Chapter 29 Elena
ELENA
Morning light comes through the window, soft and golden, in shades I haven't seen in eighteen months.
I blink awake slowly, my body heavy with the kind of sleep that comes only when you're finally, truly safe.
Adrian is beside me, his left arm strapped across his body in the sling. The white bandages only have a hint of dried blood now.
Even in sleep, he looks tense, jaw tight, brow furrowed. The man doesn't know how to rest, not really.
We didn't do much after the doctor and nurse left. Just stayed in this room together. Lucian and Victor came to check on him and told him they had some business to look into and that we didn't need to worry about anything. "The house is in full lockdown, men stationed everywhere," Lucian had said.
Once they left, we ordered food. Adrian made sure I got my papana?i, and I don't think I've ever inhaled a dessert so fast. The fried dough melted on my tongue, the sour cream and jam bursting with flavor I'd dreamt about.
I don't even think Adrian managed to have any.
He just watched me eat with this quiet smile, like seeing me happy was enough for him, which I was happy about because, honestly, I didn't want to share it.
I stretch carefully, and Adrian stirs beside me. His eyes shift beneath his lids, and I freeze. I don't want to wake him. I can't imagine what being shot feels like, but I'm pretty sure rest is what's needed.
I sit up gently and look around the bedroom.
The traditional old furniture, the paintings of the Romanian countryside, it's all so familiar.
I've slept in this room so many times. I've had Adrian sneak in here so many times when we stayed during the summers, his hand over my mouth to keep me quiet as we fucked in the dark.
I like thinking about those memories, the happy ones. My mind has about a year-and-a-half gap between them, so it's nice to start having them again.
I stand and walk over to the window and look outside. The houses and trees stretch out before me, the rooftops of Bra?ov dotted with red brick and chimneys.
I'm home.
I'm truly home.
I'm never leaving this city. Never again.
A soft knock at the door pulls me from my thoughts.
I grab the robe hanging over the chair and put it on, tying the belt loosely around my waist, and walk over to the door.
I turn the handle and gently open it.
"Bun? diminea?a. I'm here to check the stitches," the doctor says, nodding to me, a bag in his hand.
"Who is it?" Adrian's voice is rough with sleep behind me.
I glance over my shoulder and see him propped up on his good elbow, his dark eyes focusing on me.
"It's the doctor," I say, then look back at the man standing in the doorway. "Please, come in."
I step aside, letting the doctor enter. He walks over to the bed, setting his bag down on the nightstand, and begins unpacking supplies: gloves, gauze, antiseptic.
"Let's take a look," the doctor says, snapping on the blue gloves.
Adrian shifts, turning slightly so the doctor can access his shoulder. The sling comes off first, and Adrian winces as the doctor peels away the bandages. I move closer, standing near the foot of the bed, my hands twisting the robe's belt.
I don't like seeing him in any kind of pain.
The stitches are dark against his skin. The edges around them are red, but not bleeding. The doctor inspects them carefully, his fingers pressing gently around the area.
"How's the pain?" he asks.
"Manageable," Adrian says.
The doctor hums, unconvinced, and moves to the bicep wound. He repeats the process, checking the stitches, probing the skin. Adrian's jaw tightens, but he doesn't make a sound.
"It looks good," the doctor finally says, stepping back. "You're healing well. No signs of infection."
He reaches into his bag and pulls out a bottle of pills, setting it on the nightstand.
"Antibiotics. Twice a day until they're gone. No skipping doses."
Adrian nods.
The doctor turns to me, his expression serious.
"He's cleared to shower, but you need to keep his left arm strapped up and the stitches completely dry. No exceptions."
"Okay," I say.
He digs into his bag again and produces a stack of large plastic sheets.
"Use these," he says, handing them to me. "They are stick-on on one side. Wrap them around the shoulder and bicep to help keep them dry. Press firmly so they seal."
I take the sheets, holding them carefully.
