It was all the confirmation I needed that Lino would never be more than a friend, would never see me as anything other than a best friend and the baby sister of his other friend. He backed away half a step, his fingers unfastening his pants, so they dropped to his feet, and he went through the awkward motions of stripping them off and freeing his feet from his socks and shoes. I didn't glance down, didn't dare look to see if he wore underwear or what he might look like if he didn't. My emotions spun, exhaustion bringing them all to the forefront.
The man I'd always wanted didn't even see me. So, I determined that I'd school myself against his charm and not see him either. A nurse. He became a nurse about to give me a professional sponge bath.
In the shower.
Naked.
With a quick swallow, I slid my fingers inside the waistband of my bikini underwear and let them fall to my feet. I looked away from Lino, taking my first step on my own since before the assault.
When my legs wavered, he was there, catching me against him. Those strong hands grasped around the backs of my thighs, lifting my feet off the ground just enough that he could shuffle us into the massive shower and under the rain shower head in the center. As soon as my coppery hair was drenched, clinging to my shoulders like a wet rat, he turned me to face away from him.
I was grateful for the reprieve. Avoiding eye contact was nearly impossible when he was so close. Touching me. A bottle cap popped open, and his fingers soon slid through my hair and slowly massaged my scalp so thoroughly that I think I moaned and let my eyes drift closed. "It smells like you," I whispered.
"My shampoo typically would." The humor returned to his voice, but it felt strained. Like being so close to me naked was painful. I could only imagine it felt similar to seeing your sister naked, given the way he hadn't reacted to me. I'd thought something had been shifting in our relationship, thought it wasn't just me who felt the sudden urgency and desire since I'd announced my divorce.
But it appeared I was wrong again when it came to Lino. I doubted it would be the last time.
"Is this your room?"
He stilled, as if realizing suddenly that something was weighty. Something in this moment meant something to him, but I had no idea what it might be. Just that I knew him well enough to hear the gears turning.
"Yes, Little Dove. This is my bathroom. That was my bed."
"Why wouldn't you bring me to a guest room?"
"Tomorrow. We'll talk about those kinds of things in the morning. After you've told me the truth, I'll give you my truth." I swallowed as he rinsed my hair, knowing that the time had come to be honest. But in the morning. For the night, I just wanted to forget. To pretend that, just maybe, there was a version of life where Lino could be mine. Where someone could cherish me the way he did.
Where I mattered.
So, when he worked conditioner through my hair, I settled into the feeling of his hands brushing against my back, of his fabric covered groin brushing against my ass. The hot water felt like heaven against my skin, but nothing compared to the way Lino ran a soapy loofah over every inch of my body. He didn't hesitate, didn't hover in any key place and was downright methodical about the way he cleaned me, but nothing could take away the fact that he was caring for me. That he loved me enough in his way to suffer through something like this with me.
For me.
By the time he inched my legs apart to run the loofah over the most intimate parts of me, I was so relaxed I was half asleep and my body jolted with a moan. He stilled, waiting, and I felt his breath at my ear.
Like my hips had a mind of their own, they tilted back and pressed my ass into his thighs. "Samara," he groaned on an agonized gasp. His hand returned to washing me quickly and drew away to rinse the soap off me. Suddenly fighting back tears, I caved to the tiredness seeping into my bones and let it wash away the pain.
The rejection.
The water turned off, and he stepped out to grab the towel and dry me off. I let him guide me into the bedroom in a daze, barely cooperating when he slipped one of his shirts on over my head. A minute later he tucked me into bed, and only a few moments passed before he crawled in behind me and wrapped me up in his arms.
It was the fastest I'd fallen asleep since the night Connor had assaulted me.
And for the moment, sleep was all that mattered.
Eleven
Samara
Sunshine peeked through the windows where the curtains didn't close. I groaned, feeling the vibrations of it in my throat like an open wound. The moment my eyes opened, I remembered where I was. Remembered the night before.
