Page 41 of Cruel Tyrant

“Would you stop for a second and talk to me?”

He frowns but puts the weights down. “It’s nothing, alright?” He sits down next to me and sighs, leaning his head back against the cushions.

I move toward him and get the smell of sweaty man musk, which is actually not as bad as it sounds, except it’s laced with something else. It takes me a second to recognize smoke. “Were you near a bonfire or something?”

He closes his eyes. That’s when I notice the stress lines around his eyes. “Not exactly. I had to work tonight.”

“Right, and that work involved fire?”

He nods, squeezing his eyes tighter. There’s something bothering him, because normal, well-adjusted humans don’t do squats and curls at three in the morning, no matter what he says. I put a hand on his thigh and feel a tingle between my legs, because holy shit, he’s straight-up jacked and I like the way his shorts are damp, but I need to get it together.

“Talk to me. What happened?”

Davide’s silent at first. I want to reach out and touch his face, but I’m afraid it’ll only chase him back into himself. There are things he doesn’t talk about, aspects of his past he keeps hidden from me and from everyone else, but sometimes I get the feeling that whatever happened to him when he was younger, whatever caused the burn scars on his hand, they haven’t healed. Even though he said he’d tell me—he still hasn’t actually opened up.

“I hesitated,” he says and it comes out so soft I barely hear.

“You hesitated how?” I prompt him as gently as I can and move closer.

He blows out a long breath and opens his eyes. “You don’t need this. You’re dealing with enough already without my stress.”

“Davide—”

“It’s fine, baby.” He leans over and touches my cheek with the back of his hand. I shiver with excitement, because apparently all he has to do is graze my skin to distract me right now. “How about we talk about your new job? Or maybe we don’t have to talk at all. Maybe I could use a distraction and you could use a way to get back to sleep.”

I bite my lip to keep a whimper firmly in my throat. “Don’t use sex to hide how you’re feeling.”

“Who said anything about sex?” His eyebrows raise in mock surprise. “I meant I was going to coach you through a workout routine.”

“Asshole. I’m serious. What happened? You can talk to me.”

His expression softens and I can tell he wants to say something, but he must be so used to keeping it all inside that it’s hard. I don’t know how to help him open up, but I want to be there for him, even if that means dealing with the occasional late-night workout sessions.

“When I saw the fire, it was like I was a kid again.” His voice is tiny. It’s so small I have to lean in closer to hear him, and that becomes its own distraction. My hands press against his muscular, sweaty chest.

“And that made you hesitate?”

“It was like I couldn’t move.” He brushes hair from my face and leans down to gently kiss my ear. I bite back another moan, but I am a solid two more kisses from straddling him and riding him into oblivion. “I don’t like fire. I haven’t liked it since I got my burns. But it doesn’t normally trigger a panic attack, and if Simon hadn’t come back inside to pull me out—” He doesn’t elaborate, but I can fill in the gaps.

“I don’t know what happened to you, but it was obviously really bad. It’s okay if you’re still working through it.”

“Not in my world, it isn’t. If I freeze at the wrong moment, I could get myself killed, or someone who relies on me could get hurt. I just didn’t know the fire would trigger it.”

“You’re safe now, you know that, right?” I tilt my chin up and kiss his cheek, moving close to his mouth. “I’m sorry that happened to you tonight, but you’re safe now, and you don’t have to beat yourself up just because you feel bad.” I touch his cheek and run my fingers back into his hair. “You’re with me now, okay?”

“I’m with you,” he repeats, and he slips one hand behind me, curling around my waist, pulling me closer. “You’re right. I’m with you.” He leans down and presses his lips to mine softly. “Why do you care how I feel, Stefania? From the start, you wanted to make it clear that this relationship would never mean anything to you, that all of this was fake.”

I kiss him back and breathe in deep through my nose. Why do I care? Why does it matter? He’s right to ask but the fact that he has to makes me feel like such a piece of shit. Because he’s right—I never wanted to marry him and made it clear from the start, but things are different now. I’ve gotten to know him in a way I never imagined, and I can see a glimmer of a man I could grow to care for, a man I might even enjoy being around all the time.

“I care because you’re my husband,” I say, and that’s the simplest explanation I have right now.

Which he seems to like. He drags me into his lap and kisses me deep, his mouth opening, his tongue exploring mine. I throw myself into that kiss, because as much as he might need this right now, I need it too.

He pulls my shirt over my head. I whimper as he kisses my neck. I’m not wearing a bra, and his hands tease my breasts before his mouth sucks one of my already-stiff nipples. I grind my hips against him, pulse racing in my chest, and his hand grips my hair and pulls my mouth down to his.

“When I came home earlier, I thought about waking you up,” he whispers as his hand slips down between my legs. I’m wearing a pair of shorts and he easily gets his fingers down the front of my panties until he’s slowly stroking my pussy. I spread my legs wider and lift my hips up to give him more room as he rolls around my clit, teasing me.

“Why didn’t you?” I ask, biting his lip as he sinks two fingers deep into my pussy.

---