Taken by the Italian Mafia: A Dark City Romance (16 page)

"So what I'm hearing is, if this joker comes by you again, I've gotta step up and take care of business."

"You don't really have to do anything," the words were raw and vulnerable. Rocco opened his eyes, biting back on the stinging pain of his wound to give Whitney his full attention. There was something haunted about her eyes, like she'd come to realize what a terrible situation she now found herself in.
Had the shock finally worn away to expose the good girl beneath? Was she going to run like all the others had?

Their eyes met. Whitney hesitated, holding the disinfectant away from his shoulder. Her lower lip trembled, but in the next moment she found the force of will inside her self needed to stay strong. Whatever demons she struggled against disappeared, and she smiled at him in full. Radiant, dazzling Whitney was back again.

"...But I won't stop you from teaching a lesson to jerks from my past if that's what you want."

He smiled back. Warmth bloomed in Rocco's chest, the air between them thick with something he hadn't felt since he was a naive young teenager noticing women for the first time.

"You can count on it," he murmured as he reached out with his good arm to take her empty hand. "I've got your back."

"And I've got your shoulder," Whitney replied with a playful grin. "Let's get you bandaged up."

Step by step she progressed, dabbing at his wound and cleaning out little bits of fabric from his shirt as she went. When Whitney put the disinfectant away and pulled out a curved needle and medical grade thread in its place, Rocco's stomach lurched.

"You're gonna sew me up?" he asked.

"Um, well yeah. Have you seen how big these wounds are? If we don't stitch you up it won't heal. Haven't you had stitches before?" Eyes curious, yet still lighthearted. Rocco took strength from them.

"Well, yeah, but always from some uptight looking doc in medical scrubs. Guess it just feels more official."

"So then get me a white lab coat, if it makes you feel better." Whitney grinned. "I promise, I'm an old pro at stitches. Your doctor won't be able to tell they aren't his."

Doctors never made Rocco squeamish. He'd spilled enough brains that gore wasn't an issue.
So why was he so anxious around Whitney?
It wasn't because she lacked professional medical training, because Rocco had taken help from people who knew less. He realized he hated the thought of exposing his weakness to her, and that fear was causing him to be weaker yet.

The only way past that fear would be to embrace it.

"Sew me up, Doc," he instructed. Whitney grinned and posed the needle near the site of the injury.

"It sounds cliché, but um, this is going to hurt a little."

But when the needle bore through his skin, there was surprisingly little pain. One stitch drawn closed and tied off, Whitney started a second. As she worked, Rocco forced himself to relax. If Whitney had enough faith in him to trust him even after he'd tried to kill her, he could trust her back. By the time she was drawing the last stitch to a close, he looked over to examine her handiwork. It was impressive, no doctor would be able to tell it from stitches done up in the emergency room.

"All done," Whitney announced as she drew the needle away for the final time. "I'm going to cover it with some antibiotic ointment and then wrap it up. You need to change the bandaging every twenty-four hours, or if it gets wet or really dirty. I think the stitches should stay in for about a week, but um, maybe you should get to a medical professional before then, just in case."

Aftercare was something Rocco was well familiar with, and so when Whitney spoke, he watched her face instead. Heart shaped, beautiful eyes, lush lips... God, was she gorgeous.

"Right." The word lingered between them, the space between them growing heavy once more. Whitney leaned forward subconsciously in an effort to close the space between them. Rocco was more than aware of what she did, her every move on his mind. Mikhail's blood was still splattered across his chest, neck, and chin. He didn't want to kiss her with gore covering him.

"Let's go get cleaned up," Rocco suggested in a whisper. "You can wrap me up after that."

"Okay." The exchange did not disturb the chemistry between them. Instead, Whitney took the hand of his uninjured arm and guided him to his feet. The touch was soft, and he craved more of it.

Hand in hand, comfortable in their silence, they walked from the kitchen and up the stairs to the bathroom.

It was time to rinse away the filth of the past and embrace a clean future together.

T
he water ran hot
. Swirls of steam rose in lazy spirals skywards, fogging the window and the mirrors. Whitney stood at his side, watching. Dressed in mismatched clothing, hair sticky with blood and crazy from the drama of the last twenty-four hours, she did not look traditionally beautiful. 

Rocco found her stunning.

A splash of lavender bubble bath scented the air and added suds to the rising water. The sunken Jacuzzi tub occupied the back right corner of the bathroom, Rocco turned the jets on. Suds sprang to life and filled the surface, thick and plentiful. The show brought a smile to Whitney's face.

"I've never been in a tub like this before," she admitted, keeping her voice low. "It seems so luxurious."

"You're going to love it."

The sunshine in her smile was enough to warm a heart as dark as his. Rocco couldn't help but smile back.

