Page 69 of His Kidnapped Queen
But he still wants me, and god knows I want him. What does that say about me? About us?
I stop trying to justify it and squeeze my eyes shut, picturing his shirtless frame in my mind’s eye. His broad chest, right at my eye level. The gold cross he wears, bouncing in my face as he fucks me.
Luca’s muscular, of course, but he’sbig, too, where it counts. The way he stretches me out can’t be done with my small fingers, but I try, gasping out his name as I shove two fingers inside myself.
The clicking sound of the door opening startles me, and I remove my fingers quickly.
“Diego?”
“You think Diego is going to walk in on you bathing? Should I be worried?”
It’s not Diego’s low timbre but Luca’s, and when I turn his green eyes look down at me with an intensity that I can’t quite figure out. What does it mean when he looks at me like that? Is he angry?
I bite my lip. “Not like I get much privacy around here.”
“Prisoners don’t get privacy.”
I scoff. “So you admit it? I’m a prisoner?”
“Never said you were anything more than that.”
His words hurt even though they shouldn’t. Why should I care if he hates me? But my heart sinks all the same.
“Can you get out? I’m almost done.”
He hums in the back of his throat, rocking back on his heels, and I just glare at him.
“If you’re just going to come in here and insult me—” I start, but I trail off as he crouches next to the bathtub, dropping down to his knees.
“Should have let you shower sooner,” he says, his tone actually apologetic and I look at him incredulously.
He takes the cloth from the side of the tub and dips it in the water, rubbing it across my back.
“Luca, what are you?—”
He shushes me, running the wet rag across the nape of my neck. It makes goosebumps pop up along my flesh.
“Even prisoners deserve to be clean,” he murmurs, and what kind of person am I that this simple act of kindness is making me tear up?
The cloth sweeps along my skin as he rubs it further down to the crack of my ass. I gasp as he moves the cloth along my chest, the edge of it dragging across my hard nipple.
“I can wash myself,” I mumble, but I don’t make a move to pull away. This is nice, actually. I’ve never had anyone bathe me like this, take care of me like this. Not since I was little.
I just got used to taking care of myself after Mama died.
“Just relax.”
Easy for him to say. He’s not the one with a dangerous mobster washing his wet, naked, vulnerable body. I should be afraid more than excited, but my racing heartbeat and flushed skin gives me away.
“You’re tense.”
“No shit.”
“You don’t think I’d hurt you, do you, pixie?”
I stare at him, my mouth slightly pouted. “What, you’re saying I should feel safe with you?”
“Have I harmed you?’
