Page 43 of Owned by the Italian Mafia Boss
After gathering her hair from her shoulders, I wash the strands and massage her scalp. She groans and the sound goes straight to my cock. It still isn’t enough to make me lose focus—when it comes to Delilah, nothing will.
“Feels good,” she finally speaks, and I breathe easier knowing she’s aware of her surroundings and what’s happening.
I bend down to taste her shoulder, giving her a quick kiss. “I’m glad. You did very well tonight. I know it was a shock, but you handled it with grace.”
“I threw up.”
“I also threw up the first time I smelled burnt flesh. It’s a smell you will never forget.”
She gags again. “Please, don’t bring it up.”
“Anything, Sweetling.” I continue to massage her head, and her body falls back against me, back to my chest and round cheeks to my cock. No other woman has ever affected me like this. I’ve never cared about comfort before. No one else has ever mattered.
She’s all consuming.
Every aspect of how I think, how I feel, how I make decisions all revolve around her.
I rinse her hair, add conditioner and rinse it away, then make quick work of washing myself before I turn the water off. I grab towels from the heated shelves and wrap one around her, then myself. I use another to squeeze the water from her hair.
“Come on, let’s go to bed, Sweetling.”
“But…” Her eyes flick down to the tent in my towel.
I shake my head. “We need to sleep. Let me hold you, so I know you’re safe. Nothing else.”
I finish drying us off, grabbing a brush for her hair, then toss the towels aside and draw her into bed with me.
She comes without hesitation.
“Turn around. I don’t want you to wake up with a nest.” I wave the brush in the air, and she complies. I know if she were in her right state of mind, she’d snatch the brush from me and comb out her own hair because she’s so damn insistent on not needing me.
I start at her ends, easing the comb through her hair.
I think I’m doing it right. I’ve never brushed a woman’s hair before. I’m finding that even though I’m not a saint, I’m still experiencing first times with Delilah.
“Have you done this before?” the question was monotone and tired.
“Is it obvious that?” I’m trying to be as gentle as possible. The last thing I want to do is hurt her.
“I’m just wondering.” She turns her chin to her shoulder. “I like that you haven’t. It feels good. Thank you for taking care of me.”
“It’s a pleasure I find great satisfaction in, Sweetling.”
We fall into a comfortable silence, and I know that in this room, at this moment, things are very different. Tomorrow will be a new day, and the softness of this moment will be gone. I’ll be back to needing her glued to my side while she fights me every step of the way.
I’ll be turned on half the time and want to strangle her the other half.
It’s a concoction I find highly intoxicating.
When all the knots are gone, I place the comb on the bed and lie her down, tucking the covers up to her chin.
Then, and only then, do I get settled in bed.
“I’m sorry,” she apologizes, tears in her voice. “I’ve never done anything like that before. You must think I’m so weak.”
Pulling her close to me, I nuzzle my chin against the curve of her shoulder. “The opposite because even terrified, you faced fear. You are brave in a world that constantly tests someone’s courage. You are not weak. Weak is a mindset, and you, my Sweetling, have the strongest mindset I’ve come across in a very long time.”
Yet she is becoming my weakness.
