Page 53 of Of Murder and Matrimony

Chapter Sixteen

“Strip.”

I laughed, riding the high from finally getting to practice my profession again. Until tonight, I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed treating patients. And a triage. Field medicine was another beast altogether. Diego had been fortunate that the small caliber round passed through the outside of the muscle and didn’t hit anything vital. He’d need to be monitored and might need some physical therapy, depending on the muscle damage.

“You’re covered, Olesya.”

“What?” I looked down at my dress, seeing the blood starkly marring the fabric—my bloodied hands. More laughter bubbled up and echoed in the bathroom. “This? It’s a little blood, Dante. Comes with the job. It’s not anywhere near the worst I’ve experienced. I’m not bothered by it, and you shouldn’t be either.”

Dante growled dangerously low, and I stumbled, stepping back to steady myself. He advanced, his large body crowding me. I tried to pull away when he pawed at my dress, the fabric rending under his frantic movements.

“Dante, stop!”

“I fucking hate the sight of blood on your porcelain skin,” he ranted. I winced as the strap of my dress cut into my shoulder, then gave under Dante’s powerful pull. “It could have been you. Back there in that lot. You hit by a stray bullet. You on the ground, bloody and broken. You.”

“I’m fine, Dante.” I held my arms out as the dress gave and slid down my body. He looked at me but wasn’t pacified.

“I would never forgive myself,” he continued, ignoring my placating words. “I’d have nothing left to do but mourn and retaliate. I would fucking level this city. There would be nothing left without you.”

It was almost sweet, in a violent sort of way. I watched as Dante reached to turn the shower on and stripped out of his scuffed and dirtied suit. His muscles bunched with every movement, skin darkened by the angry flush covering his body.

“Dante.” He didn’t look at me, lost in whatever thoughts plagued him. “I promise. I’m okay. Nothing happened to me tonight.”

Dante’s eyes shot to mine, dark pools I could drown in, swirling with tortured emotion. He flexed his hands, curling them into fists, jaw ticking with tension. He wrapped his hand around my arm and shoved me into the shower, the hot spray hitting my chilled skin, making me hiss from the sting of the stark temperature contrast.

“Need to get this off,” he grunted, pouring body wash into his hand and massaging it into a lather over my skin. His movements were rough and desperate as he stroked me with a single-minded purpose—get the blood off.

Water ran pink down the drain, and Dante watched as it faded to clear while he rinsed me. He let out a long, shuddering sigh and pulled me against his chest, smoothing his hands down my back in a gentle hug. His chin rested on my head, and I could feel his throat working against my forehead as he swallowed. “Tell me you’re okay again.”

“I promise,” I repeated, my voice full of emotion. I felt needed—wanted. In that moment, Dante acted like I was his entire life, and I found it completed something I didn’t realize was missing. Part of why I loved being a doctor was making a difference in my patients’ lives. Now, I felt the same sense of pride in making a difference in Dante’s life. I craved that. “Nothing will happen to me. I’m right here with you.”

He stared at me while he reached blindly for the shampoo, knocking it off the shelf. I crouched down, scooping it up off the tile floor. When Dante tried to take it from me, I turned, squeezing some into my palm. “I’ve got it. You watch.”

I ran the soap through my hair, scrubbing my scalp and making sure to coat the entire length to remove any remaining blood. Dante watched every movement, licking his lips when I leaned back to rinse the suds away. I slicked conditioner through the ends after and pushed my chest out a little when I let the water stream over my head. My nipples hardened under his focus, and I heard the low rumble of approval just before he reached out to flick the tips with his fingers.

“Come here,” he grunted, pushing me against the shower wall. The cool tile contrasted with Dante’s hot chest against mine. Water cascaded over our bodies as Dante dropped his head and kissed me hard, biting my lip until I cried out. His tongue plunged inside my mouth when my jaw dropped from the sharp pain, and he dominated me entirely.

He owned me, granting me enough reprieve to catch my breath before diving back in to taste me again. He panted, every rise of his chest making the dark hair scattered there abrade my sensitive nipples.

“Fucking need you,” he rasped, kicking my legs apart and cupping my mound with his large palm. He slid two fingers through my slit, circling my clit before plunging them deep inside my welcoming body.

“Yes,” I moaned at the sudden intrusion, how he worked my passage, curling his fingers against my front wall and hitting the spot that made my legs unsteady.

His thumb moved back and forth across my clit, and his free hand grasped my breast roughly so he could suck my nipple into his mouth. Back and forth, he overwhelmed me with sensation, driving me higher.

“I want to feel you come, Olesya,” Dante insisted. The force of his fingers in my pussy lifted my feet from the shower, and I grasped his shoulders, my nails digging in to help me balance. “First on my fingers. Then my cock.”

I looked up into his eyes. “Then make me.”

He smirked and shoved a third finger into my pussy, and I cried out, “Fuck, Dante!”

“That’s it, piccola fantasma,” he praised, pounding into me and roughly grasping my jaw. His lips hovered an inch from mine. “Let me taste your ecstasy.”

I tilted my hips, adjusting the angle, and came apart when he filled me on the next thrust of his hand and slammed his lips against mine. He worked me through the orgasm, his fingers slowing and gentling, his thumb barely grazing my sensitive clit.

Gasping, I let go of his shoulders and slammed my palm against the shower wall, bracing myself as he withdrew his hand. He wasn’t finished with me yet.

Dante threaded his fingers through mine, drawing them back to his shoulders and patting them. “Hold on tight, wife. I can’t be gentle. Not right now.”

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