Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 68628 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 343(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68628 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 343(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
"Do you always have to be the tough guy? The Superman? I already know you are; do you have to prove it to yourself continually?"
I watch as she dips the cloth in the basin, rinses it, and squeezes it again. She doesn't meet my eyes as she continues washing my face.
"I don't know." I look away because I don't want to answer this question. I'm not sure I know the answer myself.
I saw people hurt, maimed, and killed in the name of justice when I was still a kid. My own parents died. I had to prove my worth by killing for the mafia.
"Brutal protection is my love language," I quip, but honestly, I'm not really joking.
"I can see that," she says quietly, stroking the towel over my shoulders. "Can you take your shirt off?"
"This is hardly the time or place for sex, Quinn."
That gets a smirk out of her, but she still looks a little sad. "I want to check your chest and back."
I roll over onto my belly so she can wash my back, and fuck, it feels good. My muscles ache and I'm tired. So fucking tired.
When she's done, and I am satisfactorily cleaned, she puts the cloth down and begins to massage my shoulders. For someone so small, her hands are strong, and she's an expert at this. I stifle a groan as she releases every knot and muscle in my back.
She starts the massage by applying long, slow strokes up and down my back. Traces along my spine with her thumbs and kneads the tension out. She uses her elbows on the thicker areas, allowing the pressure to penetrate deep until I feel loose and limber and relaxed.
"You're amazing at this," I manage to say, despite my heavy exhaustion.
"Good," she says softly, but doesn't offer any other details.
I roll over onto my back and she holds a glass of water to my lips. I'm just tired, not in so much pain that I can't hold the glass, but fuck if it doesn't feel good to have someone take care of me for once. I think about what she says. My armor…
I close my eyes as she talks to me in a soothing and calming voice. She tells me about her childhood, the antics that she got into, how she made friends when she was a young woman, the funny things she did for money. Even though I know she's distracting me and doesn't want to talk about the more serious things, I welcome the distraction. I sip the glass of water, and in the back of my mind, I'm aware of her folding my clothes, tucking the sheet in around my body, and laying down next to me. When she gently arranges her arm around my chest in a way that doesn't hurt me and brings us as close as we can be, I fall asleep.
CHAPTER TWENTY
“I’LL TELL MY HUSBAND”
Quinn
I remember how I used to find quiet and peace when I danced. I lay beside Adriano as he falls into the deep sleep his body needs. He's exhausted, medicated, and I like to think the massage helped him relax a little bit. I get up quietly and walk around the room, tidying it as I go. There isn't much that needs to be done, but it feels good to do a few domestic things like fold his clothes, straighten the sheet out, make sure he has more ice water beside him.
He's fine, I know he's fine. Nothing is broken; he just has some cuts and bruises. He’s still his strong, beautiful self, and after a good sleep, I'm sure he'll be good as new.
But it plagues me. Fuck if it doesn’t trouble me. Talking about his past and mine… Memories flash like a torturous movie through my mind.
Normally, I'd go find me a dom. Now, the only person I want dominating me is dead asleep.
I long to leave the club for the first time in a while. I want to be alone with him. I want real privacy, I want a place of our own.
We may not be forever, but we do have a couple months ahead of us still and I want to enjoy that time with him.
I wonder if he will be more relaxed now that he has done what he thinks he needed to do. I wonder if that means the threat against me is gone.
My gut says it isn’t, but at least he must feel some sort of relief.
I don't, though.
There's a difference between protection and obsession. There's a difference between concern and jealousy.
What kind of a person goes back to seek vengeance on people who hurt someone else years ago? I don't know…
So I take myself to the dance studio, with my entourage of safety guards in place, of course. I have my phone with my tracking on, and everything he would want to keep me safe. It feels almost like I'm alone, even though I can see the backs of the heads of my guards outside the door. “Present, but unobtrusive,” Adriano had growled.