“Come for me, lamb,” he demanded, voice tight. “Come,” he urged even as my walls started to spasm, even as the pleasure got a tight grip on my system.
I was pretty sure it was his name I cried out over and over as the first waves crashed through me, the intensity of which I wasn’t even aware existed before.
“Fuck, Isabella,” Primo groaned, thrusting through my orgasm, dragging it out, making it last, before finally slamming deep, his whole body jerking hard as he came.
I couldn’t tell you how long I clung to him as the unexpected aftershocks racked my system, but by the time my brain seemed to kick back in.
Everything seemed to come at me at once.
I slept with Primo. Which absolutely would have an impact on our dynamic. I couldn’t claim I didn’t want him anymore. I couldn’t keep throwing this forced marriage in his face if I clearly enjoyed being with him.
Second, I’d just let him fuck me without any protection. Without protection. I’d always been insanely careful about things like that. I took my Pill. I used condoms. Always. I’d literally never let someone have that level of intimacy with me before. Not only was that a huge deal to me, but I’d also, you know, been ripped from my life. Which meant I didn’t have my Pills.
Oh, God.
Oh, God.
But even as those thoughts were crossing my mind, so was another one.
Primo was shot.
He was shot, and I could feel the hot, sticky blood from his wound moving down my side.
My hands pressed into his chest and pushed him backward.
“You’re bleeding,” I told him, feeling a little frazzled and overwhelmed and a little bit, well, horrified.
“And you’re dripping with my come,” he said, making my whole body jolt at his words.
“You’re an asshole,” I snapped, shoving him back a step so I could slip off the counter.
“Yeah, but you’re the one who wants to fuck me,” he agreed as I did a penguin waddle toward the shower. Thankfully, Primo was busy getting his cock back in his boxer briefs and pants, so he wasn’t looking.
Reaching in, I turned the shower on full tilt before ripping off my shirt, and moving inside. Looking down, I could see his blood spread all over my stomach, hip, and thigh. I looked like a freaking crime scene.
I went right to scrubbing at the blood with the soap until all traces of it were off me before I even let my gaze slip back toward the rest of the bathroom.
And there was Primo, bent forward, looking down at his wound. One hand was placed over the top of it, stretching the skin taut, while the other hand reached for a long tweezer, and started to dig inside his wound.
My stomach roiled at the image, making my gaze slip away.
But even with my gaze averted, the image stayed in my mind, making me need to take slow, deep breaths, trying to fight back the bile that rose up my throat.
I was vaguely aware a moment later of a slight tinging sound, like the bullet dropping into the sink.
Which only managed to make another wave of nausea move through my system.
Not even a moment later, though, the shower door was opening, and I was all-too-aware of Primo moving into the space. Granted, it wasn’t a normal shower; eight people probably could have stood in it comfortably. But I swear it felt like he was sucking up all the air as soon as he moved inside.
Or maybe that was just because I was starting to feel a little woozy from the whole fishing a bullet out of his own body thing.
“Is it the blood?” Primo asked a moment later, tone curious. To my surprise, there didn’t seem to be even a hint of mocking even though I was pretty sure my entire face was green at that moment.
Swallowing hard, I told him, “It’s the… the tweezers… and the… ugh,” I grumbled, pressing a hand to my mouth, practically tasting the bile.
“Go,” Primo said, tone surprisingly soft, at least for him. “Go to bed,” he added.
“You have a hole in your stomach.”
“I will have Vissi stitch it,” Primo told me.
“Oh, God,” I grumbled, not even bothering to turn off the shower head I was standing under as I rushed out of the enclosure.
I grabbed a towel and went into my walk-in closet for a moment, trying to get myself together. As soon as I was sure I could move around without getting sick, I slipped into some pajamas, and rushed through the bathroom to throw myself under the covers in the bed.
Normally, that would be my chance to overthink having sex with Primo, but it wasn’t long before I heard Vissi come up and go into the bathroom. Where I knew he was going to take a needle and thread to Primo’s skin without, you know, numbing agents or anything.
The thought of that kept me occupied with my nausea until, eventually, I passed out from all the events of the day.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Primo
My side hurt like a motherfucker.
Only an idiot decided to fuck their wife while they had a bullet wedged in their body and a gaping, bleeding hole around it.
That said, it was worth it.
Fuck, was it worth it.
And, hey, the pain helped me stay focused when every fiber of my being wanted to slam deep and come inside her within minutes of feeling her tight walls grabbing my cock.
I hadn’t anticipated that all playing out when I made my way up the stairs to deal with the bullet wedged in my side. It wasn’t the first time, and it probably wouldn’t be the last, so fishing out a bullet wasn’t the big deal it might have been for most people.
But then she’d come out of that closet, terrified, but ready to fight her way out of a bad situation if necessary, and I’d never really been more sure about my choice as I’d been at that moment.
Until a couple minutes later, of course, when she was begging for me to fuck her, when she was taking me inside her, when she was milking my orgasm from me with her own.
I’d fucked her raw.
I never did that shit.
Ever.
First, because you never wanted to catch anything. Second, I didn’t want any unintentional babies. If I was going to have one, I wanted it to be right. With my wife.
And, I guess, that was why I hadn’t paused to find a condom.
Because Isabella was my wife, even if she hadn’t exactly been thrilled about that fact.
And, fuck, I thought sex was good before, but being able to come inside my woman? Yeah, that shit was next-level. It was such an intense feeling that anytime it even flashed across my mind afterward, I felt myself starting to get hard again.
So I had to stop letting my mind go there.
Because there was shit to be done.
Like getting the fucking wound stitched up which was every bit as unpleasant as it sounded. And then I had to get back down to my men to have a meeting.
I wasn’t an idiot.
It wasn’t just some neighborhood moron who got brave and tried to steal from me. Quite frankly, no one was that fucking stupid around here.
The problem was, I’d been acting out of a protective instinct, knowing Isabella was sitting in the closet terrified, instead of using my head, and making sure the fucker stayed alive for me to get answers out of.
I’d nearly severed his head from his fucking body with the knife I’d grabbed along with my gun. If it weren’t for my brothers, I probably would have done it.