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Rocco paused for a long moment, tilting his head. “Not so different,” he said softly. I felt heat rise to my cheeks for reasons I couldn’t explain. It was good in a way that he was injured, because otherwise I knew our night of passion would have repeated itself.
After lunch, Rocco kept staring at me. “Do you want something?” I asked.
He sighed. “I need a bath,” he said finally.
“You arenotasking me to give you a sponge bath,” I said incredulously.
Rocco groaned. “How else am I going to get clean?”
I sighed heavily. “All right, but behave yourself.”
He grinned, showing the dimples in his cheek. “No promises.”
I grabbed a basin out of the bathroom and some fresh bandages, towels and soap, along with a washcloth. He was shirtless because Croaker had ripped it off to get the chest tube in, and I looked at the open wound, feeling the blood drain from my face. I’d seen so many of his wounds, so much of his blood. The scar on his side looked better, though, less angry, pink instead of a bright red.
I slowly removed all the bandages and dabbed a cool, wet washcloth against them, getting off all the dried blood. Rocco hissed only once, when I started to clean around the chest tube. He lifted his arms himself, cleaning himself under his arms and putting on deodorant. He began to take off his pants and I looked away, blushing. “Really,stellina?” he teased. “It’s nothing you haven’t seen before.”
He was right. I’d seen plenty, had him inside me, had him in my mouth. Cleaning him shouldn’t be a big deal, but I couldn’t help but look away when I helped him. He did most of it himself, thank God. But when I looked back, taking the washcloth from him, he was half-hard. My eyes darted to his face, and he grinned sheepishly, shrugging. I bit my lip. I moved the washcloth down his abdomen, skidding over his hipbones and being careful not to touch the wound or the chest tube.
Rocco’s stomach trembled. “What are you doing,stellina?” he murmured in a low voice.
“Just getting you clean,” I answered in a teasing tone, moving my hand over his inner thighs, trailing it over his half-erection which was quickly becoming a full erection.
He choked out a moan and looked at me, his green eyes hot. “You’re playing with fire,stellina. Just wait until I’m better. I’m going to show you…ah.” His words dropped off into a low moan as I worked the washcloth over his erection, putting my fingers around him over the cloth. I pumped my hand and the still soapy water lubricated him. Rocco gasped, but this time it wasn’t from his collapsed lung.
“Stellina,” he moaned. “Allegra.” The sound of my name as a moan out of his mouth made pleasure rocket through me. I looked down at my hand, at how big and hard he was as I kept moving my hand, and I wanted to put him in my mouth, feel him heavy on my tongue.
Rocco rolled his hips and then hissed with pain. “You’re trying to kill me, you know that?”
I giggled, feeling giddy, feeling a rush from being able to control what happened. Rocco was always in charge, always fierce and rough and passionate, and it was nice to be on the other side of that, have him nearly begging me.
“I’m going to get you back for this,stellina,” he warned, just before he growled low in his chest and began to spill over my hand and the cloth. I took in a sharp breath, feeling hot all over, and took another washcloth to clean him up all over again. Rocco panted, his chest heaving, and I knew it must hurt. I almost felt bad. Almost.
I replaced the bandages without another word and threw him a towel to dry off, going into the bathroom. I looked in the mirror, seeing my cheeks flushed, my hair messy, my lip red from where I had bitten it. “What the hell are you doing?” I asked my reflection, but of course there was no answer.
“You better not be touching yourself in there,” Rocco warned from the bed, and I blushed harder. “I want to be the next one to touch you like that.”Jesus Christ. I was in trouble.
When I returned to the bedroom, I had finally stopped blushing and I started to gather my things. “What are you doing?” Rocco asked, frowning.
“Moving to the guest room,” I muttered.
“Why?” He was almost pouting. I couldn’t believe it, blinking at him. Rocco wasn’t the sort of man to beg, but maybe it was the painkillers or the injury that made him seem almost vulnerable. I wasn’t used to it, but I had to admit I liked this softer side of him. I’d seen it a few times while we were together, but not like this.
I sighed. “Because we shouldn’t be doing things like…” I trailed off.
“Like you jacking me off after giving me a sponge bath?” he said bluntly.
I choked out a laugh, unable to help myself. “Yeah, like that,” I agreed. I paused. “Because you’re hurt, Rocco. And because…” I trailed off again, unable to say it.
“Because you don’t want me?” Rocco asked, his voice rough now instead of pleading.
“I didn’t say that,” I shot back. “Don’t put words in my mouth.”
“You feel something,” he insisted. “I know you do. I know you feel the connection we have.”
“Don’t tell me how to feel, either,” I argued, my cheeks heating up with anger. “This right here is why we shouldn’t be sleeping together. Why I should sleep in the guest room. We don’t…we don’t work, Rocco.”
“We could work,” he said, looking up at me with that intense glare of his. “We could, if you wanted.”
