lot of love and only a small bit of disgust,” Dav said two days later, standing in the doorway of the bedroom after taking away my partially eaten tray of soft foods, “you need a bath. Or a shower. Generally speaking, water and soap need to run over you.”

Wrinkling my nose at the comment, I took a whiff of myself. And, yeah, I had that stagnant sweat smell, but I wasn’t ripe or anything.

“I’m all for rotting in bed for days on end. But you brought a lot of ick in that bed with you that you still need to wash off.”

At that, even through the way the pain meds blanketed my brain, making it hard for too many worried thoughts to sink in, the memories came flooding back.

The warehouse. The footsteps. The taunting words. The pain .

“I will help you wash your hair,” Dav went on, pulling me out of the memories that threatened to pull me under and keep me there, choking on the fear and desperation.

“I don’t need help,” I insisted, even as I winced and hissed my way through swinging my legs off of the side of the bed and moving to stand. I was drenched with sweat just from the effort.

“Sure sure. But when you try to raise your hands over your head and start howling in pain, I will be in to help you wash your hair, you stubborn ass.”

I’d always thought of Dav as, well, a kind of selfish man. He definitely sought out the fun, frivolous things in life.

But I had to admit that he’d been completely unselfish since I’d shown up at his door. Bringing me meds around the clock, forcing me to eat so my stomach didn’t hurt, keeping ice packs cold for when I needed them, and changing bandages. And having a good attitude during it all. Even when I was, well, a raging bitch.

“I’ll grab you a new shirt and towels,” he told me as I made frustratingly slow progress toward the bathroom.

Dav’s caretaking skills were top-tier.

My patient skills, though, needed work.

I was out of my mind at how slowly my body was recovering. My eye was still almost completely swollen shut. The bruises seemed to get worse by the day instead of better. Everything was still swollen. The only wounds doing better were the cuts on my feet. Likely because I’d been off of them pretty much all the time.

I didn’t want to even talk about my wrist and ribs. At this rate, I was pretty sure I wouldn’t be able to move without pain for months.

And I needed to get the hell back out there, find these pricks, and make them pay for this.

I needed my crew to know I was still around and in charge.

Sure, I’d covered my ass by lying to the boss and telling him I was fine, just working on shit behind the scenes. And I was keeping tabs on everyone under me via text. But that wasn’t how I ran things. Eventually, people were going to wonder why they hadn’t seen me, why I wasn’t out on the streets like usual.

I had to heal and get back out there.

Maybe the first step to feeling more human was taking a shower.

“Need any help?” Dav asked, placing the towels on the rack and the shirt and panties on the sink counter.

Panties he’d clearly bought me, I might add.

There was a whole pile of them on the dresser in the bedroom, tags still attached. And we were not going to talk about the strange little thrill that moved through me at realizing he’d been the one to pick them out. Especially when he’d chosen simple, not fussy ones. A part of me thought that, given the chance, he’d buy something ridiculous like silk or lace or all strappy for no good reason.

He’d picked out what he thought I would like, not what he liked.

You had to appreciate that.

“The day I need your help taking off my shirt and underwear is the day you can just take me out back and shoot me,” I grumbled.

“I have to admit, I like the idea of taking your panties off for the first time in a much more mutually exciting way,” he said, giving me that damn playboy grin.

“That’s never going to happen.”

“Sure sure,” he agreed, heading toward the door. “I’ll be a couple feet away when you realize you’re being a stubborn-ass and need help with your hair,” he said. “Though, if you need help scrubbing any other are—“

“Out,” I snapped, but there wasn’t much bite to the word.

Alone, I stripped, removed my wrist brace, and moved into the shower niche, just letting the water run over me for a while, finding some relief in the sensation.

Until, of course, I reached for the bottle of body wash. That smelled just like Davide when he would sneak into my room right after his shower, shirtless, hair wet, still glistening a bit.

Just slathering it on conjured a bunch of mental images that I had no business thinking of on a good day, let alone when I was badly beaten.

But there was no denying the way my skin started to warm and my core ached in the painful knot of desire as the scent filled the air of the shower around me as well.

I pretended to ignore it as I washed the grime from the attack and days of lazing in bed off of my skin, catching sight of bruises I hadn’t even known existed until then. Up my arms, down my legs, over my hip and stomach. I saw more purple and blue than I did my actual skin tone as I looked myself over.

