His: Tony: The Sabatini Family by Fiona Murphy (sneezy the snowman read aloud TXT) 📕

silky soft skin over hard as fuck muscles up against me has me plugged into a thousand volts of electricity that is freaking me the fuck out.

He frowns.

“Please. Seriously, right now.”

Carefully, he sets me down. Damn it, he’s made my freaking knees weak. It takes a second to find the strength to let go of him. “Come into my room when you’re done. I have a medical bag with everything I need to stitch you up.”

I nod as I keep moving into the bathroom. Closing the door behind me, I almost cry in relief as I sit down. Done, I clean up and hobble to the sink to wash my hands. I try to examine my foot again. I hadn’t been in the best position on the bed. Dang it, it hurts like hell. It feels like the glass or whatever is still in there.

Catching my reflection in the mirror, I look like crap. And I’m really just standing here with my tits hanging out still wearing his suit jacket. I hadn’t even wandered around my house without clothes on. Closing the jacket around me, I don’t want to take it off. It smells like him—leather, moss, rain, something all Tony. As I catch myself with my nose buried in the silk, I wonder if I’ve completely lost my mind.

Maybe it’s that this is likely the last night of my life and right now it’s simply one minute to the next that matters. As a nurse, I’ve had a front row seat for death for almost a decade now. It had never gotten easy exactly, but I made my peace with the fact there was peace at the end.

I can’t say that I’ve ever truly felt peace, not even in those small moments of the day...at least not that I can remember. Yet when Tony held me tight against him today and told me I belonged to him, I came as close to peace as I ever have. And deep down I’m certain I would have experienced it completely—if it hadn’t been for the confusion of why I felt so good in the arms of a man I had walked into the room with the intention of killing.

It’s that certainty that takes me across the hall to his room. He spots me and moves fast. Again, I’m in his arms as if I weigh nothing, as if he cares. I’m on a soft, silky black comforter. There is a hard satchel bag open at the end of the bed, he already laid out two vials, syringe, a needle, and thick thread for stitches. Everything appears as it would in a medical setting.

“Where did you get everything?” I fight a whimper as he lifts my foot up to study it.

Laying out a thick brown hand towel under my foot, he goes into the bag and takes out a few alcohol wipes and a small, powerful flashlight. Using one of the wipes, he very carefully cleans away blood. “The Outfit has two family doctors as in they only work for us. They get us what we need. I keep a bag in my room, and another downstairs in my office. As well as a bag in my bookie office. Shit, that is tiny. Let me numb this up before I start digging for it.”

I’m impressed at the way he prepares the shot. I can’t stop from moaning at the pain of it going into my foot. It’s in the worst damn spot for a shot, but I won’t feel it so much to walk on. He cleans the needle of the syringe with an alcohol wipe and uses it to fill from another vial. “What’s that?”

“Antibiotic, to make sure you don’t get an infection.” As he gives me the shot in my arm, I wonder why he’s bothering when he’s going to kill me anyway.

“You seem comfortable with all of this. Do you have to use the bag often?” I eye the scars he has over his gorgeous body, most of them are older. There is only one that looks like it’s less than a decade old.

“Not for me, it’s been a while. While things happen, this life isn’t nearly as bloody as people think it is.” He pauses, “Usually.”

The shot worked, and there is only pressure, no pain, as he digs around in my foot with tweezers he pulled out of the bag. There is fresh blood on the hand towel he’s put beneath my foot. “Let me guess, things got bloody tonight? Or am I the thing that is about to get bloody?”

He looks up from my foot, his jaw tightens, but he doesn’t respond, simply goes back to it. Seconds later, he grunts, “Got it.”

I study the small white shard of what was once a plate. “Damn, for something so small, it hurt like hell.”

“It isn’t as bad as I thought it was. I think you’ll be fine with butterfly stitches.”

Pulling my foot up across my thigh I see he’s right, stitches would hurt more in the end. “Yeah, those will work. This will stop bleeding easily once I put them on.” I hold out my hand for them. With a look I can’t read, he hands them to me. It doesn’t take long to apply them. Once I’m done, Tony stands over me and applies a clear patch of adhesive to protect the wound from getting wet.

I watch him pack the bag away and bends down to store it in the bottom drawer of the bedside table. Watching him, I can’t keep my stomach from beginning to twist with longing. He took a shower. His hair is still damp. There is no thought as I reach out and run my hand through his hair.

The touch sparks something in him. His eyes meet mine, a growl comes out of his chest. I blink and my back meets the bed as his hard body comes down on mine. Hot, god, he’s so hot or is it me? I’m the one