“Shh. Relax. Open for me.” I moved in and out of her, one inch at a time, slowly rocking my hips, wanting to drive into her but holding back until she came again. I was about two-thirds of the way in.

“Fuck, Salvatore!”

This orgasm took her more violently, her walls clenching, relaxing, opening for me to fill her fully.

“God, you’re so fucking tight.” I held myself deep inside her for a moment, knowing I wouldn’t last long. When I began to move, she cried out, her fingers still working her clit, another orgasm on the heels of the last until she called out my name. The sound of my name on her lips, the feel of her around me, took me over the edge until my cock throbbed and I emptied inside her, filling her, owning her, owning every part of her.

I sat in the tub with Lucia between my legs, her bandaged ankle resting on the edge. We’d barely settled in when Marco barged into my bedroom, calling out my name, probably only stopping when he realized from the pile of clothes I’d dumped just inside the doorway that I wasn’t alone.

“Shit. Sorry.”

“Give me twenty minutes,” I called out.

“It’s urgent.”

I glanced at Lucia. Marco wasn’t one to cry wolf.

“I’ll be right back,” I said to her as I climbed out I settled her against the back of the tub.

“What’s urgent?” she asked.

I dried off and wrapped a towel around my hips. “No idea.” I went into the bedroom. One look at Marco told me this was bad. “What is it?”

He glanced toward the bathroom. I followed his gaze, then walked over closer to him.

“What’s happened, Marco?” I asked more quietly, so Lucia wouldn’t hear.

“There’s been a shooting.”

My entire body tightened. “Who?”

“Luke DeMarco. He’s being airlifted to Bellevue Hospital right now.”

“Fuck.”

“What’s happened, Salvatore?” I turned to find Lucia wrapped in a towel, hopping on one leg, leaning her weight against the wall.

“It’s Luke.” I went to her, put her arm over my shoulder, and propped her up by her waist. “He’s been shot.”

“Oh my God! Is he okay?”

“Not sure yet.”

“I have to call Izzy. She wasn’t there, was she?”

“I don’t know.”

“Shit, my phone is downstairs.”

“Here,” Marco said, handing her his.

She looked at him as if she were surprised, but took it and dialed.

A knock came at the door. Rainey peeked her head inside and held up the crutches Dr. Mooney had ordered.

“Already here,” she said, her smile fading when she saw the looks on our faces.

“Thank you, Rainey,” I said, taking them from her. “Maybe you can make us all a pot of coffee.”