His thumb shifted up, finding my clit through my leggings, working it with slow, precise circles, driving me upward without letting the desire flag for even a second.
"Sh, baby," he murmured when my muted whimpers got louder. "Shh," he said again, pressing his hand over my mouth as he got me to the edge, then pushed me right over, sending me crashing down into my orgasm.
When I came back down, his hand slid away, resting on my thigh, as his gaze stayed on my face, something in his eyes making that warm sensation move across my chest once again.
"We should ta—" Santi started.
"This is an interesting way to check wounds," Salvatore said from behind Santi, making both of us jolt hard at the interruption. There was a growling noise from Santi, then, but very different from the sexy growl he'd given me. This was primal and angry. It was a warning sound.
"Don't worry, I didn't see anything," Salvatore said. "Might have heard a little something."
"He was helping me wash my hair," I said, wishing I could sit up without assistance because I felt really vulnerable in my position draped across Santi's lap.
"That's what we're calling it these days," Salvatore said.
"Leave," Santi snapped. "Now," he added.
"You have her in a good position," Santi said. "Might as well let me look at her hip while you got her there."
Santi's gaze looked to mine, frustrated, but silently asking my opinion.
"Fine," I sighed.
Salvatore didn't even pause, he moved across the room, and bending down over me. His hand grabbed the waistband of my leggings, yanking down.
"Hey!" I yelped.
"Whoa," Santi said at the same time, hand flying out to hold a hand over my naked vagina.
"What? Nothing I haven't seen," Salvatore mumbled to himself.
To his credit, he had his gaze focused on the slightly bloody gauze, not my body.
"You've been in prison for fifteen years," I reminded him. "What pussy have you been seeing?"
"Walked out the gates. Got a taste of pussy then a taste of steak. In that order," he clarified. "Yours isn't on the menu," he went on, peeling the gauze back with careful fingers. "So I don't have eyes for it."
That seemed fair enough to me. Especially since he genuinely didn't seem interested in anything but my wound. The freak.
"How's it look?" Santi asked, looking, but obviously not with the wound knowledge Salvatore seemed to have.
"Like she got shot yesterday," Salvatore said, shrugging. "Where's the shit from the hospital?" he asked, looking down at me.
"On the counter," Santi informed him, jerking his head backward.
"Got all the good shit," Salvatore observed, rifling through the contents, coming back with a little pink tube of liquid, gauze, and some sort of cream. "With all this, there won't be an infection. Should scar nicer, too," he declared, motioning toward the ugly scar on his neck. "This is what the bare minimum shit gets you. Oh, that doesn't hurt," he said when he poured the tube of liquid on my wound. "It's saline."
"It's cold," I told him.
"Alright," he said after wiping the cream on the gauze, then applying it to my hip, reaching for the tape. "That's good for the day. You should shower tomorrow though. No scrubbing. Just let the water run over you. There," he said, yanking my pants back into place, going for the hem of my shirt, starting to pull that as well.
"Ey, enough," Santi growled, grabbing my shirt. "You don't have to fucking strip her naked to take care of her wounds," he said, pushing Salvatore's hand away, then grabbing the neck of my tee, and pulling it to the side, exposing just my shoulder.
Salvatore shared a look at Santi for a second before nodding and getting to work.
"Alright, Alessa. You're all set. Brio is back. We're both taking the kid to school, then I am off to... peruse some more menus," he said, giving me a devilish smirk.
"Come on, fold up," Santi said when he was gone, grabbing my hand, giving me leverage to pull up. With only a couple curses this time.
"It's weird, right? His fixation on wounds?" I clarified, getting to my feet.
"Before he was put away, Salvatore had a nickname in the Family," Santi told me as I went to the counter.
A movement in the mirror caught my eye. And I realized a second too late that it was Santi removing his soaked pants.
So, yeah, I got an eyeful.
It wasn't like it was the first time I'd seen certain parts of him.
But, still, it had an impact.
"What was that?" I asked, hearing the breathlessness in my voice, unsure if he heard it too, if he understood its origins.
"They called him Surgeon. He was the one any of the guys went to when they had gunshot wounds, and didn't want anyone tipping off the cops. Word is, he's seen some nasty shit."