Page 50 of Covert Desires

Coffee.

But my mind is anything but focused. It’s a tumultuous mess.

My hands shake as I measure out the coffee grounds. The vivid memory of Nico on his knees, of his surrender and subsequent rejection, burns through my thoughts.

For a moment–one perfect, crystalline moment–everything had aligned. I'd felt whole again. Powerful. Like the woman I used to be before the docks.

And then he'd shattered it all.

The worst part? I understand. God, do I understand. In our world, submission equals weakness. Vulnerability gets you killed. We're both products of violence, shaped by survival.

But he'd given himself to me so completely, if only for a moment. The trust in his eyes, the way he'd yielded…

Stop it, Kiah.

My post-orgasm body is still tingly with all the feel-good hormones, but my mind refuses to let him get to me.

The coffee spills over the counter as I overfill the filter. Black grounds scatter like ashes of what could have been.

From the corner of my eye, I watch as Nico opens the bedroom window.

What is he doing?

I turn to watch as the fucker grabs his dick and pisses onto the porch like the bathroom isn’t right there.

The dipshit is taunting me.

In an instant, all feelings of warmth dissipate, replaced by immediate fury.

“What the fuck, Nico?” I call, but he shows no signs of hearing me, just continues relieving himself out the window like some hooligan.

When he finishes, he turns to me, walking over without saying anything as he palms his dick defiantly, keeping eye contact.

It’s like watching a stranger. Like the man on his knees had been a mere mirage, a dream. In his place, the Nico from the storm was back, armed with that unsettling dead look in his gaze that made me jam a shard of porcelain into his shoulder all those weeks ago.

“Whatcha gonna do, bitch?” he asks, snarling at me as he masturbates unashamedly.

There is no correct answer to his taunt, so I try to focus on the coffee instead, pouring myself a cup as Nico jerks himself off onto the kitchen counter like it’s not unsanitary as shit.

I should’ve put him back in the chastity cage when I had the chance. Sure, he still has his dangerous collar, but he seems to have lost faith in my threats.

“Where’s mine?” he asks rudely as I bring my cup to my lips.

“You didn’t ask nicely,” I reply simply, taking a sip of coffee.Fuck this asshole if he thinks he can get under my skin.He doesn’t know who he’s dealing with.

He reaches for my cup, trying to rip it from my hands like a naughty two-year-old, but I pull away, smacking him across the face loudly with my free hand.

“Stop acting like a brat, Nico. I thought we were past this.”

He laughs cruelly, touching his cheek. “You don’t know shit.”

“Why are you being like this?”

The future Don Ricci stretches his arms out like Davinci’s Vitruvian Man, his body naked, tattooed, and perfect. “This is who I am. Deal with it.”

I don’t say anything, just turn to leave.

If he’s going to be like this, I’m taking my coffee on the porch.

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