Wrong (Spada Crime Family #2) (16 page)

“I’m not going to the doctor.” His tone is stubborn, and he damn near pouts. I want to smack him.

“Don’t you have some kind of mob doctor? I thought all the mob people had mob doctors. You know, like in that one movie?”

That gets a laugh out of him. “What one movie?”

“I don’t know.” I take a closer look at the bruising and finish divesting him of his shirt. He’s got a few more marks, but nothing as bad as the big one over his ribs. He’s got a split lip, too—I’m surprised I didn’t see it earlier. It’s not bleeding at the moment, though, so it can wait. His knuckles are bloody, too—no real surprise there. “That one movie with the mob doctor.”

“That narrows it down.”

I poke at the bruises on his ribs, and he flinches. “Easy.”

“I’m trying to figure out if you have a broken rib.”

“Making use of your extensive medical training?”

“Yes.” He’s making fun, but I figure if I can poke him on the darkest spot of the bruise and he’s not screaming, he probably doesn’t have a broken rib. I poke him again and he just curses inventively. “I don’t think it’s broken.” I push to my feet. “Let me go get some stuff so I can clean some of this up.”

To my surprise, by the time I get back from the bathroom, he’s stripped down to his underwear and lying on his back on the couch. There are more bruises on his shins, and one shin’s missing some skin. I make a tutting sound and kneel beside him.

He’s quiet for a few minutes, letting me see to him. I don’t think there’s much I can do besides clean and bandage, but on the other hand nothing looks like it needs stitches or a cast or any other sort of advanced treatment. He’s just banged up.

Finally, as I’m finishing up a makeshift bandage over his torn shin, he says quietly, “You shouldn’t have gone there. Definitely not without my permission.”

I freeze. This is it, then. This is where he gets up and, injuries be damned, starts the hitting and yelling.

“I know.” I keep my voice as careful and nonconfrontational as possible. “I left my computer there. I needed to get it. I couldn’t stand the thought of Sal with it.”

He studies my face. I’m just sitting there, matching his gaze, fingers picking at the wrapping on another big adhesive bandage. I wonder what he sees in my eyes.

It must satisfy him a little, because he nods. “You should have called me. I would have sent one of my guys.”

I nod. It’s hard for me to explain why I didn’t do exactly that. But if I’d gone to him for help, it would have been admitting I couldn’t take care of things on my own. That the bakery might as well not be mine at all. That’s what Sal wanted, and I wouldn’t give it to him. I don’t want to give it to Nick, either. My whole life is tied up in that bakery. It’s the only real meaning there is to me.

“I understand.” I dip my head, afraid to look at him. I’m having too much trouble reading him. He’s not Sal—Sal had every emotion right there on his face, and most of them were ugly. Nick’s different. It’s like he holds everything close until he’s ready to let it go.

It’s the “letting it go” part that has me spooked. I don’t know how explosive it’ll be.

“Good.” He reaches over and touches my chin, tipping my head up so I have to look at him. “I’m just trying to keep you safe, Sarah. You have to understand that.”

I nod, though I understand all too well that he’s not just protecting me. He’s protecting himself, his business, his reputation, and the heir he hopes I’m in the process of providing for him. None of this is really about me.

Except…

“Why did you do it?” The question is out of my mouth before I quite have time to think about it.

“Do what?”

“Run in there. Risk your life by going into the bakery.”

He doesn’t answer right away. There’s actually something on his face that makes me think he’s not sure how to answer at all. “I didn’t want you to lose it.” Then his face hardens, and he looks straight at me. “You’re mine, dammit. Nobody tries to hurt what’s mine.”

“Nick, I can’t—”

Before I can finish the thought, he shoves up from the couch. He’s angry now. “You shouldn’t have fucking done it, Sarah. You should have been
here
.
Right here
. Where I told you to be. How hard is that to understand?”

I thought we were past that, but apparently not. His eyes are flashing sparks at me. It’s a hot, lively anger, not the cold fury Sal always directed toward me.

“The whole place would be gone right now if I hadn’t.” It’s the only protest I can think to make. “It’s all I have, Nick. It’s the only thing I have that’s really mine.”

“It doesn’t matter. Sarah, I
told
you to stay put. I can’t protect you if you don’t follow orders.”