Finished with that, I reached for the bottle of shampoo… then nearly blacked out when my hands lifted past my chest.

The string of curses I let out was enough to make my fellow mafia capos blush.

“Ready to admit defeat yet?” Dev called from outside of the door. “Or are you intent on making this harder on yourself than absolutely necessary?”

“Fine,” I grumbled, reaching a hand to drape across my breasts.

I wasn’t overly modest. He was going to see my full ass. But with all of the comments about my boobs over the years, I felt weird letting him see them in this sort of context.

Not that there would ever be any other sort of context. There wouldn’t be.

“And by ‘fine,’ I assume you mean Hey, Dav, thanks for helping me not look like a swamp creature ,” he said as he moved into the bathroom.

To his credit, he didn’t ogle me.

He moved toward the shower niche, glanced at the removable shower wand, hemming and hawing something.

“What are you doing?” I asked when he reached to yank off his shirt.

Because him being all close and shirtless with his hands on me was totally not going to help this situation.

“The water will run up my arms and soak me,” he explained. “Besides, now we’re more equal,” he said, waving down at himself.

Did my gaze follow?

Yes, yes it did.

What can I say? Dav took care of himself. I didn’t know what other workouts he fit into his busy schedule of bedroom cardio, but it was all working to his benefit.

I mean you could sink a finger in those abdominal muscles. Run your tongue…

Nope.

Not going there.

“What?” I asked at his raised brow look, wondering if I’d been caught eye-banging him.

“Unless you want water and soap in your eyes, you’re gonna need to tilt your head back for me,” he explained.

Right.

Duh.

Being naked with a half-clothed Dav was doing something to my brain.

Or maybe I had sustained some sort of head injury after all.

Because I’d never struggled this hard to stop thinking about getting hot and sweaty with the man before.

I tilted my head back, letting him soak it through again before placing the wand back in the cradle, positioning it so it sprayed across my back, keeping me from catching a chill as he lathered up the shampoo and reached for my scalp.

The second his fingers started to rub at my scalp, a shiver racked its way through my system, making his hands freeze.

“Cold?” he asked.

“I’m fine,” I insisted, even as my belly did somersaults and my heartbeat kicked into overdrive.

What the hell was going on?

I’d been fully naked, getting hot and heavy with men before, and never felt anywhere near as attuned to my body as I was right then, so overwhelmed with sensations.

My skin felt flushed and overly sensitive. My breasts heavy and nipples tensing into points.

Then, well, all the aching and heat in my core. That primal part of me wishing he would run his hand down my stomach, slip it between my thighs, and sink his fingers inside of me.

“Feel good?” he asked, making my eyes snap open as I realized with no small amount of mortification that I’d let out a little moan.

“What? No,” I said, attempting an eye roll for emphasis. “I think you hit a bruise,” I was quick to add. To lie.

“A bruise,” he repeated. “Right. Maybe I should be gentler,” he said. And, damn him, those gentler fingers felt even better.

Desire was a live wire through my body right then, little sparks threatening to set off an entire wildfire.

Then the man had to go and cup his hand over my forehead to keep soap from getting in my eyes when he rinsed.

“What am I, a toddler?” I grumbled to hide the way my chest felt all gooey at the gesture.

“Definitely not,” he said, his voice a bit deeper than usual, making another shiver move through me, this time on the inside. “Not done,” he said when I started to move away.

“It’s clean,” I insisted, knowing I needed to put some space between us as quickly as possible.

“Right. You’re gonna tell me you got all this hair and you don’t use a conditioner?”

“It’s fine.”

“If you want to be cursing me out in pain as I rake a brush through your tangled hair, then sure.”

“You’re not brushing my hair.”

“Okay,” he agreed.

“Okay?” I asked, squinting at him.

“Yeah. Should I set up the appointment at the salon now for when, two weeks from now, your hair is so knotty you have to cut it all off?”

“You’re annoying.”

“Because I’m right,” he shot back.

“I wouldn’t go that far,” I said, but I stepped back, letting him slather on the conditioner before rinsing it off.

He cut the water, then carefully squeezed as much water out of my hair as possible.

