Teacher, writer, pilot (in training,) lover of books and anything that sparkles. Member of Authors Guild and best selling author of Loving Her and Honest Love. Be sure to check out my London Brothers series and other novels. Writing is a blessing. Teaching is a passion. And flying is icing on the cake. ;)
Hope your enjoy.
I first took her right arm, holding her hand in one of mine, then slowly rubbed the bubbles from her wrist to her shoulder in one long motion before making a slight twist and washing the underside as I brought my hand back to her wrist. She watched my hand, then looked at my face as I kept my eyes trained on her arm. I laid her arm down in the water and used my hands to scoop water and rinse her arm before I squirted a little more soap into my hands and started on her shoulders and the top of her left arm — the one with the cast.
I moved to kneel at the end of the tub where her shoulders were resting, then took my soapy hands and massaged Lori Ann’s shoulders and neck. She let out a moan as my hands worked the tension out of her. I leaned forward and whispered into her ear. “I love touching you, baby.”
“Feels so good, Jace. More, please.”
“Yes, more.” I pushed my hands further onto her chest, right above her beautiful breasts, but didn’t touch them as I made small circles. She let out a groan when I removed my touch in order to get more soap. “Shh…,” I whispered.
I grew up in an incredibly loving home. The only child of second generation immigrants from a small town in Italy. My grandparents, my father’s parents, had had an arranged marriage, which I always thought was completely crazy, but my grandmother used to tell me how much she respected my grandfather even from the beginning. She’d told me that together, they'd made the decision to leave Italy, immigrate to the United States and start a life here, away from all the traditions of their families. They wanted to love each other, start fresh. And few years into their marriage, she said she fell head over heels for her husband. My grandfather used to get the biggest grin on his face when she’d tell the story. He’d shrug his shoulders and say, “What’s not to love? Look at me.” Then, he’d laugh, walk to my grandmother and kiss her so tenderly just before giving her a swat on the ass. Of course, my grandmother would chastise his behavior, but always with a slight smirk and a wink. So in love and committed, they died within hours of each other, during their sleep not long after Antonio and I married. I always thought I'd find that kind of love. What a fool...
I watched as he stared at my naked body and could see the pain in his eyes when he took in all the bruises still healing. Without a word, he leaned down, licked then kissed every last bruise around my chest, ribs and stomach. Tears filled my eyes at the sweet, gentle gesture. He worked his way back up to my neck and behind my ear before stopping at my lips. He froze and whispered, “I’m so sorry.”
The men on the other side of the door were speaking Italian.
I listened and translated most of what I heard to Jason and Craig, but not all. I didn’t need them knowing the sick, twisted shit that my husband told Johnny he was going to do to me when he and his men dragged me back to our house. I fought like hell not to show my fear and it worked. Jason was too busy forming a plan with Craig to notice that I was close to fainting or at least throwing up. Hearing those familiar voices, ones that were once my protectors, speak so coldly about me, made me ill.
In that moment, I knew two things were certain:
1.) If they caught me and I was forced back to Antonio, I’d be dead in a week.