Blood Ties (Dinero de Sangre #2) - Lana Sky Page 0,50

I are dripping wet, our hair plastered to our heads. A quick glance down reveals that he donned his slacks at least before heading here.

But I’m still naked. Still raw and overly sensitive, too exhausted to even stand on my own, let alone cover myself.

The knowledge of people watching has me shrinking against him, forced to submit to the width of his arms to cover any exposed parts of me.

And the bastard is enjoying this. He has enough tact not to laugh outright, but I can feel the subtle tremors ripple through his chest. He loves having me unnerved, left with no choice but to rely on him.

A fact that I should always keep at the back of my mind.

I stay alert as he follows the gradual incline of the terrace, eventually winding his way to the top where Alexi and Ines wait, the latter poised for instruction.

“We’ll have dinner in the dining room,” he says to the maid who dutifully scurries off. Then, Domino inclines his head toward Alexi. “We’ll change and meet you there.”

I can’t look at her directly. Not when my face is on fire, every insecurity I physically possess screaming out in the open for her enjoyment. I’m sure she can see the marks and bruises on my body in stark detail. The slight trembling in my legs.

The wetness leaving Domino’s lips glistening.

I’m sure she can connect the dots—but that’s not what has me on edge. It’s the fear that in her eyes, I’ll find a conspiratorial gleam that warns she’s not the least bit surprised to see me like this, with him.

Because, every step of the way, she’s been in on his plan from the very beginning.

“Can’t wait,” she says finally, in a flat tone that doesn’t reveal her impression of the situation either way.

As Domino heads inside, crossing the threshold of the circular foyer, I can’t stop myself from looking back.

She’s watching us, one hand casually braced on the railing behind her, her head tilted so that the sunlight hits her from the best possible angle. She’s so effortlessly pretty that it hurts, her eyes the same big, endless blue that I remember, her face perfection, perky tits on full display by her lowcut top.

Her smile is cheerful, stretching eagerly across her face.

But in her gaze lurks open suspicion and a quiet hostility that she doesn’t bother to disguise. Domino isn’t the source of her annoyance, either.

Just me.

As Domino crosses the foyer, she disappears from my line of sight, and I find myself being carried into his room seconds later.

He sets me on the edge of the mattress and strolls for the closet, tugging his slacks down as he goes.

There is a shameless pride in how he stands utterly naked and scans the items hanging from the rails. At first, I assume that he’s putting so much scrutiny into picking an outfit for himself. One that will impress a certain blond, perhaps?

Then he fingers the hem of a black skirt, and I realize what he’s doing. He’s picking out an outfit for me.

I’d forgotten that sometime during the chaos of Jaguar’s arrival, he had women’s clothing brought here. He scans them all with a familiarity that makes my breath quicken. Like he already has the exact white A-line style dress in mind for me to wear. It’s just a matter of finding it.

When he finally approaches, chosen dress in hand, he eyes me with a ruthless sweep of his gaze.

“I’ll need to wash you.”

I shiver, my head swimming. It’s unnerving how he can shift from emotionless to bristling with intensity on a dime.

“I can wash myself.” I try to stand, and I barely flex my feet against the floor when I’m assaulted by a million different, conflicting sensations. My various scrapes and injuries are on fire, each one throbbing at full force. Between my legs feels sore, rubbed raw. Even the slightly cooler air inside feels like stabbing knives against that sensitive skin. Forget washing myself; I don’t even know if I’m brave enough to risk standing up.

“So damn stubborn.” Domino hauls me to my feet by my wrist, making the decision for me.

I’m biting my lip so hard I taste blood as he makes me follow him into the bathroom and lean against the counter. He retrieves a clean cloth from somewhere, wets it beneath the faucet, and then wipes me with a rigorous, clinical focus.

The same way my father maintained his luxury vehicles. It was one of the few tasks he preferred