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The room stills, watching her.
I still.
And wait.
Willow is no stranger to this life, or the blood we walk in each day, pretending its stain doesn’t attach to our souls. Her parents’ death, her uncle, her tormentors … the list goes on. The man she flayed with me, like an artiste.
Hesitantly, Willow takes the blade, her gaze skittering across the gathering, their eyes all weighing on her in my father’s house—our house—judging.
I know why Dom decided to pull this here and now, in front of the masses who don’t understand her worth. It’s also his way of saying thank you for last night when he used her body as his own personal plaything for his pleasure. Now, he presents her with an offering, a devoted, oversized kitten gifting a trophy to his mistress.
Unwilling to break the impasse between them, I gently rest my fingertips along her spine, trailing there with little pressure, simply a reminder that she is not alone in whatever she chooses to do here.
Her back straightens imperceptible to everyone else at my touch, though I feel it in my fingertips. “He destroyed Christine’s business? She was so lovely.” Her liquid gaze dips to the cousin who fawned over her hand earlier. “You had a hand in that. You must be so sorry,” she coos beguilingly as her knees bend. Willow kneels beside him, tracing the flat of the blade along his cheek, tapping it there with each word. “You are so sorry, aren’t you, cousin?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he stammers. “I’m so sorry. Forgive me.”
He reaches to touch her but I bat the man’s hand away with a growl. Tears course down his pinked face as she taps the blade there. I roll my lips, willing her to act, but unsure what she has in mind. Dom gave her the power, and this gathering, for a few silent moments, became her rodeo.
And by God does she own it.
“Of course you are,” she agrees, sliding Dom’s blade to his throat and parting the skin like butter.
And with that simply he gurgles his final breath.
Blood spurts over my pant leg, flowing to the floor, but I don’t move. I’ve been covered in a lot worse fluids in my lifetime. A deep rumble of approval emanates from Dom’s chest. He reaches out a hand for Willow, drawing her up. Her shins and knees trail the little traitor’s blood, pooling around her perfect heels. My cum glistens on the inside of her knee, and the sense of ultimate power that washes over me is a heady thing.
She stands demurely, passing the knife back to Dom, handle first, without cleaning the blade. He folds the knife, pocketing it, and bows low.
The room shifts, taking its first new breath in her presence. As one, they move. My best friend, her one-time lover, is not the only one kneeling for the queen of the Gallo mafia.
My wife.
“I fucking love you so damn much right now it hurts. I denied you before but let’s take that trip to my room upstairs, and shower so I can fuck you in the next minutes in private before I bend you over the banquet table and take you here.”
Willow’s serene face turns to me, alabaster and elegant. “Does it really matter where you fuck me? They just saw worse.”
She floors me with those last four words. Her elbow is in my grip as I walk us away from the body slumped and draining in the middle of the floor, our footprints outlined in scarlet, evidence of his last breaths.
“In,” I snap at the elevator, pushing her through the doors before they are fully open. My hand closes on her waist as I jerk her back to my front, and crash my mouth over hers, not needing to fist her hair as she leans back for me but I do it anyway. The silken length of her black hair soothes my rage, letting my lust take over. “If anyone hurts you again I’ll burn the world for you.”
“Don’t forget to let me have a little fun.” She trails a bloodstained finger along my cheek, curving her hand around the back of my neck, her lips parted for more.
My groan fills the elevator on its short trip to the third floor of our suite. I’m unable to unlock my hands from her body as I drag her into our bathroom, throwing on the shower until the room steams, stripping myself and her as best I can one-handed.
Her soft whimpers when I pass my hand along her stomach and press there leave my cock straining between the sweet curve of her ass cheeks.
“You need to be clean. I’ll fuck you with his blood on you, but I want to taste your need for me in your filthy mouth, little wife.”
She mumbles something as I bite her lips, pushing her under the spray, obscuring my vision for a moment. Her hair tangles in a mass of writhing raven curls on my chest as I play with her body, sliding my fingers around her curves, tugging at her nipples.
“I need to…” She bites her lips and looks up at me through lashes dirty with smeared mascara. Her cheeks pink, and I can’t help the smile that lifts my own desire for her.
“You need to what, wife?” I smirk, pressing a hand to her stomach again and increasing the pressure.
“Don’t do that,” she flinches in her alarm, pulling away from me.
“No.” I wrap my arm around her body, pinning her to me, and slide my other between her legs, filling her with three fingers in a stretch, knowing she’s still tender from our combined destruction of her body the night before. “You will never pull away from me like that. If I want you to piss all over the floor and wash his filthy blood off our legs, then that’s what you. Will. Do.” I fill her with my fingers, pressing hard on her stomach, and work her clit mercilessly. “Won’t you, sweet little wife of mine who just killed a man on my marble floor downstairs in front of every fucking lieutenant I possess?”
