Page 20 of Bound By Honor

Clothes fall away, fabric puddling at our feet as we step under the deluge together. Water cascades over Rocco’s broad shoulders and down his battered knuckles. He winces slightly under its sting but relaxes as my hands begin their work, gentle and soothing. Here, under the spray, I can believe we are just two people defined not by our past or by the shadows that chase us, but simply by this moment.

The water falls, a soft, unending roar that drowns out the world. The steam rises in curling tendrils around us, clinging to my skin, mingling with the residue of fear and relief that the night has drawn upon me.

“It’s going to be okay,” I find myself whispering, not knowing whose comfort I seek more—his or mine.

Rocco nods slowly, his forehead resting against mine now. The steam and water blur his features momentarily, as if protecting me from the grizzlier details of the night. “Thanks forbeing here,” he murmurs, his voice scarcely above the sound of water. Those few words unravel me and the wall I’ve barricaded myself with for too long.

Rocco’s hands frame my face, rough yet achingly gentle. When he kisses me, it’s with a desperation that echoes my rawest nerves. Our movements are slow, almost reverent; every touch and sigh amplified by the enclosing heat and sound. Amid the steam and the steady drum of water, his fingers trace gentle circles down my back. "I need you, Sofia. Do you need me?"

I nod, feeling the heat not just from the water but also from his gaze, intense and unwavering. "Yes. Always," I whisper back, surprised by my own certainty.

Rocco leads me toward the tiled shower wall, cradling my ass cheeks as he lifts me off the floor and winds my legs around his hips.

Steam wraps around us like a cocoon, blurring the edges of the world outside this shower. The slick tiles against my back contrast with the warmth of Rocco's body pressed against mine. Without warning, he thrusts his cock inside me, stretching me open and plunging deep with a pounding rhythm that makes my eyes roll back in my head. Water mingles with our movements, a rippling chorus accompanying each breath and whisper. I cry out again and again, confessing my love and praising every stroke.

The touch of Rocco's hands is both gentle and urgent, leaving a trail of goose bumps on my skin despite the scorching heat that surrounds us. I dig my fingers into his strong shoulders, anchoring myself as I lift my legs and wrap them around his waist, pulling him closer, craving a deeper connection. Every movement reveals the play of his defined muscles, rippling against me with each thrust. His lips find mine, kissing me deeply, passionately, as if trying to communicate everything that still remains unspoken.

Rocco responds with a low growl that vibrates against my chest—a primal sound that sends shivers down my spine. The water flows over our intertwined bodies, creating a symphony of sounds that only adds to the intensity of our passion. As he shifts and adjusts his movements, lifting me slightly, the sensation becomes even more powerful. Each synchronized motion replaces any negative thoughts with mind-numbing pleasure, leaving me lost in the moment and consumed by desire.

As we move together, the rest of the world fades away until there’s nothing but the sound of falling water, his breath in my ear, and his silky voice whispering sweet nothings and undying devotion. Here, wrapped in Rocco's embrace, I feel safe and loved. The wall I built around my heart so long ago completely crumbles, and I surrender entirely to the man I love. Nothing will ever be easy between us, but I know where I belong.

17

SOFIA

My eyes snap open in the dark.

Although I enjoy the quiet, the house feels too silent. It’s unsettling to my nerves and making it impossible for me to return to sleep. I sit up, blinking to adjust to the darkness. The clock on the nightstand reads 2:37 a.m. A pang of restlessness throbs through me, a stark contrast to the troubling calm of the house. Tea, I decide suddenly—remembering the Sleepy Bear tea I recently ordered from the market. It’s a small comfort against the unease tightening my chest.

I slip out of bed, careful not to disturb the cool sheets too much, and pad quietly across the room. Even in the dark, my feet know the familiar path down the hall to the kitchen. As I reach for the light switch near the kitchen door, something—instinct, maybe—makes me pause. My hand hovers midair, fingers trembling slightly.

Then I hear it: a faint shuffle from somewhere behind me.

My heart stalls, and a cold prickle runs down my spine. I tell myself it’s probably just one of the guards on a late-night round. But that reassurance does nothing to soothe the tight knot in my stomach.

“Who’s there?” My voice comes out barely above a whisper, betraying my rising panic.

A shadow detaches itself from a darker patch beside the bookshelf as the sound of footsteps becomes crystal clear. “No need to be afraid, Sofia,” the intruder coaxes, before the figure steps into the moonlight streaming through a slit in the curtains. It’s him—Antonio Bello, looking as calm as if he’s merely a guest who wandered down for a midnight snack.

But his eyes give him away. They dart with sharp purpose, scanning and assessing. He’s not alone.

“What are you doing here?” I demand, my voice steadier than I feel.

Antonio smiles, a chilling curve of his lips that doesn’t reach those calculating eyes. “Come now, Sofia. We both know what this is about.”

I take a step back, bumping into the counter’s edge as realization shakes me into panic mode—the guards aren’t making rounds because they can’t—they won’t ever again.

Antonio moves closer, and every instinct screams at me to run, but where would I go? This man has breached layers of security as if they were mere cobwebs. His presence alone is suffocating, like a heavy fog that blurs my vision and clouds my mind. If I shout for Rocco, Antonio will have the upper hand and might shoot him as he rushes downstairs. I can’t take that risk.

“Let’s not make this difficult,” Antonio continues in that same eerie calm manner as he advances another step. There is a faint smile on his lips, but his eyes are cold and calculating. “You’re coming with me, Sofia.”

The threat is implicit, hanging heavy between us like a blade poised to fall. Every nerve in my body is on high alert, and my senses are heightened as I try to think of a way out.

Fortunately, desperation lends courage—or maybe madness—and suddenly, I am moving too. Not away from him but towardand past him, where I know Rocco keeps a concealed gun in one of the kitchen drawers. My feet pound against the floor as I push myself to move faster. Time seems to slow down around me as I reach for the drawer handle, my hand trembling with fear.

Antonio’s eyes widen with realization as his hand grasps the empty air where I stood just moments before.

My heart races with adrenaline as I yank open the drawer, and my fingers wrap around the cold metal handle of the gun, my body twisting to point it directly at Antonio’s head. The weight of the weapon in my hand gives me a newfound sense of power and control. “Now,” I say, using my leverage while struggling to steady my shaking hand. “Let’s talk about where I’m taking you.”

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