Drawing myself up to sit, I took in the space that was Lino's bedroom. Having never been in it before, never having a cause for it since he'd bought the house after we were too adult to cuddle in our sleep without consequences, I didn't know what to expect.
It was obvious he hadn't designed it alone. The walls were painted a dark blue-grey, masculine and dominant. Though there was little clutter, an intricate shelving unit seemed to be crafted into the wall to my right. Nightstands sat to either side of the bed, and a sitting area with leather arm chairs was set up over by the biggest window. I could picture him sitting there and looking out as he drank his morning coffee, and the thought brought a smile to my face.
But Lino was nowhere to be found. He'd promised not to leave me, hadn't he? The actual conversation from the night before seemed fuzzy, and I thought back to the painkillers Linda had given me. Coupled with the soreness in my body, it was a wonder I remembered anything.
And I remembered certain sensations in vivid color.
Grabbing my glasses off the nightstand where Lino must have put them after I'd fallen asleep, I stood and made my way to the bathroom slowly and went about my business. Swiping toothpaste onto my finger, I at least got rid of some of the grimy feeling I'd woken up with. I was making my way back to the bed, trying to think of an alternative to walking downstairs in a t-shirt with no underwear on, when the door swung open and Lino walked in. Dressed casually in his favorite sweatpants and shirtless, I fought the urge to drool over the grooved abs I hadn't wanted to notice the night prior. "What are you doing out of bed?" he asked, his brow furrowing in that frustrated way of his. Clutched in his hand at his side, the purple case of my phone was vibrant in contrast to his grey sweats.
“Is that my phone?” My brow furrowed as I looked up at him in confusion.
He shrugged, slipping it into the pocket of his pants unapologetically. “What are you doing out of bed?” he repeated.
"I need clothes. Did you put my suitcase in a guest room?" I asked, and he shook his head at me like I was ridiculous. "I don't have underwear on, Lino."
"Oh, believe me. I'm aware. Get in bed and I'll grab you something. Underwear and leggings?"
"You are not about to go rummaging through my clothes," I argued, taking a step toward him.
"Watch me," he hissed, some of the anger I knew must have been lurking under the surface during our moments of peace last night coming out to play. "Get in bed or so help me I will put you there myself."
With his harsh words, something that Lino rarely showed me, I climbed into the bed carefully and shot him a glare. “Happy?”
He huffed a humorous laugh and turned to a door that opened into his closet. He was back quickly with a pair of underwear and leggings, helping me glide them up my legs to my mortification. "Lino, you don't need to—"
"Hush, Samara. I'm taking care of you. Deal with it."
"I'm injured, not dead. I can put my own fucking underwear on, thank you," I hissed, slapping his hands away when he grasped me around the ass and pulled me to stand so he could pull them up the rest of the way.
Kneeling at my feet, he looked up at me. Beneath the anger simmering on his face, I could see the anguish. "Did you look at them?"
I shook my head, not needing to ask to know that he meant the bruises. I could feel them pulsing just under my skin with an ache that couldn't be ignored, but I would never a
dmit that to Lino. Not when he seemed so intent on spoon feeding me for the next three years. Before I knew it, he lifted me off the floor and into his arms. Wrapping my legs around his waist for stability, I clung to him. With everything less hazy than before, being carried felt more intense. Strange and erotic all at once, but the thunderous look on his face quelled any rising desire in me. When he went in the open bathroom door and stopped in front of the mirror, I unwound my legs from him, and he dropped me slowly until my feet touched the floor.
"Look at them." He grunted the words, voice deepening in the way I knew there'd be no arguing with. I turned away from him to face the mirror, letting my eyes settle on the deep purple marks covering my throat. When I met his eyes in the mirror, they were wild with fury. “That is more than a simple injury. He almost killed you,” he growled.