“You don’t understand, Nick.” I don’t know why I’m trying to explain myself to him. “That store’s the only thing I have that proves I’m not a failure.” The irony of that hits me suddenly, and I feel my eyes go hot with unshed tears. “And even that’s failing. My parents were right.”

He grabs me so suddenly I can’t react, except to stare at him, eyes wide, as his hand clenches on my face. That anger is still there in his eyes, but there’s something else in it. I’m not sure what it is. Fear? How could it be fear? I’m pretty sure Nick’s not afraid of anything.

“I don’t know what your fucking parents told you, but there is so much more to you than that fucking bakery.”

I shake my head. I can’t really talk right now with his hand half mushing my face—it doesn’t really hurt, but it’s certainly disconcerting. He must see something in my eyes, because he lets go.

“I was trying to make something of myself. My parents wanted me to go into law, or medicine. I just wanted to have a bakery. It’s all I have to prove I actually succeeded at something even though they told me I never would.” The words are small, and I’m surprised I’m even saying them. There’s no way Nick will understand. He’s in the family business in one of the most literal ways a person can be.

But he nods slowly. Maybe he really does get it. “You need to let that go, Sarah.” I swallow hard, my stomach dropping. “You’re too fucking proud. So proud, so stubborn, that you gave up your life for that goddamn loan.” I start to protest, but he’s not done. “And you damn near gave up your life literally.”

“It’s
mine
, Nick. I don’t have anything else.” I want to scream it into his face, but I can’t draw enough breath. My chest is too tight.

“You have your
life
, Sarah. Maybe that doesn’t mean anything to you, but it does to me. The bakery’s just a building. It’s plaster and wood and equipment. That’s all. Every bit of it can be replaced.
You
can’t be replaced. You need to remember that.”

I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. Tears go down my face in hot streaks. This isn’t what I expected from him. No one’s ever talked to me like this before—like I actually matter. I’ve always been a means to an end. Even my parents just wanted me to somehow fulfill their own dreams. Achieve some kind of success that they’d pre-formed in their heads. Any other kind of success didn’t count. They never cared about what I wanted.

I find it hard to believe that Nick does, either, but that’s sure what it sounds like. Like he actually cares about
me
. Like his idea of protecting me is exactly that, and not some trumped-up way to keep hold of his power over Sal.

Finally I just nod. I still can’t speak. I’m afraid to. I peel the back off the adhesive bandage I’ve been holding and set it in place over the big, deep bruise on his ribs. There’s no broken skin, but it’ll at least provide some padding and keep his shirt from rubbing against the bruise.

He closes a hand around mine as I’m carefully patting the sticky edges down, trying to get enough pressure for them to stick without hurting him. I look up and he smiles a little at me.

“Thanks,” he says. “Usually I have to patch myself up.”

“Well, if you wouldn’t get into fistfights with people…”

He gives a soft chuckle, and I let myself meet his eyes. Then, before I can think much about what I’m doing, I lean forward and kiss him.

It’s a soft kiss, because I know his lip is broken open and I don’t want to hurt him. But before I can think much about that, he’s pushing into me with his mouth, hard, and I can taste blood. I feel more than hear a soft whimper in the back of my throat.

Nick draws back. “I’m sorry. Are you okay?”

“I’m okay.” I reach up and brush his lower lip, which is seeping blood a little. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Forget it.” He kisses me again, this time engulfing me in his arms, the strong contours of muscle pressing against me. It almost makes me feel safe. His arms make a cage, but it’s a cage where I’m truly protected.

I thought it would be impossible for me to actually feel something for Nick, but I’m beginning to doubt that assumption. I almost think he might have feelings for me, even, as unlikely as that might seem. His hands on my back hold me firmly but gently as he kisses me deeper and deeper, his tongue exploring.

I catch fire so fast with Nick. There’s no need to coax or convince me or my body. The pleasure ignites immediately between my legs, and I feel like I’m melting. It’s so intense, so consuming I’m already shivering on the edge of an orgasm, and all he’s done is kiss me.

After a minute or two he draws back, his breath harsh and ragged. I glance down without thinking about it and see his cock hard and straining under his dark boxer briefs. He starts to pull at the buttons on my shirt, opening them.