"I'll be back in a week to check on him," the doctor says, packing up his supplies. "Call if anything changes: fever, excessive swelling, discharge from the wounds. Understood?"
"Understood," I say.
The doctor nods, grabs his bag, and as he leaves, looks back. "And make sure he takes those pills," he says, then leaves. "La revedere, o zi bun?," he adds right before shutting the door.
"La fel," I say out of instinct, but I don't think he hears me.
Adrian groans, sitting up and leaning back against the headboard. He stares down at his left arm and shakes his head.
"Useless," he says.
I move to the nightstand, picking up the pill bottle and a glass of water I'd left there last night. I shake out one pill and hand it to him.
"Take this."
He stares at me and grabs it. "Yes, boss," he says, putting it into his mouth. I smirk and hand him the water.
After he drinks, he hands the glass back to me.
"Now get up," I say, setting the glass down. "I'm going to help you shower and change. It'll help you feel better. Then we can go outside and eat breakfast. It's a beautiful day."
Adrian looks at me, one eyebrow raised, and a slow smile spreads across his face.
"Oh, I like this bossy side," he says, his voice low and teasing.
I cross my arms, fighting the smile threatening to break free.
"I'm serious, Adi. It'll be good for you."
"I know," he says, throwing the blankets off himself with his good hand.
I help him stand, and he towers over me.
"I usually prefer to do the undressing," he says, looking me up and down, "but I'll let you handle it today."
Heat flushes through me, and I roll my eyes, grabbing his good hand.
"Oh, come on."
I lead him into the massive en-suite bathroom, the marble floors cool beneath my feet. I always found this bathroom ridiculously too big. White marble is everywhere, complete with a deep soaking tub and a walk-in shower with glass doors and multiple showerheads.
I turn on the hot water, letting it run on my hand until it turns warm. I wipe my hand on my robe, then turn back to Adrian.
"I'll help keep your mind off the pain," I say, untying the belt of my robe.
I let it fall, the fabric pooling at my feet, and I strip naked.
Adrian's eyes darken, his gaze dragging down my body.
"Fuck," he breathes.
I step toward him, my fingers finding the velcro strip keeping his sling in place. I undo it carefully and take it off, doing my best to avoid him moving so much. I run my fingers over his hard pecs, losing myself for a moment at the way his skin feels beneath my fingertips.
"You're supposed to be helping me feel better, not torturing me," he says, his voice dark.
"I am," I say, moving to his sweatpants. I hook my fingers into the waistband and pull them down slowly.
His cock is already half-hard, pressing against his boxers.
"Leni," he warns.
I smile, pulling his boxers down next. His cock springs free, thick and ready, and I can't help the satisfaction rising in my chest.
"Careful," I say, guiding him toward the shower. "You're injured."
"I don't feel too injured right now," he says with a slight smile.
I grab one of the plastic sheets and press it against his shoulder, smoothing it down until it seals. I repeat the process with his bicep, making sure the edges are tight.
"There," I say. "Does that feel alright?"
"Yeah," he nods, looking down at it. "Thank you, Nurse Elena."
I laugh, stepping into the shower first, the hot water hitting my skin. Adrian follows, stepping in carefully, and I position him so the spray doesn't hit his left side, keeping his shoulder and arm perfectly dry.
I reach for the soap, lathering it in my hands, and press my palms against his chest. His skin is hot, slick with water, and I move slowly, washing him carefully. My fingers trace the hard lines of his muscles, the ripples of his stomach, the tattoo going across his ribs.
Even with two bullet holes, he's still the perfect specimen of a man. So cut and defined, hard in all the right places.
He watches me, his breathing uneven, his good hand braced against the tile wall.
Speaking of being hard in all the right places, I smile and move lower.
My soapy hands wrap around his cock, and he groans, his head falling back.
"Leni…"
I stroke him slowly, my grip firm, the soap making everything smooth. His hips jerk forward as I run my hand up and down his shaft.