"I'm right here, Lino," I whispered, my heart clenching as his eyes closed and he nodded, pressing his lips to my hair as if he needed the contact to know that I was real. When I turned to face him, he lifted me into his arms again and I didn't bother to protest.
"Has he hurt you before?" he asked as soon as he settled me onto the bed and sat next to me. I didn't want to look at him, wanting to keep taking the coward's way out, but I also knew that I owed him an explanation.
"Not like this," I whispered, and I knew it was the wrong thing to say when his face twisted in fury again. "It was always little things. Grabbing me, slapping me once or twice. Nothing big enough to make me think he was capable of this." Even as I said the words, they felt like a lie, but I wasn't ready to get into the night that I'd told Connor I wanted a divorce.
"Why didn't you tell me?" he asked, and his voice made me inch closer to him on the bed so I could cup his cheek in my hand. Even as tears pooled in my eyes, I plowed forward.
"I never wanted you to know. You're the only person who looks at me and sees someone who's strong. Who stands up for myself. I didn't want to lose that," I whispered, my throat tightening with my attempt to fight back my tears.
"Surviving this only makes you stronger," he argued.
I nodded, because I'd long since realized it was true. Surviving after Connor's assault had required a strength I didn't know I possessed, especially since I was determined to do it without telling my family or Lino what had happened. "I couldn't stand the thought you would look at me differently. The thought that you might pity me for what happened when it was my own decisions that put me there in the first place, that was something I couldn't bear. So, I kept it from you. I kept it from everyone."
"You are not responsible for what he did," Lino hissed, tugging back from my hold on his face with a sudden ferocity.
“I didn't say that. But I chose him. I married him, Lino. I let him tear me down for years and strip away everything that mattered to me except for you. He destroyed the way I saw myself, and I let him. If I couldn't even defend myself or stand up for myself, then I had no business asking you to risk everything to defend my honor that I didn't deserve to hold on to.”
Lino's deep eyes darkened, and he finally shook his head before sliding closer to me. "You’re wrong. You’re mine to protect, and you need to trust me to do that. Promise me you won't ever keep secrets from me again," he ordered. "I mean it, Samara. No more."
"And what about you? You said that you'd give me your truth after I came clean. Does that mean you're keeping secrets too? And I'm just supposed to accept those?" I snapped, crossing my arms over my chest with a huff.
"I'll tell you my secret when you're feeling better. It's not a secret, so much as something you just refuse to admit to yourself, but that's alright. Things are about to become very, very clear between us. Do you know what I'm talking about?" My eyes widened, and I bit my bottom lip to fight the tremble.
"No," I whispered truthfully. Before he'd helped me shower like nothing more than a nursemaid, I might have thought the darkened gaze as he stared at me nestled in his bed could be lust. But following those actions, there was no way that could be possible.
"You will," he said simply, grabbing the television remote off the nightstand and pressing a button. A flat screen dropped from the ceiling, and he put on a popular fantasy show for me to immerse myself in. "I'm going to go grab you something to eat, and some drinks to stash in the mini-fridge for a few days. Some of my guys are downstairs, working out a plan for canvasing to find Connor. They won't bother you up here, and I don't want you going down there."
"Ashamed of me?" I whispered, hating the way my voice betrayed how frayed the edges of my emotions were.
"Never, but you need to rest. I want your ass in my bed for at least two days. You need something and I'm not here, then you text me and I'll get it for you." He snagged the blanket, pressing a hand on my shoulder until I laid back in the bed and he helped prop pillows up behind me. Tucking me in sweetly, I sighed in contentment as the warmth of his forest green bedspread coated me. "Watch some tv. I'll be back in a few minutes." He dropped my phone on the nightstand.
“I really think we should talk about why you had my phone.” The words themselves sounded sleepy, but I tried to shove back the wave of exhaustion that came with being so cozy.