I lay a hand on his to stop him, but he doesn’t stop. “Nick…you’re hurt.”

“Don’t care.”

“I don’t want to hurt you. I might bump that bruise or—”

His mouth is on mine again before I can finish the sentence, and then he reaches behind me and pops the clasp on my bra. He moves to push my shirt off me, and I move with him, shrugging out of the sleeves and letting the bra slide down my arms. It lands in his lap.

Breaking the kiss, he latches on to one breast, sucking so hard I gasp. It hurts, but a sharp tingling follows the initial stab of pain, the sensation tracing deep into my breast and echoing in my clit. His teeth clench a little harder then release, then he moves to the other breast and does the same thing.

“Pants off,” he mutters as he releases that nipple. I fumble at my buttons until he reaches down to help, shoving my zipper down, peeling my pants out of the way. I lift from the floor to help him.

“Get up,” he says. “Sit on my lap.”

“Nick, are you sure?” That bruise is huge. If I shift just the wrong way…

“Do it.” His hands close around my waist and lift me, as if to assure me he’s quite serious. I start to turn to sit on his lap with my back to him, but his hands tighten. “Not like that. Straddle me.”

I shake my head, and for a second his mouth tightens, but then I grab at the waistband of his boxer briefs and he gets where I’m going. He lifts his hips so I can peel them down, and a few seconds later we’re both naked as I take the opportunity to get my own pants all the way off as well. Then I carefully straddle his thighs, trying to avoid the big bruise as I slide a knee to either side of his hips.

His hot, naked cock pushes up against my thigh then into the crease of my groin when I settle onto him. He closes his eyes a moment, and I think maybe I’ve hurt him, but then he reaches between us and pinches my clit. His eyes grab mine, holding me tight in his gaze.

I can’t move. His fingers on me are squeezing and pinching, nearly painful, thoroughly intense as sparks begin to shoot up my abdomen. Holding my clit between his knuckles, he shoves his thumb inside me and starts thrusting.

I’m not sure what to do. His cock is hard against me, but if I try to stroke it, I’ll move his hand out of position, and I really don’t want to do that. So I go with the flow. If he wants me to do something different, I’m sure he’ll tell me.

His thumb thrusts hard and fast inside me, his knuckles sliding back and forth along the swollen nub of my clit. If I weren’t so slick—damn near dripping—the sensation would be intolerable. As it is, it’s building so fast inside me I’m not sure I can stand it much longer.

“Let go,” he says, and I do. The climax is so intense I can’t summon thoughts alongside it. I’m just an empty vessel with hot ecstasy pouring through me, my body shaking while Nick plays me like a musical instrument.

I’m starting to ease down from the peak when he shifts me. His dick moves inside me—it takes no effort on his part except to position me just right. I’m so slick and ready, my body just lets him in.

He slides deep, and I clench down on him, giving him as much firm friction as I can muster. I’m careful how I position myself, grabbing one shoulder to keep my balance but making sure it’s not on the side where he’s been bruised and battered. I’m not sure he’d even care, but I don’t want to hurt him, no matter how macho he’s trying to be.

I expect him to start thrusting right away, but he doesn’t. He holds me there on his lap, eyes matched to mine, like he’s just feeling our connection. I squeeze down so I can feel the full length of him inside me. He’s so hard, and in so deep.

“Your turn.” He says it so quietly I’m not sure I hear him at first.

“My turn for what?”

He bumps his hips up under me just a little. “Take over. Go for it.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” I tell him again. He just laughs a little and slides a hand into my hair.

“You won’t,” he says. “I trust you.”

Suddenly I’m blinking, my eyes hot, and I don’t know why I’m almost crying. Simple words, and not even the words everyone says they want to hear. But they mean more to me than I can even comprehend right now.

He trusts me.

I roll my hips, tightening on him as I draw back, releasing as I move in closer. He tips his head back on the couch, eyes closed, and sets his hands against my waist.

He’s not even watching as I move on him, not trying to shift or control me, not worrying that I might accidentally touch him the wrong way or grab on to a wounded piece of him. There’s a low hum coming from the back of his throat, and there’s a sight smile on his face.