Chapter 23 #2
Her eyes roll back in her head as a soft moan escapes her lips, and her hips press harder into the mattress. And then she is coming, her body shuddering between my legs.
The sight of her, the feel of her pleasure, is the final push that sends me over the edge.
My hips buck as I come, a long, hard shudder of release. She stays with me, her lips and tongue milking me for all I'm worth as the orgasm blows through me.
I grip her hair hard as I press deep into her mouth and pour myself right into her throat, my whole body shuddering with the force of it.
I can feel her swallowing around me, taking all of me, and the thought is so dirty, so intimate, so Caterina, that it prolongs the pleasure until I'm a wrung-out, trembling mess.
I collapse back against the pillows, my chest heaving. My side is screaming now, a hot, sharp pain, but I can't bring myself to care.
She releases me slowly, her tongue swirling around my sensitive tip one last time before she lets my softening cock slip from her lips. I feel a pang of loss at the absence of her mouth, the warmth and wet that surrounded me.
She rests her cheek against my hip, her breathing as ragged as mine.
For a long while, we are both silent, the only sounds in the room our harsh breathing and the quiet hum of the house.
My mind is a blissful blank. For the first time in days, there is no threat. No target. No fear. There is only Caterina. The scent of her. The feel of her. The lingering taste of my pleasure in her mouth.
She looks up at me, her lips swollen and glistening. Her hair is a mess, her cheeks are flushed, and her eyes are bright with a triumphant, sated light.
She has never looked more beautiful.
"Wow," she whispers.
A slow grin spreads across my face. "Wow."
She rests her chin on my hip, her gaze searching mine. "Did I hurt you?"
My smile widens. "No."
"Are you sure? Your side..." Her expression is worried.
"It's fine. I promise," I say. It's a lie. It's a lot more than fine. It's hurting like hell, and she is going to be the death of me. But it's worth every bit of pain.
She doesn't look convinced.
"Adrian, you're bleeding," she says, her gaze dropping to the bandage.
I glance down. There is a small spot of red on the white dressing, no bigger than my thumbnail. From straining. From the tension. From her.
"It's fine," I say again. "Just a little strain. It's stopped already."
She pushes herself up and kneels beside me, her expression serious. "Let me see."
I want to argue. I want to pull her back down and kiss her until she forgets all about the damn wound and everything else that isn't me and her and this bed.
But I don't.
I let her look.
She examines the dressing with a focused, almost clinical intensity, her gentle fingers checking the edges, making sure it's still secure.
"You should have some pain medication," she says.
"I had some of it earlier," I say.
Her head comes up quickly at that.
"You had pain medication?" she asks suspiciously. "Before I came in here, you took pain meds?"
"Only a—"
But before I can get my full answer out. She's off of me and off of the bed completely, in fact. A fact I deeply regret.
Caterina is pacing.
"I can't believe this," she's saying. She stops and faces me. "You're high. I should've known. You would've never agreed to this otherwise."
"Cate—" I try to sit up and wince before dropping back down.
"How could I be so stupid?" she's mumbling to herself. "I should have questioned it."
"Caterina," I say again, not trying to get up this time. "Stop for a second, would you?"
"Stop?" she says incredulously. "Adrian, I'm a damn rapist. A date rapist, even."
I almost laugh at that, but think better of it.
"Okay," I say. "One. That's not what happened. Two. I'm not high."
She glares at me. "You're lying."
"Look at me, Caterina. Really look at me," I say, my tone serious. "Am I high?"
She stares at me, her expression uncertain. She's searching my eyes, looking for the signs, but I know she won't find them.
"I only took a fraction of the dose," I say. "I was in a lot of pain, but I couldn't risk being impaired. I needed my head clear."
She looks down at her hands, then back at me. "Why didn't you say something earlier?" she asks. "Why did you let me...?"
She gestures vaguely at the bed, at me.
"As I recall," I tease, "I told you to get out. Several times. You're just really fucking stubborn."
She flushes, a pretty pink that I'm starting to really like. "You didn't exactly put up a fight," she mumbles.
I smile. "No," I say, and I reach for her.
My hand finds hers, and I pull her gently back toward the bed.
"I didn't put up a fight because I didn't want to fight you, Caterina. I wanted you," I say simply. "I've wanted you since the very first moment you opened your front door and hated me on sight."