The tips of Whitney's fingers reached out and ran down his exposed chest. Rocco had just his pants and shoes to worry about stepping out of. Whitney was more than happy to help with that. Tender fingertips ran down his stomach and to the belt of his pants, loosening it with care. Rocco watched, heartbeat picking up. To see her undress him like this was a thrill. When, at last, his pants fell around his ankles, Rocco stepped out of them and his shoes all at once. The socks he wore beneath were quickly disposed of. Whitney indulged in his nude form, letting her eyes linger wherever they pleased.

"You too," Rocco murmured. "We might as well bathe together, right? That way you can make sure I don't fuck up any of the stitches you just put in."

"Mmm," Whitney hummed in reply. Before she could begin to undress, Rocco stepped forward and lifted the loose t-shirt she wore with the hand of his uninjured arm. Whitney raised her arms as the shirt rode up, and soon the garment slipped from her body and pooled on the floor next to his pants. Flawless dark skin and beautiful breasts were his to behold, yet still Rocco wanted more.

Her hands slipped down her own body to the button of her jeans, and she undid the fly to expose her nude body beneath. With a tilt of her hips she slid the jeans downward, revealing her gorgeous thighs and the smooth crest of the mound Rocco had come to adore. When at last she was naked, she raised her gaze to catch his and managed a tiny smile.

"Why don't you get in the water first, Mr. Lombardo?" she asked, voice curved with sultry intonation. The utterance of his last name sent a shiver down Rocco's spine, and he hesitated to part from her side, craving the feel of her lips upon his. 

Whitney followed him into the tub, letting her hand trail down the ridge of his spine until it settled on the small of his back. Rocco glanced over his shoulder at her, catching the hint of her smile and the soft curves of her body. Her hand, gentle and yet insistent, guided him further into the tub until he settled, and her with him.

"You've got me worried about you getting your stitches wet," she told him as she sunk down in the suds. Soapy bubbles hid her body from the shoulders down, and Rocco's imagination worked in overdrive to make up for it. Beneath the suds his body was awakening to her. There had never been a creature as beautiful. "Let me wash you."

There had never been a time that he had brought a woman to bathe with him and felt this kind of a pull towards her. With Whitney, he felt like he was freshly navigating the waters of attraction only to drown in her rip tides.

"Only if you let me return the favor," he told her. The pitch of his voice had dropped slightly.

"I wouldn't want it any other way."

A soft sponge hung from a white rope upon the wall behind Rocco's back. Whitney moved through the water and straddled him to reach it, their bodies brushing one against the other, slicked by suds and water. To feel her soft skin so heated and delicate spiked Rocco's arousal, and he felt himself stir to life. If he were a lesser man, Rocco would've pinned her to the tub wall and taken her right then and there.

"You're not hurt anywhere else, are you?" she asked as she brought the sponge to his chest and began to wash away the thin layer of sweat and grime that had accumulated there.

"No," Rocco replied. The sponge dipped back into the water, then traced up his abdomen and chest until it went over his uninjured shoulder. Whitney's touch was perfect. "I came right from the prison to where I knew he'd be taking you. Mikhail was a man of habits. I'm just glad he didn't decide to break away from them today."

If he didn't know where Mikhail liked to do business, Whitney would be dead, butchered for sick pornography. Never again would he cast a blind eye to such actions. Under his command, the mafia would uphold respectable crime. Arturo would have to adjust.

"I may be hurt, but let me care for you now," Rocco insisted. Long fingers stole the sponge from Whitney's hand, and he dipped it beneath the water in her place. A squeeze voided it of the filth it had picked up, and when he lifted it anew, it was primed with fresh suds.

"You've already done so much," Whitney whispered. Rocco eased her back against the back of the tub.

"And I don't feel like it will ever be enough," he replied.

 The sponge met her skin and trailed to her shoulder. Down one arm it went, then the other. All the while, Whitney watched him.

"Whatever it is between us," Rocco said, "I can't shake it. Whatever spell you cast on me stuck, Whitney. I don't think I'll ever be the same."

Rocco raised the sponge to her injured head, cleaning the sticky blood away. The scrapes Whitney had taken when Mikhail threw her to the ground looked raw, but clean. She'd be better in no time.

"I don't think I'll be the same, either," she whispered. Nothing more was said as he washed her hair, freeing it from the caked blood and dirt. When at last she was cleaned and they were rinsed free of soap, Whitney took his hand and guided him back to his feet. As she stood, water streamed down her rich skin, like rivers over dark shores.

"Come."

Whitney plucked a towel from a nearby bar and turned to dab the water away from his injured shoulder. When she was sure no harm would come to it, Rocco took it from her and tossed it aside. Two plush white bathrobes hung on the back of the bathroom door, and he wrapped her in one of them before taking the other for himself.

