The Mafia Killer’s Wife by Rosa Milano

Twenty-Seven

Amanda

I'm not sure how it happens. One minute I'm fearing for my life, the next I'm standing under a shower feeling like I'm waking up from a bad dream.

Ethan is next to me. He's a comforting figure, reaching out and taking my hand in his, sliding a ring onto my finger. An engagement ring. It's beautiful and fits me perfectly. "You're going to be all right," he says.

I shake my head. "I'm glad he's dead. Is that bad?"

He shakes his head. "You feel whatever you want to feel."

"He said things to me, Ethan. He said all these things he was going to do to me when we were married. It was like he was enjoying making me feel nauseous, like it was all a game to him. Told me it was my fault two of his men died in your penthouse. Is that where you were tonight? Did you kill them?"

"They got caught by a couple of the traps I laid out for them. I was supposed to be meeting Benito but he didn't show."

"He told me he'd torture me if I didn't tell him where you were. He didn't believe me when I said I didn't know. Why didn't you tell me? I could have told him and then he wouldn't have threatened me like that."

"You only have value to a man like that while he thinks you have something he needs. If I told you where I went and you told him, you would serve no further purpose. He'd probably have killed you at that point."

I put my head back under the water. I don't want to think about that. "Don't go," I tell him as he heads for the door again. "I can't be alone."

I find myself crying, the tears lost in the water from the shower. I blink and Ethan is undoing his tie. "What are you doing?" I ask.

"Joining you," he replies.

I know I could tell him to leave me. I could demand he leave the bathroom, not that I'm sure he'd listen. I don't say anything. I let my eyes wander down to his chest as he unbuttons his shirt, shrugging it off with his jacket. I fixate on those ab muscles, the tattoos covering his upper half. I see scars too. He's clearly had a hard life.

I like looking at him. It distracts me from what just happened. It's hard to believe I just watched a man die.

"What happens next?" I ask Ethan. "With Benito dead, what happens next?"

"You can go home."

"What?"

"Your parents can't make you marry a dead man. You can get on with your life." He sits on a chair in the corner and begins unlacing his shoes.

"But I thought you wanted to marry me."

"To bring Benito out of hiding. I could not attack him without just reason. He invaded my house, tried to kidnap my fiancee. That is a reason the commission would not argue with."

He stands up again, unbuttoning his pants. He slides them down his legs and I get a glimpse of the shape of his cock through them. The sight takes my breath away.

"You can leave my house right now," he says. "Or you can stay. Up to you."

He hooks his fingers into his boxer shorts and pushes them down his legs. I move my eyes up to his face in an instant. I don't want to be caught staring between his legs. I don't want him to know that I've never seen one in person before. If he knows how inexperienced I am, he might have second thoughts about what I'm sure is going to happen now.

Is it bad that I want it to happen? That I want him to take me in the shower, to fuck me under the running water until my memory is erased entirely.

He walks over and steps into the shower, his body an inch from mine. "Turn around," he says, holding a cloth in one hand and a bottle of something in the other.

I do as he says. I can feel his cock brushing my buttocks. It's getting hard against me. I hold my breath as he starts lathering my shoulders, applying a foamy sweet smelling shower gel. He works his way down my back and I say nothing. I'm afraid if I do, I might wake up and find this whole thing was a dream.

He saved me. Benito was going to kill me. Or torture me. Or both. The things he said to me made me feel sick and there was nothing I could do to stop him. Then Ethan appeared like an avenging angel. Solved all my problems in an instant.

He is an angel. A dark one, sure. But he knows things about me I didn't even know. Like the fact that I enjoy being washed. His hands are moving down to my legs. He's groping my buttocks on the way, his head by my neck. He's so close I'm sure he's going to kiss the side of my throat.

He doesn't. Instead he kneels behind me, sliding the cloth gently up and down my legs. He goes no higher than my thighs, even when I push my hips back toward him. I want to turn and see that cock of his, see how big it is.

I dare not do it until he tells me. His hand moves up my thigh yet again, but this time the cloth is gone and his fingers are sliding over my soft folds. I have time to gasp but then he's standing once more, turning me around to face him.

His cock brushes my stomach. I glance down at it, my eyes widening. It's bigger than I was expecting and it's rock hard. I get a sudden urge to wrap my hands around it, see what it feels like.

He applies more of the gel to my chest, rubbing it into my tits with his hands. My nipples stiffen to attention under his caresses. He squeezes and plays with my tits, circling my hardened nubs for too short a time. His hands move down to my stomach and then he's kneeling again, his mouth only inches from my pussy.

I spread my legs as he washes my thighs. I want his touch on my throbbing clit, but I dare not ask for it. That could ruin the moment.

It's like being in a bubble. There is a barrier between us and the rest of the world. It's inside this room. Just the two of us together and nothing else exists.

I don't want anything else to exist. I'm losing myself completely in the moment.

The voice in the back of my head tells me I'm free to go home. I'm not trapped here anymore. I don't move a muscle, not even when his hand slides up and over my clit. His thumb settles there, circling it lightly.

"Open yourself for me," he says. "Let me see."