Page 103 of The Mafia Assassin's Redemption
Right to the very edges of them.
As I said, it was a nasty fucking exercise.
Harry was so lost in it, so caught up in what was unfolding between us, yet she never went beyond what I said. Some of it was because she had to be led there, taunted into unleashing her strength, but when she did, she didn’t stray from my orders. She obeyed.
Fucking twisted and hot as hell.
She was so far gone I could have had a captive audience outside of that room, watching us. Hell, I could have had them inside the room. Mikhail, the bratva pakhan I spoke to, had his pet blow him and pass out without a care in the world, like everything began and ended with him.
And I think Harry was in the same place.
I told her people would watch.
I lied.
I booked a room where we could see out, but no one could see in.
After all, I’m not exposing her to that.
“How do you have sweetness in you?” she asks, her voice slurred.
“Do I?”
“Yes.”
I dip the sponge in and gently slide it down between her breasts to her stomach. When it’s between her legs, I let my fingers wander, just a little.
And I’m rewarded with a moan.
But I pull back. This isn’t about me. This is aftercare for her. A way to re-anchor my lost little queen. Sweet and innocent, but so vicious.
“Probably my Mam’s fault. She’s a good woman.”I almost say more, about how Mam knew her mom. But those images of Harry’s brutalized mother rip through me, and I just can’t. If something, one drop of truth shows in my words about what I saw, what I knew happened to her, I don’t know what I’d do. It’s a truth I’ll bear for this woman, a truth I’ll let eat at me, and one I’ll take to my grave.
If I could make up a story that her mom had run off with a prince to a foreign land that closed its borders forever, I would.
“Don’t hurt my uncle.”
“If he hasn’t betrayed you, if he isn’t out to hurt you at all, then he’ll be fine.”
She swallows, trying to form more coherent thoughts. I wash her breasts, her arms, her feet. Is every part of her perfection?
Then my mind trips back to Anthony, whom I don’t believe for a second is “fine.” But I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.
“Torin…”
“Shhh.”
“Why do you go to places like that?”
“They’re honest,” I say. “If you’re there with the right person. If you have an agreement in place about what will happen and how it happens.”
She looks up at me, her hair half in the water, a bubble on her nose. The heart I was sure I didn’t have squeezes tight. With tense shoulders, I reach for the whiskey bottle and pour it into a glass next to me on the floor.
Harry sits up, frowning and sloshing water out of the tub and onto me as she reaches for my glass. I take a sip first, then hand it to her.
“And what if there’s no agreement?” She gives me a narrow look and gulps down some whiskey. I take it back, draining theremaining drops from the glass. Then I pour another finger before washing her back.
“If you’re talking about us, we don’t need one. We’re in a blood marriage. What I want, you want.”
