Page 36 of Born into Sin

“Yes,” I say without hesitation. “Maybe he wasn’t a monster with her. Maybe she’s the one person he wasn’t a monster with.”

“The principessa is a romantic,” he murmurs.

“Maybe I am.” I meet his dark eyes and then hiss out another breath when he hits a cut on my heel.

“I am sorry about your feet.” He sounds so distraught over the idea of my feet being a little cut that I immediately reach out to comfort him, resting my opened palm against his cheek.

“I’m fine. It barely hurts.”

He leans into my touch just enough for me to feel the increased pressure against my hand. It’s obvious he hasn’t shaved for a few days, and his light beard tickles my skin while sending a shiver down my spine. Grabbing my hand, he presses me harder against him before pulling back to kiss my palm.

When I reposition myself, my dress slides up a bit, and he growls another string of angry Italian when he sees my bloody knees. My lips part when he runs his hands up my calves to grip the backs of my knees. The soft caress against my skin reminds me of the night he’d driven Svetlana and me back to the farmhouse, and goosebumps rise along my skin.

He notices and lifts his dark eyes to mine. The heat in them has an ache starting between my legs. It’s a familiar feeling that happens every time he’s near, and when instinct has me parting my thighs another inch, he groans and tightens his fingers, digging them into my skin in a possessive grip that makes me think of Bernini’s sculpture and the way Hades’s fingers had dug into Persephone’s thigh, marking her and claiming her as his.

His eyes drag over my body in a slow sweep that starts at my eyes and ends at the peek of inner thigh he’s getting. It would be so easy for him to lift my dress and see everything, but he doesn’t move his hands. If anything, he grips me tighter like he’s actively trying to resist ripping my dress up. My fingers brush along his light beard where my palm is still pressed against his face, and the sigh he gives is just as shaky as my breaths.

“You are pure temptation, principessa, and that’s a very dangerous thing to be around a man like me.”

“Why?” I whisper.

His pupils are blown when he meets my eyes again. “Because I want you, and everything inside me is screaming at me to take what I want.”

I can feel every rapid beat of my heart pounding against my chest when I lean closer so our faces are only a few short inches apart. I’ve never done anything like this before. I’ve always known I’ve been living a sheltered life, but never has that been more apparent than right now. I’ve never even been kissed before, and I’m leaning towards this sexy man like I know what the hell I’m doing. I’m clueless, and he must sense it because he tightens his grip on my legs and pulls back before our lips can touch. I try to hide the hurt I feel, but I know he can see the embarrassed flush of my skin.

He closes his eyes and softly shakes his head before standing and letting his hands drop from my legs. “I’ll get you something you can wear.”

I watch him leave, running my eyes over his broad shoulders and trim waist before settling on the world’s firmest ass. I keep watching until I can no longer see him, and I’m still staring at the empty doorway when he reappears a few minutes later, carrying a white T-shirt and navy blue joggers.

“These are going to be huge on you, but at least they have a drawstring so you can tighten the waist. I’ll send one of my men to get your bag while you’re getting cleaned up.” He sets the clothes down and walks to the large tub in the corner. Turning on the taps, it starts to fill while he grabs a towel and washcloth and the shampoo and body wash from the massive, walk-in shower.

“Let me know if you need anything else, and I’ll make sure you get it.”

Giving me one last look, he turns to leave, but I jump down from the counter and grab his wrist, stopping him and wincing all at the same time.

He groans and lifts me off my sore feet, shaking his head in irritation. “After your bath I’m bandaging your feet and you’re staying off them for the rest of the night.”

Setting me on the edge of the tub, he turns off the water and then cups the back of my head. He looks like he’s about to say something, but instead he leans closer and presses a soft kiss to my forehead.

“Holler when you’re done, principessa, and I’ll carry you to your bed.”

Without waiting for a response, he turns and walks out, shutting the door behind him.

Chapter 7

Dominic

Jesus Christ, this is not good.

I pace my bedroom, refusing to let my mind wander to the naked, eighteen-year-old in my bathtub, willing my cock to go down. I desperately need some blood to go to my brain so I can fucking think, but my cock’s been hogging it all since the second I wrapped my arms around her. She’d looked so damn scared when she’d driven to me, and nothing else had mattered except getting her as close to me as possible. I’d needed to feel her heart beating against my chest and the heat of her breaths on my neck to convince me that she was safe, and I hadn’t given the slightest fuck that my men were watching.

She could’ve been killed tonight, and that thought alone nearly brings me to my knees. It doesn’t make any fucking sense. I’ve had forty-three goddamn years to find a woman who captivates me, and no one else has, no one’s even come close, and now the one woman I can’t have is the only one that I want.

It’s only because I know she’s forbidden, I try and tell myself, but I know that’s not true because I didn’t feel anything like this towards Svetlana, and she’s just as off-limits. No, it’s only Natalya that gets my blood pumping and my cock hard, and it’s only her that has me slowly crossing lines that shouldn’t be crossed. This is the second time she’s felt how hard I’ve been, and I was seconds away from kissing her and hiking her dress up just moments ago. I never should’ve told Lev that she should stay here, but the thought of her leaving wasn’t an option, not after what happened tonight. I need to know she’s safe, and the only way to do that is to keep her right next to me.

While she finishes her bath, I force myself to leave the room instead of pacing with a raging hard-on like some pathetic bastard who can’t get control of himself. My cock slowly starts to go down, and when I’m almost at the bottom of the stairs and I see the bloody footprint she’d left on my carpet, all the lust I’d just felt is replaced with a searing rage that threatens to consume me.

Knowing someone tried to hurt her, tried to fucking kill her, makes it difficult to breathe. I’ve known rage before. I was consumed by it while trying to find my sister’s killer, but this is different. This doesn’t feel like the pain from knowing someone I love and care about has been hurt. This is an anger that resonates in my core and cuts me to the quick. This is about someone daring to hurt what’s mine, and that’s a dangerous fucking thought to have.

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