Page 124 of Filthy Little Fix
"What the fuck are you laughing at?" he mutters. He already knows where this is going.
"Haven't we had this conversation before?"
He huffs.
"I'll call the doctor," he says, reluctantly.
He sits up and starts to turn. I stop him before he can leave the bed.
"No, no, no," I plead. I stretch out, swallowing the pain to reach and grab his wrist. I don't want to be in this room without him. "Don't leave me alone again."
He stops. He looks at my hand holding him, then at my face. It's an honest plea. I'll go crazy if he leaves.
Then, his body turns back to me. He gives in. He shows mercy.
Relief.
"I kept one side of the bed untouched," I say. I lie back down, pressing on my ribs—throbbing, burning—as if it helps suppress the pain from the effort. "Waiting for you."
He looks at me with soft eyes. They're new to me.
"I did the risk analysis. The probability that you had... grown tired of me was high."
He shakes his head. It's involuntary. "Nyx, I can't get your fucking voice out of my head. I stayed away so..." he stops. He gestures towards my ribs, "...thiswouldn't happen."
I smile. How strange, to have Dante Volkov's concern. Depriving himself so I could recover.
"I was hoping we could talk," he says softly. Intimately.
He should have known I'dneedhim, especially after days alone. But he hesitated before putting his hands on me. It's true.
I smile. "Good to know I can still mess up your plans."
My voice comes out soft, too. On its own. My body yields to him, I respond to him, Ireciprocate. Anything.
"No more games, Leo," he says. My heart nearly stops.Leo. It sounds sacred in his voice. "The noise... in my head. It came back when you were taken. Worse than ever." He stares at me. Beyond the fury and desire, I see a contained fear. "I don't function properly without you."
He pauses. Admitting it seems to cause him pain.
"But I can't give you a normal life. Peace. What I have to offer you is... this. Blood, violence, and a monster in your bed."
I can't breathe.
"Is that enough for you?" he says.
I can't fucking breathe.
I don't know how to answer that. He's cornered me. A simpleyesis inadequate—he's offered me animmensity.
I force my body to move. I push my torso up, propping myself on the mattress, and I lean in. "Fuck, Dante." I get closer. The pain rips a grunt from me, but I wouldcrawlto have him nearer. I climb on top of him, feel his hands automatically grip my waist. "Fuck." I sit on his lap, resting my arms on his shoulders.
He sees me wince in pain. He whispers, "Careful," as he steadies me, holds me. The word is so unexpected, so absurdly tender coming from him.
I slide my hands to his face. I hold him—ignoring the pain, ignoring everything but his eyes, his skin.
"I fucking love you," I whisper.
He frowns, but not with anger. Softly, he says, "It's not love, Nyx. It's uglier than that."