She lets me pull her back onto the bed, her expression softening as she settles beside me. "I didn't hate you on sight," she argues, but there's no heat in it. "I hated you before I ever saw you."
My laugh turns into a wince as a sharp pain shoots through my side.
Her expression immediately becomes concerned again. "You need to lie still," she says, her hands gently pushing me back against the pillows. "You're going to tear your stitches."
I give in and lean back, a sigh escaping me. She's right. The pain is getting worse. My little charade is catching up to me.
"You're bossy," I complain, but it's a weak protest.
"I'm careful," she corrects. "There's a difference. A difference, I'm starting to think, that you are not very familiar with."
"I'm a soldier, Caterina. Careful doesn't really come with the territory," I say. "Especially not in my line of work."
"Well, tonight, it does," she says firmly. "Tonight, you are going to lie there and be still, and you are going to rest. And I am going to take care of you."
The idea is so foreign, so... domestic, that it takes me a moment to process. Take care of me? That's my job. That's what I do.
"You don't have to do that," I say.
"I know I don't have to," she says. "I want to."
She stands up, and I watch as she walks, completely unashamed of her nudity, across the room to the small table where the medical supplies are laid out. She moves with a natural grace, a confidence that is as alluring as it is unexpected.
She comes back with a small bottle and a fresh dressing.
"This is going to sting," she warns, her voice gentle.
She kneels on the bed beside me, and I watch as she carefully, efficiently, removes the soiled dressing.
My breath hisses through my teeth as the cool air hits the wound.
"It's not too bad," she says, her gaze fixed on my side. "Just a little strain. You were lucky."
"Tell that to my side," I grit out.
She smiles a little, then carefully cleans the area. The pain is sharp, but bearable. Her touch is light, her movements economical and sure. She knows what she's doing. Another surprise.
"You're good at this," I observe.
"My mother made sure all of us knew basic first aid," she says, not looking up. "She said it was a necessary skill in our family." There's a hint of something in her tone, something sad and wry.
"And your father?" I ask.
Her movements pause for a fraction of a second. "My father's lessons were... different."
I don't push. I can read between the lines. Her father taught her how to shoot. How to play poker. How to be a princess. Her mother taught her how to survive.
She finishes cleaning and carefully applies the fresh dressing, her touch gentle but firm. Then she stands up and goes to the dresser, pouring a glass of water.
She comes back and hands me the glass. "Drink this."
I do, my eyes never leaving her face. She is a study in contradictions. A siren and a caregiver. A mob princess and a trauma nurse. A woman who took my cock in her throat with a hungry enthusiasm and is now worrying about my damn stitches.
"Thank you," I say, my voice a little rough.
She takes the glass from me and sets it on the nightstand.
"I want you to take the rest of the medication," she says. "The full dose."
"No," I say, without hesitation.
Her expression firms. "Adrian, don't be an idiot. You're in pain. You need to rest."
"I can't be knocked out, Caterina. Not here. Not with you," I say. "My job is to keep you safe. I can't do that if I'm drooling in a drug-induced haze."
"You have a team of your own people outside," she argues.
"Who aren't in this room," I counter. "Who can't hear what's happening in this house. Who can't be here if someone decides to come through that door." I nod toward the locked door. "I need to be alert."
She looks at the door, a flicker of fear in her eyes. She knows I'm right. We are in a den of vipers, and while we were lost in each other, the danger has not gone away.
"I understand that, but I need you to recover, and you can't do that if you're in pain all the time. Come on, just one night," she pleads. "Please, Adrian."
"I will take a half dose again," I compromise. "Later."
"Later?" she asks, confused. "Why later?"
"Because, if I recall correctly," I say, wrapping my hand around her wrist and pulling her back down to the bed, "we were in the middle of something."
Her eyes widen. "You cannot be serious."
"I am very serious," I say, and I pull her down for a kiss. "I haven't had a single piece of that pussy yet, Caterina. Not a touch, not a taste, not a fuck."
She looks at me with wide eyes, but I can feel the small tremors in her body, see the desire in her eyes. "You're insane."
"Would you really deny an injured man?" I whisper against her lips. "Especially one who's in a great deal of pain?"
She laughs, a low, husky sound. "You are without a doubt the most manipulative, stubborn, dangerous man I have ever met."
"And you are the most stubborn, beautiful, maddening woman I've ever had the pleasure of protecting," I say, and I kiss her again.