He didn’t answer. Instead, he kissed the corner of my mouth, leaving me dumbfounded, and then I watched him strut for the door. The shoulders were my favorite body part on a man, and Lino's strong, broad shoulders did not disappoint. It was the sight of his ass in those sweats that made me want to take a bite out of it though.
"Stop staring at my ass!" he called as he rounded the doorway.
"Stop shaking it then, pussy tease!" I called back with a laugh.
✽✽✽
Why did men always insist on interrupting reading a book just when it got interesting? I’d learned two things over the last two days I’d spent in Lino’s bed. First, he had a sixth sense for when I was about to read a sex scene and would put a stop to it.
Lino left the bed in favor of running into the adjacent bedroom. I turned my eyes away from the kindle in my hands to watch him go, but he was quick to return. He took the kindle out of my hands to set it on the nightstand.
"Lay down," he ordered, and I fought the urge to roll my eyes. I did what I was told anyway, because the second thing I’d learned was that Lino needed to tend to me. I didn't have the heart to tell him I thought it was probably more for his benefit than mine. With my head tipped back on the pillow, I exposed my throat to him. Trusting, never even considering the vulnerable position it put me in. There was no one that I trusted more than Lino.
So when his cream covered hands touched the cords of my throat gently, I didn't so much as flinch. I watched him, absorbing the way those deep eyes of his fixated on the bruises as if his touch alone could erase the stain Connor had left on my skin. When his hands reached around the column of my throat, he leaned forward to press his forehead to mine and our gazes finally collided. "I'm okay," I whispered, my voice hoarse with emotion even though I wanted to moan in pleasure as he worked the cream into the back of my neck. I was less sensitive there, more a muscle ache than strangulation pain, and the way his calloused fingers worked the flesh delicately was like pure heaven.
He held my eyes as he whispered, "I almost lost you."
"You could never lose me," I said back stupidly, giving away far more than I normally allowed about my own emotions for him. Safe distance, friendly distance had always been key to ignoring the way everything reached a crescendo when he touched me. With him in my face and his hands on me, there was no distance.
I would easily lose myself in him if I didn't get control over it.
And that would only lead to heartbreak.
He closed his eyes, taking the intensity of his gaze away enough that I felt like I could breathe. "Turn over," he whispered, pulling back to his knees. I wanted to argue, wanted to preserve my sanity by fighting back and putting some distance between us, but the promise of whatever else Lino might have in store for me was just too much to resist. I turned onto my stomach,
listening to another bottle popping open behind me. One of his hands slid inside my t-shirt, gliding over the flesh at the small of my back and inching it up to where my bra might have been if I'd worn one. When the other hand touched me, I gasped from the cool oil that coated those hands.
I was no stranger to massages from Lino, but they usually came through the barrier of clothing. To have his hands on my skin, rubbing up and down the sides of my spine gently and kneading the tight muscles, sent an all new intensity of sensation crashing through me.
Skin on skin, everything seemed more.
My body came alive, as if his hands were enough to make me hear his focused breathing. To feel the heat of his body as he straddled my thighs. To feel the press of his groin against my legging covered ass. I wanted it to be real, wanted it to be more.
But even if Lino had wanted that, I couldn't.
I was done with men. Done with the pain they caused and the lies they told. No matter how much I loved Lino, he was a man at the core, and he'd hurt me with his lies once before.
After all, I wasn't Mrs. Angelino Bellandi like he'd promised.
We spent a few long moments with him fixating on the tense muscles beside my spine, and I wanted to mourn the loss of his body when he swung his leg over and climbed off me. Even if my more logical self knew, it was better to be done with it. That space between our bodies was good. Was normal.
We needed to get back to normal.
I rolled to my back before moving to sitting and pulling my knees into my chest. "You don't have to stay here with me, you know," I whispered when he returned from washing his hands in the bathroom. There was another tube of ointment in his hands, and he sat next to my feet.
Forgivable Sins: A Dark Mafia Romance (Bellandi Crime Syndicate Book 2) Page 6