Page 53 of Dirty Legacy

“Angel—“

“I said, in the water.” I reach down and tug my crop top over my head. I’m bare underneath, my nipples stiff with excitement. I cover myself with one arm, looking away, cheeks burning with embarrassment. If he keeps trying to send me away now⁠—

He lets out a low groan. “What are you doing?”

“Helping. Get in.” I look up, meeting his gaze. He looks as desperate and as dizzy as I feel. “Please.”

That word does it. He mutters a low curse, takes off his boxer briefs, and moves under the shower spray.

It’s hard not to look down at his dick. I remove my panties and follow him, water brushing against my skin. Pink and red drips down his lean, muscular body, and holy shit, he’s hard right now⁠—

Stop it, Angie. Stop looking at his cock.

“Turn around.” I nudge him until he complies. One hand leans against the shower wall. I pour soap into a loofah and scrub his back. “Tell me what happened.”

He lets out a low sigh of pleasure, head hanging, water running from his thick hair. “You don’t want the details, baby.”

“Talk to me. You’re tense.”

“I’m hard. There’s a difference.”

My eyes drop. His other hand is wrapped around his base. Fucking hell!

“It’ll help if you talk.”

His shoulders slump. He’s not stroking himself. I move the loofah around, reaching his chest and stomach, pressing myself to his back. My breasts flatten against his skin, my nipples pointing into him. I hug him like that as I wash more blood from his chest.

“They were waiting for us.” He talks low like he’s in a dream. I wring out the pink soap and clean as he talks, taking my time, lavishing him with attention and careful touches. “Deck heard some men were hanging around one of our salvage yards so we went to check it out. I figured it was some Gallagher scouts, and I was only half right. When we got out of our cars, the shooting started right away. Killed two of my men instantly. We only survived because I know that yard better than anyone. I let the Gallagher soldiers chase me and Deck, and the rest of our crew managed to get the drop on them. I killed their last man standing, and I took my time, made sure it hurt, but that didn’t help. Nothing fucking helps and it didn’t bring my men back from the dead.”

He stops talking. My heart’s racing. I’m holding him now, not bothering to pretend like I’m cleaning. “I’m so sorry, Connor.”

“I knew this would happen when I married you. Every single life we lose is on me. They’re on my shoulders. They’re my fault. I did this to them.”

“Connor.” I lean my forehead against his shoulder. What can I say to fix this? My instinct to take care of him burns in my chest. “You did what you thought was right.”

“I don’t regret it. That’s the sick part. I’d do it again and again if I could.”

I drop the loofah. I reach around him, breathing fast, afraid, my mouth watering as I do it. I move my hand down his forearm, down to the rose on his skin, and further to his shaft. He’s still hard, and thick, and covered in veins, and I let out a soft whimper as I stroke down him to his tip.

“You care about your men.”

“Yes, baby, I care.” He lets out a soft moan. “Fuck, I care too much, but I shouldn’t. A boss like me doesn’t get rewarded for caring. Only for strength.”

“But you’re strong.” I grip his cock. He’s still rock hard. “You survived. You won.”

“How many more times?”

“As many as you have to.” I move again, stroking him in a long, unhurried pull.

“Angel,” he moans.

I bite his back and kiss him. I stroke faster, pausing only to spit into my palm. He groans, the sound incredible, on the edge of losing control. His other hand raises to reach over his shoulder, tangles into my hair, and he twists to pull me up to meet his mouth.

His kiss is blistering. It’s needy and I don’t stop. I stroke faster, heart pounding at the danger in this moment. Why am I getting him off? Why am I kissing him? Touching him? Because it feels good, because he’s so hard it makes me dripping wet, because I want to take care of him despite everything. His tongue invades my mouth and he moans, breathing my name, eyes glassy with bliss. “Please,” he says. “Fuck, angel, please, I’m going to⁠—“

He groans as he comes. Thick spurts coat the wall. I pump him, working fast as he finishes, and when he’s done, I roll my palm around the tip and lift my fingers to my mouth. He turns, breathing hard, dick still pulsing as I lick his cum and swallow what’s left.

“We’re going to get through this.” I don’t know why I say it. I’m not even sure I believe that’s true. “You’ll get through it.”