Page 17 of Seized By the Mafia King
He’s across the room and back before I can ask what he’s doing.
“Don’t move.”
I freeze.
The corset pulls tight at my waist, then there’s a crackle of metal into fabric, and it releases.
“Good girl.”
A blade slides up my spine and I’m breathless. He shifts the scissors, and the point presses into my skin. A shiver goes through me.
“Totally still,” he says sharply. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
Each snip of the scissors slices through the air. Then it’s off, and I’m free and pulling in breath like it had been choking me, which is ridiculous, because I ran in this stupid dress. But the relief is like it was chains not ribbon holding me into it.
“So beautiful.” A single warm finger brushes down my spine. “You’re mine, Willow. Sooner or later, you’ll discover that.” Zane’s kiss at my nape is unexpected, but soft and chaste and possessive in a way I can’t even begin to describe.
Then he’s out of the bathroom, leaving me alone.
As I finish undressing, I’m not sure what I wish had happened. I hesitate before stepping beneath the huge shower head, the feeling of Zane shimmering on my skin again. Then I force myself in, and the warm water soaks me from head to foot. Or at least, I tell myself it’s the shower and the deliciously scented toiletries I find. Every single one is in a thick bottle that states wealth. They smell like Zane, and I close my eyes and breathe it in. The water washes away the sweat and the tension and it’s impossible to feel worry about the future with the clouds of steam around me.
Zane is on the other side of the door, and I haven’t locked it. He could walk in, and I couldn’t stop him. He could get into the shower, naked, trap me between the cool tiles and his massive, hot body, and reach between my legs again.
I’m washing my thighs, and my fingers have found their way to where I’m wet andslick, not just with water. And sensitive. I’m on edge and tingly.
My shower thoughts have taken an inappropriate direction.
Touching myself in his shower… I shouldn’t.
However much I let the water flow there, I can’t stop the image of Zane and how I felt as he held and fingered me against the tree, or even the sweetness of being carried and having my feet washed. It’s as though all my nerve endings have lit up with his proximity.
My clit throbs.
And so do my feet.
Gulping, I move my hand away and dive out of the shower. The towel from the rack is so fluffy and white that it could have been stolen from the sky. It almost drags on the floor when I wrap it around my chest.
It’s only when I see the wedding dress flopped and ruined on the tiled floor like the crumpled tissue of a giant with a nosebleed, that I realise I have another problem.
Clutching the towel, I creep the door open.
“Little bunny.” His voice is a purr from the other side of the room. He’s rubbing his hair with a towel, and it’s messy in a way that makes him look much younger, even as the silver in it glistens. Dressed in jeans and a black-blue T-shirt, he takes me in at a glance.
“Sit.” He points at his bed.
“Woof,” I mutter, but I obey meekly. There is a first-aid kit on the dark, smooth covers.
His eyes are light with amusement as he kneels before me so we’re the same height. He really is absurdly tall.
I have no idea what he’s going to do, and then he takes my foot in his hand.
“You don’t need to…” I begin, only to be silenced by his hard look.
“You’re mine to care for.”
With steady hands, he applies antiseptic and little flexible clear dressings, pausing when I hiss from the sting. He does it all with absolute care and attention, as though he really did love me.
Scary thought. But not as strange as it was when he first said it.
