Page 96 of Say You're My Wife

He kisses me again, this time more heated, tilting my head. He kisses my mouth gently as if making up for the times he fucked it hard.

We make out for a while, fevered, almost like teenagers in their parents’ jacuzzi. He’s hard against my belly, and I run my palms down his sides, accidentally touching his wound.

Corrado hisses.

“Oh no, Corrado. I’m sorry.” I bend to check his dressing. It’s bleeding a little, and my fingers where I touched it are wet.

“Ignore it.” Corrado tries to kiss me again.

“I can’t.”

“Had no problem ignoring it in the shower.”

Sensing he’s getting irritated, I narrow my eyes. “You pushed me onto my knees and shoved yourself down my throat.”

Corrado laughs. It’s such a sudden and pleasant masculine sound that I laugh with him even though I’m not trying to be funny.

I press a palm in the middle of his chest and gently push, trying to move him away. Corrado grabs the back of my thigh and lifts my leg, then settles between my legs, his hardness pushing against my clit. Violence and being hurt due to violence make this man horny.

I give him my profile. “I’m afraid you’ll bleed more.”

“Let me worry about that.”

“I can’t because I worry about you too.”

His eyes crinkle at the concerns. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Fine.” He pushes away from me and leans against the counter. “Help me dress this thing again.”

I gulp down more coffee before I work on his wound.

Slowly, I start peeling away the blood-soaked dressing from the back, and once done, I see the damage. “At least three stitches popped.”

“It happens when a man can’t resist his wife.”

I might melt into the floor. “Do you mean that?”

He casts a gaze over his shoulder and nods.

I like this Corrado. The one who wears sweatpants and has messy morning hair and an amused expression.

“It’s bleeding quite a bit,” I tell him.

“Then close it up,” he says.

I kneel so I can get a better view, and the wound’s swollen, looking worse than it did yesterday. “You need a nurse.”

Corrado hands me some sort of gun-like object. “I have you and Drago. He says this sears wounds shut.”

I examine the futuristic instrument. “How does it work?”

“Don’t know. Laser, maybe?”

“Okay, and how do I use it?”

He shrugs. “Point and shoot.”

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