CHAPTER 38
Quinn
“Hey,” she says to me. It’s late and while I’m surprised she’s awake, I’m more surprised she’s actually still in bed. She didn’t leave her room all day which must mean she’s in pretty bad shape. Physically.
“Hey,” I reply. “Why are you still up?”
“Sleeping all day will do that to you. Did you find the Russian?” I shake my head. I study her. I wonder if she knows he’s not Russian. Probably. I sigh.
“I can move to the couch,” my wife hears my fatigue and starts to try and move.
“Stop. You’ll sleep there.”
She smiles, devious as hell, “So, you’re finally sleeping with me?”
I groan as I start for the closet and strip off my clothes. Once I’m down to just my boxers, I hesitate. I consider putting on a shirt but knowing Luna, she’ll just tell me I’m full of shit and would never sleep in a shirt by myself, and, as fucking usual, she’d be right.
Time to face the damn music I married.
I walk out and she looks up from her book. Those deep chocolate eyes go wide. Her mouth falls open. Cute. Her eyes darken with heavy lids. She bites her bottom lip. Adorable.
And deadly.
“We will only be sleeping,” I say as I reach the open side of my bed. I put her on the inner side without thinking but of course it makes sense. I guess this is my side now. I shake my head, which is clearly a mess if I’m worrying about domestic sleeping arrangements.
“Theerrrre they are,” Luna says. I frown. “Your tattoos. Your arms are bare, I was starting to think you didn’t have any.” She puts her tiny, cold hands on me and tries to turn my torso to get a good look at my back. She fails. “Let me see. It’s not like I’m never going to see your back."
Should’ve worn the shirt, you tool.
“Holy shit,” she whispers. It’s a common reaction to the ink.
The artwork is detailed, a bunch of skulls, stacked.
Covering my whole back. Various sizes. Some incorporate scars into the design like a bullet hole for an eye, some cover scars altogether.
“What’s with the bats?” She asks as she reaches out a finger to trace over the lines.
A few of the larger skulls have bats living in the eye sockets.
“Hunt at night, live a long time—”
“Creepy as hell.”
I nod.
“There’s so many skulls…are these…” she can’t finish her question.
“A record. Yes,” I say simply.
She pulls her hand away.
Good. She thinks she knows me. Sees good in me. Sees gentleness, maybe honor, anything worth admiring or redeeming. She’s wrong.
“Sleep, Luna,” I say softly as I lay back and settle into the sheets.
She sighs, “Gotta say, this is not how I imagined our first time sleeping together would be.” She’s smiling as she says it.
And she’s shifting closer to me. Did she not just see the hundreds of lives I’ve taken?
Is she not repulsed? Terrified? Her hand finds my bicep.
Don’t respond. Don’t react. “Maybe I should take my clothes off too.”
“Mancini. You’re hurt.”
“You aren’t,” her hand starts to move over me, down me, but I grab her wrist.
“No.”
“Come on. You’re telling me you haven’t had sex with busted ribs? I’m sure you have.”
“You don’t have busted ribs you have a huge fucking stab wound down your whole side!” I almost yell the words. I feel her flinch. I soften my hold on her and glide my fingers over her smooth skin. “All I can see when I close my eyes is your blood. Your limp body. Your beautiful face gone slack.”
“Maybe you need to see something else,” she says and she whips off her shirt. My shirt.
Fuck me and my fucking life.
“Luna,” I try to sound menacing but I just sound like a man about to break.
“I could…be on top. Then you won’t crush me,” she says, looking at my dick which is growing harder by the second. Her voice betrays her though. She’s nervous. Almost…shy.
Damn, she’s even blushing.
I am the luckiest, sorriest bastard that’s ever lived. I sit up.
“Lie back,” I order. She does not listen because of course she doesn’t. I reach forward and grab her neck. “I’m going to lay you down, spread you out and take you with my tongue. You’re going to lay still and take it.”
She freezes, shocked for a beat, then she rolls her eyes. “Fine,” she exhales the word like she’s bored. Like she’s done this a million times. I block that thought out.
I guide her down to the mattress. I sit back and stare, watching her perfect tits thrust up and down. She’s panting already, skin starting to blush across her neck and chest. I move the sheet down, careful to miss the bandage on her side.
I grab her red lace panties and slide them down her long, smooth legs. I grab an ankle and pull it up for a kiss. Damn, her skin is like silk. I look at her face and raise a brow. She nods.
“Tell me if it’s too much,” I say as I start to kiss up her leg. She huffs like she’s offended but she quickly shuts up as I do exactly what I said I would.
I start slow, licking, teasing. But I quickly loose myself in her heat. She’s so tight, so sweet. It takes everything in me not to lift her bottom half up off the mattress so I can feast like I want to. But that would hurt her side, though she wouldn’t show it.
So I stay down, biting, sucking hard. Spearing her mercilessly with my tongue, then adding my fingers. I reach up with my left hand to play with her nipple and barely get two fingers inside when she erupts.
“Quinn!” She screams.
I chuckle into her skin. That took all of maybe two minutes. My little wife with her big game and her blushing cheeks and her sweet virgin pussy. No one has ever tasted her before, I’m positive now. I want to beat my chest and fucking roar like an animal over the fact.
Moron.
Luna, sleepy and sated, starts to move.
“That’s all that’s happening tonight, wife. Sleep.”
Without asking, I gather her into me. She doesn’t protest. In fact, in minutes, she’s out, breathing evenly on my shoulder. I move a strand of near-black hair and tuck it back behind her ear.
“Is breá liom tú,” I whisper, “Agus tá tú chun mé a scrios.”
It’s the truth. I do love her and she is going to destroy me. I’m just not sure I care anymore. A mafia man is always a dead man just biding his time. I just wonder how much longer she’ll give me.