"I thought I'd never see this place again," she told him. "I thought I'd never see you again, even though you said you would come to find me. I can't tell you how happy I am to be standing here, in this place, with you."

"This place is a nightmare," Rocco said, "and I'm the boogeyman. Are you sure this is what you want? Are you sure you wouldn't be happier turning your back on this darkness? It's like mixing black paint into white paint — there's no way to go back. If you're here, it means you'll always be here. There's still time to save yourself."

With a twisted little smile and a quirk of her eyebrow, Whitney caught upon the front of his bathrobe and pulled herself close. Now that the fear of abduction had worn off, her true self shone through. Funny, charming, gorgeous, and unafraid to flirt with danger, she was all he could ask for in a woman.

"I don't need to be saved. Not anymore."

The cunning vibrancy in her eyes hooked him and refused to let go. Disregarding the pain he felt in his shoulder, Rocco wrapped his arms around her and held her close.
If this was what she wanted, who was he to deny her? He wanted it just as badly.

He directed her across the hardwood of the bedroom. When she sank onto the unmade bed, he could resist her no longer. The white robe hung open around her dark body, offering him a view that took his breath away. Whitney was stunning. Unwilling to waste another moment, Rocco climbed up onto the bed after her and straddled her thigh. One of his knees sank into the space between her legs, the other outside her body. Favoring his good arm to support his weight, he leaned over her and looked into her eyes. There was no need to speak.

How could he ever leave her behind?

Rocco shifted his weight onto his elbow and ran his hand through her damp hair. He wouldn't make the same mistake twice. No matter what he faced. He was the Don, and no one would come between him and what he wanted — and right now he wanted her.

When their lips met at last, there had never been a sweeter kiss. Despite the need he felt for her, Rocco would not rush things. Whitney's lips were to be savored and adored, and he would offer her the worship she deserved. She was worth it all.

 With each kiss, Rocco melted into her touch. Lower he sank until their bodies were flush, the full brunt of his excitement pressed against her stomach. Whitney wrapped her arms loosely around his neck and kept him close, enamored.

"Make love to me," she whispered against his lips. "Show to me that you mean what you say."

If that was all it took, Rocco would prove it to her every day.

Hard and ready for her, he let his hand dip down over her stomach and down her thigh. Rocco's fingertips traveled inward, teasing her sex. Even after their bath, she was ready for him. What a poor, misguided creature.
Didn't she know he was bad to the core?
As his finger moved inward to tease the bud of her sex she moaned and pressed up against him, he knew it didn't matter. Whitney was interested in who he was as a person, and he was determined to be the best person he could be for her.

Slow movements teased her to new altitudes of desire, and it wasn't long before Whitney squirmed beneath him, desperate for him. The look in her eyes, heavy with arousal, was his invitation. Whitney parted her thighs.

As she moved beneath him, Rocco moved to correspond. The hard length once pressed against her stomach ran between her legs to reintroduce itself to her slit. And then, when their positions aligned just right, her caught in her entrance and pushed forward with gentle insistence.

Whitney gasped and clung to him a little tighter.

"Rocco," she uttered, hips moving to meet his thrust. Their movements were slow, but did not lack in passion. Rocco was caught up in her, and she felt so good he never wanted what they had to end.

Each time he sank in, he felt as though he was deeper than he'd ever been before. There was no one else for him.

Both of their bodies sore and injured following the events of earlier that afternoon, there was no reckless, mindless fucking. What Whitney gave to him was far more precious. Making love had always sounded so half-assed and pansy to Rocco, but now he understood. Sharing himself with a woman he loved was infinitely better than any quick and mindless fucks he'd had in the past. Whitney was the key to it all.

Stolen kisses and delighted gasps replaced the senseless slap of skin on skin and the creaking of bedsprings. What they made together was beautiful and meaningful. Rocco would never forget it.

"Ohh, Rocco," Whitney breathed — and then he felt it. The tight walls of her sex shivered and contracted against him, plunging him deeper into the waters of her pleasure. It was Rocco's turn to gasp. A surge of pleasure shot through him and tightened in his balls, and relief came all at once. His seed passed through him and into her, marking her body as his once more. His girl, he'd told Mikhail. He wouldn't forget it again.

"Rocco," she murmured again, a smile spreading her lips. Instead of reply, he kissed her. Orgasm spread through them both, then rippled into nothing — but the feelings he had did not diminish. When Rocco withdrew, he lay by Whitney's side and pulled her into his arms, pressing one last kiss against her lips.

"Whitney Greene," he muttered back. "I'm a man of my words. Whatever the future holds for us, I'm gonna make sure that it goes smoothly. Don't you worry about a thing."

The way she looked at him, eyes alit with adoration, told him that she trusted him. There was no bigger compliment. And it was that feeling of contentedness that lingered with him as he fell asleep by her side.