Taken by the Italian Mafia(31)

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.









Chapter Twenty-Four





Rocco





The 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.