Just when I thought he was finally going to step away, was going to give me a chance to breathe and get myself together again, though, his hand slid downward, teasing over my ribs, sending another jolt of need through me.

“This looks so much worse,” he said, his voice a velvet caress over my skin as his fingers traced the bruises.

“It feels about the same,” I admitted, glancing down to watch his fingers move over my skin.

And not at all thinking about how easily they could just slip inward and down a bit more and…

“You want me to re-wrap them?” he asked.

“Yeah. I didn’t realize how much that was helping until I took the wraps off.”

“And what about drying off?”

“What about it?” I asked, body tensing, knowing where this was going. And not knowing if I was strong enough to turn the offer down.

“Why don’t you try to reach for your legs?” he suggested.

“Fuck,” I whimpered, arm shooting out to grab him as the pain ricocheted up my side as soon as I even attempted to bend. “Okay,” I said, gasping for breath as the pain kept washing over me. “Yeah.”

“Was the insistence on doing everything the hard way something that came preprogrammed, or did you add that in along the way?” he teased as he reached for a towel, carefully drying my hair enough that it wouldn’t drip all down me, before starting to rub the towel over my shoulders.

It wasn’t until he draped the towel over my whole front, and his hands were moving over my chest that I realized that the arm I’d reached out to grab him with was the one I’d had draped over my breasts.

Leaving me completely exposed.

Before I could fully come to terms with that, though, his hands were moving over the towel, covering my breasts, then sliding under.

Drying, sure, that was all he was doing.

But my body didn’t seem to get the memo as the need clawed at my core, making me press my thighs together to ease the ache.

The sensation was gone too soon, though, and the disappointment was palpable as he moved the towel down my stomach instead.

His gaze cut to mine, and I couldn’t help but wonder if my desire was etched on my face, if he could see what this was doing to me or not.

He moved to my back, making his body press closer, close enough to feel the heat of him as my nipples pebbled up tighter now that the water wasn’t warming me anymore.

The towel wrapped around my waist, and he used it to pull me out of the shower niche, my feet meeting the cushy bath mat.

Then, his gaze still holding mine, he lowered down as he dried my thighs.

Until he was on his knees.

Looking up at me.

This time, there was no way I could claim that the whimper that escaped me was anything but what it was.

Because I never could have known exactly how much I would like seeing him on his knees in front of me, his gaze holding mine as his face leveled with my sex that was throbbing for his attention.

A rumbling sound moved through Dav as his fingertips whispered up my calves.

“Trust me,” he said, voice thick again, “can’t think about anything right now but burying my face in your sweet pussy.” As if to prove his point, his lips pressed a little kiss to the triangle above my sex. But then he was getting back to his feet. “But you’re not stable enough to be standing for that.”

I had to get a hold of myself.

“Keep dreaming, Dav,” I said, hoping my voice wasn’t giving me away as much as his was.

“Think I might not be the only one dreaming anymore,” he said, and then the words were moving through me, wrapping around my heart and tightening.

“You think too highly of yourself,” I said as he reached for the simple black panties.

“That so?” he asked as he lowered down again, waiting for me to slip a foot into the leg hole. Then the other, before slipping the panties up my thighs. But pausing.

His gaze slipped to mine, and I saw the intention just a second before I felt his fingers between my thighs, sliding over me. Finding the proof he was seeking.

“What’s this then?” he asked, fingers teasing over my wet cleft.

“I just got out of the shower,” I reminded him even as my breath caught and my heartbeat became a frantic bass beat in my chest.

“Hmm,” he said. His heated gaze held mine as his fingers slid back down, then pressed inside of me, making a surprised gasp escape me as my hand grabbed his arm. “What about this?” he asked, voice still holding a challenge.

Try to deny it when my fingers are all inside your wet pussy.

“Dav…” I whimpered, too far gone to care how needy I sounded.

“Okay,” he said, voice soft as his free hand went around my waist, pulling me against him as his fingers started to slide inside of me.

“You know how many times I thought about my fingers inside of you?” he asked, getting a low whimper from me in response. “No fantasy comes close to this,” he added. “Feel how wet you are for me? How tight you are squeezing me?”

