Fractured Freedom(57)
“It’s not okay,” he said. “You’re struggling with losing our baby and I wasn’t there for you then. Now, I’m still not sure I can be. I’m not who you thought I was. I’m an Armanelli.”
I bit my lip as my pussy responded to his words, the danger in them, the desire I suddenly had to be taken by him, knowing he could cause destruction. My body had always wanted him when he was the hometown Army hero, but I wanted the gritty, forbidden part of him too, the one everyone would shun … because it was the part I’d always needed to connect to. “You’re still you.”
He growled, pushing his cock directly into the spot of my panties that he’d been rubbing. It was soaked with my arousal, and I saw how his dick swelled like it was close to where it needed to be.
“Yeah, I’m me with blood on my body and hands, Lilah. Can you handle that? I know.” He placed his left hand on the mirror behind me so that he could lean in and stare at the gash right in front of me. It was about an inch wide, just large enough to potentially be a stab wound.
“That trapezius muscle is going to hurt for a long time.” The wound was right in it. “Did someone do this? What happened?”
“I did a lot worse to them. And it’s classified, Lamb. Or I’d tell you.” He stared down at me, waiting for me to move, to leave him, to say what he did wasn’t right.
I did none of those things. Instead, I held his shoulder still and tried to ignore the sparks flying around between us. “I’m glad to hear it. I’m guessing you’re not going to a hospital.”
“No.” He shook his head slow.
“I can’t talk you into it?”
One side of his mouth pulled up. “No.”
I sighed. “Then, let me clean you up.”
“You going to take care of me, Lilah?”
“Someone has to,” I grumbled.
He searched my face for something, maybe fear or disgust. None of the things he would find there. I just wanted him, more than I ever had before.
His jaw worked up and down, up and down. “You’re staying?”
I studied him then. This man had blood coming from his body, scars marking him, and pain seeping from his gaze on me. When I scanned over his chest again to make sure there weren’t any other wounds, my eyes landed on one of his tattoos: a small lamb in a pasture.
I gasped and instantly traced it with my fingers. “A lamb, Dante?”
He pointed to a wolf on the side, on his rib, looking on at that lamb eating grass. “And the wolf that watches it.”
I bit my lip. With all the other art, I’d never seen it before. Yet, now that I had, I couldn’t stop myself from asking, “Is that for us?”
“No one else it would be for.” He shrugged and pulled at a strand of my hair. “Now, I got to get myself cleaned up so you should go—"
“I’m staying.” I nodded once, determination in my gaze. I wasn’t leaving him now, probably not ever if he had me tattooed on his chest the way he did.
“Then, needle’s there, Lamb.” He pointed to the counter next to me before returning his hand to his cock. My pussy clenched at the sight. “Stitch me up while I fuck my hand to you doing it.”
My throat went dry listening to his words come out dirty, low, and raw. It was like he was daring me, trying to push my limits, trying to spook me to see if I’d go.
I gulped and grabbed the needle. “It’ll look bad if you move.”
In response, he bit my neck and I hissed. “Do as you’re told, Lamb. I want to feel you work.”
He pumped his cock slowly. I felt his eyes on me as I wiped alcohol over my hands, tied the knot of the sterile thread, and pushed the edges of the cut together to create a line I would sew together. “This might hurt a little.”
He hummed. “I intend to mix pleasure with pain.”
I bit my lip and focused on his injury. “It should only take six or seven stitches.”
He smiled at me with a sparkle in his eye as he said, “Let’s make it seven, huh?”
I shrugged and tried not to feel the butterflies in my stomach as I dabbed alcohol on the wound, smirking when he hissed. “Try to focus on your pleasure, Dante, and keep still.”
He narrowed his eyes at my cheeky comment, and just as I put the first stitch through, he sucked on my neck and his hand left the mirror to slide under my panties.
“Jesus, Dante.” I hissed, but he was working us both now, stroking his cock and my pussy at the same time. And my hand started to shake with how turned on I was getting.
“Be a good nurse, Lilah. I know you studied hard to be one.”
I whimpered and announced, “One stitch done. Six more to go. You should have done this before the shower. You were losing blood and could have—”
His thumb put pressure on my clit, and instantly I bucked, my hand jerking the thread of the needle, pulling his skin. He hissed and then smiled at me like he enjoyed making me lose my concentration even at the expense of his comfort.
“I’m going to fuck up, Dante.” I glared at him.
He chuckled. “Delilah, you only swear when you’re mad. You told me when I picked you up it was all the time.” He licked my neck.
“Two stitches done. And honestly, that’s what we’re talking about right now?”