Page 57 of Where Dark Hearts Devour
This man is a masochist.
As my fingertips rest on the glass, I realize that although I’ve been standing under the shower for the past ten minutes, I haven’t actually washed myself. And since Cristiano’s obviously now seen all of me stripped bare, I have nothing to lose.
I break eye contact to locate a bottle of very expensive soap. I squeeze some onto my palm and rub it slowly to a lather. When I lift my gaze, I feel the hot spear of his focus instantly. His hands are in his pockets, but his shoulders are rigid. Something pulses between my legs, threatening to distract me, but I don’t stop.
I rub the soap onto my arms, working it up to my shoulders, across my chest, and down to my breasts. My palms catch the sharp peaks of my nipples, and a soft gasp darts out of my throat, taking me by surprise.
Cristiano tears a hand from his pocket and pushes it roughly through his hair. He’s standing too far away for me to read his expression through the steam, but his stance hasn’t changed. He’s stilllooking.
I rub the soap across my rib cage and slowly down over my stomach. My cheeks tighten with warm shame as my hands reach a part of me no man has ever seen. I tremble at the contact and allow the soap to glide my hand between my legs, back and forth. I only intended to clean myself, but holy crap,it feels good. I’ve been down there before—not always with much success—but right now I could collapse with the need for release.
Even at this blurred distance I don’t miss Cristiano tugging his bottom lip between his teeth. I want nothing more than to tip my head back and rub myself until this torturousurgeimplodes, but I force my hands down my thighs.
The same hand that Cristiano pushed through his hair now wraps itself around the back of his neck, squeezing at the taut muscles lining the tops of his shoulders.
My mouth has achieved the impossible—in a steam-filled room, it’s as dry as a desert. I don’t want to stop this exhibitionist display, but I have to. Because if I don’t, and nothing comes of it, I might die.
And if I don’t, and something does come of it, I might be killed.
I step back beneath the powerful spray of the shower and close my eyes as the suds run off my skin.
When I eventually turn off the water and open my eyes, Cristiano has gone.
Cristiano
“We’ve found the guy. He’s not a Marchesi, but he was paid by one, and we know where he’s hiding.”
I feign interest in Sav’s update, keeping one eye on the bathroom door. I’ve had to take the call in the kitchen so the sound of falling water won’t trigger any questions. Not that it would. When Sav is on a mission, he’s single-minded. He can only entertain violence. Dramatic, bloody, all-consuming violence. The sound of a shower in the background that potentially holds his future wife is an unnecessary distraction as far as he’s concerned.
Sometimes I wonder if we’re from the same parents, if not the same planet.
I stare at the door, half-listening to my brother. From here I can only see the doorframe, but that’s for the best.
I stared at her for too long.
I shouldn’t have stared at all.
She’s about to become family.
A lead weight settles in my stomach. She’ll share his bed; bear his children.
My grip tightens around the phone until I’m sure it would only take one more squeeze for me to crush it into small pieces.
“What happened to the Castellano girl?” he asks, rather late in the day.
I settle back against the island. “She’s safe. I’ve got her.”
“Are you at the house?”
“No. My apartment in the city. She can’t stay at her father’s.”
“No. You’re right. They’ll want her, and his place is wide-open. Okay, good. Keep her there. I’ll collect her when I return.”
“And take her where?” It shouldn’t matter to me where he takes her, but it does.
“She can stay at the house,” he says with an undertone of boredom. “She’s going to be living there after the wedding—she may as well start getting used to it.”
I rub the ache from my jaw. At some point during our conversation, it’s tightened.
