Page 142 of Scorned Beauty

The gratification in his tone made me roll my eyes. He rose to his feet with a cocky slant to his mouth. “Let’s take care of the hair.”

Unlike his impatience with the buttons of my gown, Dom was careful as he searched for the pins in my updo, carefully extracting them so they wouldn’t yank at my scalp. We were in front of the mirror, and I watched his brows furrow in concentration at something as menial as freeing me from a hairstyle. After a few minutes, he massaged my scalp, his fingers searching for any stragglers, but I moaned at the pleasure it was giving me.

“You like that, hmm?” he murmured against my ear.

“Oh, yes.”

“Then you’re in for a treat.”

Dom and I had shared showers countless of times, but there was something different with this one. Besides the fancyshowerhead and gallons of water jetting all over us, we were more open, more affectionate. He’d shampooed my hair before, but this time his touch was possessive, more proprietary, like he’d staked a claim. Patience with leashed passion. A gentleness shaped by the love he declared earlier.

My needs before his.

He shampooed my hair twice, washing away the gumminess left by hair products. When he was satisfied, he worked in the conditioner and let my hair soak it up while he grabbed the soap, and, like the meticulous way he took out the pins, he lathered my skin. After thoroughly washing all traces of the night, only then did he back me into the corner, the wordless intent on his face clear.

He sank to his knees, draped my right leg over his shoulder, and reverently planted kisses all the way up to the juncture of my thighs.

My body shuddered.

“Cold?” He glanced up at me.

I wasn’t. My back was against the tiles, but we’d worked up enough steam, figuratively and literally, to keep the enclosure warm, or maybe the tiles were specially designed to absorb heat.

I shook my head.

He grinned up at me devilishly before he attacked my pussy. He was gentle, then rough. I came instantly.

Dom rose to his feet and slid inside me. With our eyes locked and in slow, grinding drives, he brought me to the pinnacle once more. I screwed my lids shut and stars exploded behind them. The familiar toe-curling sensation reduced my limbs to mush. Dom held me up as he sped up his thrusts, pumping erratically until he gave a grunt and released inside me.

Later, he washed me again between my legs, toweled me dry, and dried my hair with a blow-dryer.

I’d never been more relaxed.

He carried me to the bed and set me on top of it. It was unfamiliar, but I was too sated to care.

Dom’s body wrapped around me, and I sunk into slumber.

Chapter

Thirty-Seven

Dom

“You dowhat you need to do, son. Leave your mother to me.” Pop was on the phone while I whipped up breakfast for Sloane and myself. He’d texted around ten asking me if I’d seen the headline of Tomlin’s arrest.

There was no mention of the De Luccis or the Zahkarovs in any article, which was how both crime families wanted it to go down. Tomlin was a part of a bigger sex-trafficking scandal. Kirill wanted them to clear Kolya of the Mistress Strangler case, but he’d pissed off the prosecutor who refused to let it go without evidence to support his innocence.

I thought Margo had the evidence, but she’d changed her mind about handing it to Kirill, or maybe she’d been bluffing all along. I wouldn’t be surprised if Kirill murdered the matchmaker himself.

The bratva was in a tenuous position. Ivan had turned a blind eye to Grigori and the sex parties and it was in their best interest to give the feds what they wanted since the now-dead Grigoriwas their scapegoat. His bloated body washed up on Brighton Beach.

I wasn’t lowering my guard around the Russians because my sister partly instigated this whole mess.

“Sure you can handle Lucy and Ma in the same house?”

Pop sighed. “You’ve sacrificed so much for our family, it’s time you find your own happiness. Your mother knows where I stand. We argued when she started griping at me about you and Sloane leaving the gala yesterday before the dancing.”

I checked the croissant bread pudding and the sheet pan bacon in the oven. “Really? What did you tell her?”