His fingers started to drive me up, and my labored breathing had my ribs aching. But I couldn’t seem to make myself care as his fingers turned inside of me, crooking and stroking against my top wall as his palm flattened against me, engaging my clit.

I gave into the need to lean into him, to bury my face in his neck, to surround myself with him. Like I’d been telling myself for years that I didn’t want.

Just this once, I was going to let myself have exactly what I wanted. Without obsessing over the outcome.

Dav’s head tilted, resting on the top of mine as he continued to work me. Making my legs wobble and my breath go quick and shallow.

Up this close, there was no denying his own desire as it pressed against me. As long and thick as I’d fantasized about in weak moments alone in my own bed.

Sensing the direction of my thoughts, Dav’s fingers moved a little faster.

“You have no idea how badly I want you right now,” he said, voice deep. “How much I wish my cock was buried right here,” he told me, using his fingers to emphasize his point, “right now.”

Another small, needy whimper escaped me as my walls tightened around his fingers, clearly desperate for that as well.

“But not yet,” he said. “Right now, I want to feel you tremble under my touch, to hear you moan my name.”

As if on cue, a low moan escaped me as his fingers and palm worked me just right at the same moment.

Listening to my response, Dav continued that exact movement and pace until I was trembling as hard as he wanted, until my moans were filling the air around us, until he was pushing me right to that edge.

“That’s it,” he said. “Just like that. Come for me,” he demanded. “I want to hear you cry out my name.”

Another stroke of his fingers had me pushed over that edge, free falling into the orgasm that had me crying out, choking out his name as I struggled to find my breath while I crashed over and over again.

It took all of, I don’t know, two-point-five seconds after the post-orgasm fog evaporated for me to realize how epically I had just fucked things up by allowing that to happen.

“And there she goes,” Dav said, voice tighter than usual.

I wanted to ask what that meant, what had put so much defeat in his voice. That desire was exactly why I wasn’t going to let myself ask, though.

His fingers slid out of me, and he waited for my gaze to find his before he stepped back to slip his fingers into his mouth, tasting me.

The low rumbling sound he made then damn near had me begging him to take me right then and there, all my pain be damned.

But his fingers slid out of his mouth, and he moved away from me, leaving me to yank my panties the rest of the way up with my one good hand.

I wanted to drape my arm across myself again, to create a physical boundary because of the confusion I felt surrounding my emotions right then.

But I couldn’t let Davide know he’d gotten to me.

I let my arms hang by my sides as he came back to me, his gaze on mine, his hands holding a fresh roll of elastic bandages.

“Arms up, love,” he said, and my heart swooped and soared at that word, at the gentle way he’d said it.

But I couldn’t have that.

So I broke those wings mid-flight, and lifted my arms in such a way to get them out of the way and hide my chest as he wrapped me up tightly, a sensation that made the pain worse for a while, but as soon as he was done, helped it ease to a tolerable ache.

The shirt came next, and I was thankful for another layer of protection against both our desires.

My gaze lowered as he reached to zip up the oversized sweatshirt, and I could still see the thick, hard outline of him beneath his pants.

I was surprised how strong the urge was to reach out, to stroke the length of him, to slip under the waistband of his pants to feel his velvety skin and the thickness of him in my palm.

But that was exactly why I stepped back as soon as my zipper was in place.

“Do you have that other brace?” I asked, proud of how unaffected my voice sounded when I was anything but that.

“Sure,” he said, and I felt his gaze on my profile for a long moment before he moved out of the room to fetch it.

Alone, I moved in front of the mirror, looking at the punching bag of a face I was sporting.

“Get it together,” I whispered.

Because whether I liked it or not, for the time being, I really needed to be here. I needed the help he was eager to give.

And I needed to not let anything like that happen again.

He came back with the new brace, slipping it carefully on as I tried not to curse too much as he jostled my aching wrist.

“Go on and sit on the couch,” he said. “I have to get the brush and detangling solution. And toss the sheets in the dryer. I’ll probably still beat your slow ass out there,” he teased.

It was right then I knew it was going to be okay, that he wasn’t going to harp on it, make me feel weird about it.

Why would he?

Fingering women was probably as casual to him as shaking someone’s hand.

There was no explanation for the way that thought sent a pang through my chest.

Nope.

No rational explanation at all…