Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 79833 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79833 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
His movements become jerky as he lifts my arms and pulls the hoodie over my head. My pajama top follows next. He pauses to look at my breasts before ripping his own hoodie over his head, exposing his powerful, naked torso.
In one swift movement, he lifts me from the chair onto the desk. I spread my legs, making space for him, and he doesn’t hesitate. He steps between them and dives for my mouth even as he fastens both hands on my ass and grinds his hard-on against the center of my thighs. I wrap my legs around him and deepen the kiss while smoothing my palms over the broad expanse of his rock-hard back.
He yanks impatiently at the elastic of my pajama bottoms when I brush my fingers over something wet on his skin.
I still.
Feeling my hesitation, he chases after me with more determination, kissing me with fiercer urgency and working harder to free my pants.
I push him away and lean back to bring my hand to my face.
My fingers are covered in red.
Blood.
His blood.
“Oh my God, Sav.”
He utters a frustrated groan and tries to seduce me into continuing what we started by kissing me again, but I keep him at bay.
“You’re bleeding,” I say, my heart pounding in my chest at the sight of his blood.
He pauses and glances at my fingers. Surprise washes over his face. Craning his neck to the side, he looks over his shoulder to inspect his back.
I unwrap my legs from around his waist and turn him with my hands on his hips. “Let me see.”
He allows me to position him at one-hundred-and-eighty-degrees.
A long, deep gash runs over the spot where his kidney is situated. Blood oozes from the wound and drips down his back.
“You’re cut,” I say, my voice breathless.
“Not by a knife.” Studying the injury, he says thoughtfully, “It must’ve been a rock.”
“A rock?” I exclaim.
He looks at me. “We had to swim along the shore for a while. It’s impossible to see the rocks in the dark. I didn’t even feel it.”
The blood must’ve soaked his hoodie without either of us noticing the red on the black fabric.
“You have to see a doctor,” I say, hopping from the desk and adjusting my pajama bottoms. “That cut needs stitches.”
I make to go around him, but he blocks my way.
“No doctors, treasure. You know why.”
“Someone you can trust then.” I huff, the worry taking its toll. “Surely, you must have a doctor on the team.”
He smiles as if he finds the comment amusing. “We don’t employ doctors or keep one on standby.”
“Nicole,” I say, my tone decisive. “She knows you.”
“I can’t implicate Nicole in my crimes.”
“For crying out loud, Saverio.” My concern transforms into irrational anger. “What about one of your men?”
Despite my agitation, his smile stretches. “I sent them home to rest. I don’t trust the two gorillas outside with a needle, at least not anywhere near my skin.”
“For a made man, you’re very inadequately prepared.”
He only laughs. “I survived before.”
“Well, one day it may really be serious, and then—”
He places a finger on my lips. “Don’t jinx me.”
“Ugh. You’re impossible.” I pull away and prop my hands on my hips. “Where’s your medicine kit?”
“I keep one in the kitchen under the sink.”
“That’s good to know,” I mumble to myself as I pick up my pajama top from the floor and pull it over my head.
“I’ll rinse off in the shower,” he says. “It’s no big deal.”
Pointing a finger at him, I say, “You’ll stay right there if you know what’s good for you.”
He grins as if the situation is funny, but at least he doesn’t argue.
In the kitchen, I scrub my hands in the sink before quickly finding the medicine box and carrying it back to the study.
Saverio is perched on an ottoman with his elbows resting on his knees and his fingers steepled, staring at the cold fireplace. The elastic of his sweatpants is tainted red, the sight making me queasy not because of the blood but because he’s hurt.
I make quick work of cleaning the area around the wound and disinfecting the cut before preparing a needle with surgical thread.
“Where’s your local anesthetic?” I ask, rummaging through the box.
“Don’t have any,” he says over his shoulder.
I look up. “How can you not have any?”
He shrugs and repeats, “Don’t have any.”
“If you have surgical thread, you obviously keep it because you needed it before.”
“I stitched Dante up a couple of times as well as a few guys who got nicked in fights. Never needed anesthetic.”
“Are you for real?” I ask, angry all over again. “Why don’t you keep any? Do you have to prove how tough you are?”
“What am I going to do? Rob a hospital or hijack an ambulance? If I want anesthetic, I’ll have to bribe a medical professional, and that’s not the kind of trail I want leading to me.”