"How's that feel?" I ask, looking up at him, seeing the pleasure in his eyes.
"Fucking amazing," he says, a smile playing on his lips.
I laugh and rinse him off under the spray, the water washing away the suds.
Then I drop to my knees.
The shower floor tile is hard beneath me, but I don't care. I look up at him, water dripping down his body, his cock hard and ready in front of my face.
He licks his lips as I take him in my hand, stroking once, twice before leaning forward and licking the tip. His taste floods my mouth, salt and heat, and I moan, taking him deeper.
His good hand fists my hair, gripping tight as I work him with my mouth. I hollow my cheeks, sucking hard, and his groan echoes off the tile walls.
"Fuck, Leni," he gasps. "Your mouth feels so good," he says, bucking his hips slightly.
I take him deeper, my hand working what I can't fit, and his hips thrust forward, harder this time. I gag slightly but don't stop, letting him use my mouth, letting him take what he needs.
The water beats down on us, steam all around me, and I lose myself as his hard cock slides against my tongue while I listen to the sounds he makes above me.
"Fuck, baby," he says, pushing my head down on his cock. "You've been a bad girl, haven't you?"
I nod, my mouth full. "Mmm."
"Yeah," he says, swaying his hips. "Bad girls get taught lessons," he says, and thrusts forward, making me gag.
"That's it. Take all of me. Let me hear you gag, baby," he says, thrusting faster.
I gag over and over as he fucks my face, spit sliding down my chin, but I don't stop.
After a few seconds, he pulls out completely, drool linking between my lips and his tip, and I gasp for air.
My mouth is full of saliva, so I spit on his cock and he slides back in, making me gag again, giving me all of him.
I double my efforts now, wanting to taste his come. I start sucking harder, my hand twisting at the base, and he goes still, letting me work him.
"I'm… fuck, I'm close," he says, his voice tight as he grips my hair.
I feel his cock growing larger in my mouth, my jaw wide as I keep my pace.
He growls and twitches, and hot, thick come spills into my mouth. I keep going, swallowing everything he gives me. I don't stop until he's shaking, his grip in my hair loosening.
I pull back slowly, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, and I look up at him.
"I am your good girl, aren't I?" I ask, smiling.
His chest heaves, his eyes dark and wild, and he stares down at me like I've just destroyed him.
"Stand up," he says, his voice wrecked.
I do, and he cups my face with his good hand, kissing me hard. His tongue sweeps into my mouth, tasting himself, and I melt against him.
"Yes, you're my good girl," he says. "I don't know how much that helped my arm," he continues, and we both laugh, "but it definitely helped my mood."
I stand on my tiptoes and kiss him again. "Well, let's finish and get out. Breakfast outside, remember?"
"Of course, Leni."
We finish showering and get out.
I get dressed first, jeans and a sweater, and then I help Adrian. We change his bandages, and then I help him dress: a black shirt, matching jeans, and his boots.
I tie the sling around his neck, and as I velcro it together, there's a sharp, heavy knock on the bedroom door.
We both freeze and look up at each other.
"Adrian," Victor's voice carries through the wood. "Adrian."
"Yeah," he says as I adjust his sling, making sure it's on okay and his arm is secure.
"Come downstairs. Hurry, brother. We need to talk," Victor says.
And just like that, the peaceful, intimate bubble we've been living in shatters.
Adrian's jaw tightens, his eyes darkening instantly. The lover vanishes, replaced by the lethal enforcer I know too well.
He leans down, pressing a kiss to my forehead, his lips lingering for a moment.
Then he moves to the nightstand, grabbing his gun and tucking it into his waistband.
"Let's go," he says.
I follow him to the door, my heart pounding, and he opens it.
Victor stands in the hallway, his expression grim. Something's not right.
Adrian doesn't hesitate. He steps out, his body already shifting into combat mode, despite his loss of use of one arm, and I stay close behind.
This is it, I feel.
The war is starting.