Page 85 of Brutal Legacy

“Why? Don’t you like the horror show you made?” I waved my hand down the bloodstained side of the white gown.

He tilted his head to the side, his eyes holding a challenge. “I’m not the one who introduced darkness into our story,” he said.

What? He took the back of the dress and tugged it down, leaving me in just my panties and the bra that barely fit. Thankfully, the ladies who’d helped me put the dress on had provided me with clean underwear.

He tossed the dress away and stepped back.

“But I am the one who will end it,” he said cryptically and stripped off his jacket.

I watched his once white, now red shirt join it on the floor. Next, he reached for his belt, whipping it through the loops of his pants in a way that had my core clenching, hard.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

He pulled the zipper of his pants down and stepped out of them. He was wearing black briefs, and his cock was clearly outlined, pressed up against his belly. I stared. I couldn’t help myself.

“I told you to shower. I was letting you go first. That courtesy has ended,wife.”

Then he dropped the briefs, and my attention jumped to his bare cock, red and drooling at the tip, thick and hard and oh-so dangerous-looking. He was hard. All this had turned him on. So, I did affect him on some level, even if it was just the base one.

Aware I was staring at his dick, I spun around and let out a laugh that caught in my throat. So much for appearing unruffled. “Right, like I’m going to let you?—”

I didn’t get to finish. His arms crossed around my back, and he was lifting me. His skin was hot. Burning me everywhere it touched. My back was to his front, and his cock poked at the top of my ass.

“You don’t have to let me do anything. I’m not asking for permission.” He carried my wriggling body toward the bathroom.

He dropped me unceremoniously onto the floor and locked the door behind him.

He nodded toward the shower stall. “Get in.”

“No! You can’t just order me around,” I ground out, knowing I was lying. Of course he could.

He took the key out of the door and set it between his teeth, then brushed past me and entered the huge shower cubicle. He reached up to the rainfall showerhead, so much higher than I could, and placed the key on top of it.

Then he went for the faucet handles. The water turned on, and I tried very hard not to stare at his naked back. The man was a work of art.

Thick bulging ropes of muscle, tight in all the right places, and swelling out in others in a testament to pure physical perfection. His skin was sun-dusted brown, just as I remembered it to be. The tattoos were different, new, and the scars. So many scars. Elio’s back was a map of the life he’d lived without me. My eyes snagged on a cluster of dots that looked like old bullet wounds and another that was jagged and scarred, like a serrated blade had raked his flesh remorselessly.

He reached out and snagged my arm, dragging me under the water, and breaking my stare.

“Stop it! I don’t want to—” I started, just as he pushed my face under the fall of water coming from the huge showerhead.

“Idon’t want to see any part of another man touching you, never mind smeared across your face,” he bit out, his rough fingers smoothing over my cheek, rubbing away the spattered blood.

Water was falling in my eyes, so I couldn’t open them. I parted my lips to protest and got a mouthful of water, so I snapped them shut.

Elio’s hand was on the nape of my neck, holding me just where he wanted me.

Hot water sluiced down my body, wetting through my underwear, turning the lace transparent.

Finally deeming my face clean enough for him, he let me step back, and the water formed a curtain between us.

“Trying to waterboard your wife on the first day of marriage?” I spit at him.

He ignored my words and stepped forward, the water coasting over his head and down his beautiful, strong chest in rivulets.Jimmy De Luca’s blood washed down the drain, erasing the evidence of the insanity of the last hour.

He squirted a long jet of shower gel into his large palm, and rubbed his hands together until long tendrils of bubbles ran down his arms, then he started to wash his chest. I was just stuck there, watching. I couldn’t get past him. I was wet, wearing underwear, and getting cold. He cleaned himself methodically, and lastly, let his hands fall to his hard cock. I briefly watched him slide his hand up and down the taut, veined shaft before forcing my eyes away.

“So, I guess that answers my earlier question. It does turn you on to have a woman at your absolute mercy, to do with what you please.”

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