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“Boss?” someone called out.
“You can start,” I answered, and Amara went stiff, her eyes peering up at me.
“They’re with me,” I soothed, squeezing the shampoo from her hair and rinsing it.
She nodded, her eyes closing as I finished washing her. I quickly wiped myself down, scrubbing the blood from my body before I shut off the water.
I took two towels, wrapping one low on my hips before I wrapped Amara in the other. I dried her off carefully and deliberately, and someone threw clothes inside the bathroom. I picked them up and donned them, then took Amara in my arms again.
I strode back into the bedroom, ignoring the cleanup crew as I placed Amara in her bed. I peeled the covers back and put them on her, brushing her damp hair away from her face as I tucked herin. I crawled in with her, my arms wrapping around her as she sighed, her breathing slowing and evening.
“Boss?” a man asked.
“What?” I snapped, glaring at the man over my shoulder.
“There was a woman in the garage; she was shot. What do we do with her?” he asked, and he handed me a package that was the morning-after pill.
“Marta,” Amara exclaimed. “My boss. Is she alive?”
“Bring her to one of our doctors,” I ordered, removing the single dose from the package. “Make sure she makes it.”
The man nodded and left, entering the hallway where Alessandro carried Marta, nodding to me before he carried her down the stairs.
I turned to Amara, gently opening her mouth and putting the pill on her tongue. “Swallow, it’s to make sure you didn’t get pregnant tonight.”
She swallowed obediently, not wanting any chance of carrying Mark’s child. If she was already pregnant with my child, it wouldn’t do anything to our baby. Amara closed her eyes, her head resting on her pillow as her breaths deepened and evened.
My men moved with quiet efficiency, and by the time they were done, the place looked like nothing happened.
Days bled into nights. My men watched over Marta as she recovered, my stupid brother taken with her.
I took regular meals to Amara as she rested, and we spoke in hushed tones as we ate together. Her body was still tender but healing, and I had my doctor come to examine her and fix her up.
Each night, I pulled her into her bed, our intimacy shifting from slow, possessive touches to raw, consuming passion.
But my favorite night since then was when she was sleeping.
She was whimpering in her sleep, her thighs rubbing together like she was having a dirty dream. I smirked, lifting her nightgown to expose her ass. I didn’t bother with clothes when I went to bed with her, and I was glad for it as I spooned her.
Amara arched her back, pressing her hips against me as her juices slid across my shaft, and she rubbed herself on me, taking her pleasure, using me.
I chuckled, wrapping a hand around her throat as the other reached around her hips, rubbing slow lazy circles around her clit.
She took a deep breath as my cock slid into her core, and her eyes fluttered as I pumped into her.
“Good morning, my little lawyer,” I groaned, her pussy sucking me deeper inside her with each stroke. “I need to feel you.”
She moaned, gripping the back of my head as I traced patterns on her clit, making her hips buck as she clenched around me.
“Amara,” I breathed, writing my next letter to her with my voice. “You feel so good, my little pen pal. Even when you sleep, you dream of me fucking you. I’m with you even in your dreams; there is no escaping me.”
“Enzo,” she moaned.
I grinned against her hair. “That’s right, baby, that’s how I sign my letters.” Then I slammed my hips against hers, taking her harder and harder until she came, squeezing every drop out of me as I climaxed with her.
By the end of the week, she was stronger, her bruises fading. My doctor confirmed that Mark shot nothing vital, and I gritted my teeth as he dug the bullet from my side and stitched me up.
A week passed, and that night, my mood took a darker, dangerous turn.