Page 53 of Twisted Vows

Katherine returned from her trip, slept, and left for classes while I was at work, so other than our notes and the one phone call yesterday afternoon, I haven’t spoken with her. I miss her so much my chest aches, but with how unstable my emotions are, it’s probably best I haven’t seen her face yet. I’ll probably lose all control when I hug her.

Despite my fatigue from running nonstop in the emergency room for twelve hours, I can’t fall asleep. The apartment feels way too empty. Every creak or muffled sound from a neighbor sends my senses on high alert. I tighten my grip on my knife and press it harder against my breasts.

Worry gnaws at me. I should have tried to identify the man Fiero caught, but I couldn’t force myself to look. I don’t want to remember the face of the man my husband killed under the guise of keeping me safe, even if the guy was a criminal.

Narciso is still loose in the city, and with Fiero preoccupied, I’m easy prey. The lock on my door won’t stop someone like Narciso, nor will the building’s security cameras or alarms. I don’t know any of my neighbors, so I can’t rely on them to call the cops if I scream.

I’m as alone as when Fiero had me bound, blindfolded, and gagged in a strange room.

I long for the bubble of safety he exudes, which is stupid as fuck because he’s pure danger himself.

The soreness between my legs and the dull throbbing of my insides should be proof enough for me to fear and hate him with every cell in my body, but the brute tapped into so many parts of me I didn’t know I had.

I sigh, flip my pillow again, and punch it a few times for good measure before moving my knife to my other hand.

The small kitchen knife won’t do me much good against a seasoned killer, but maybe the element of surprise will be enough.

A few seconds pass in relative silence. The fridge hums. Wind whistles over the closed window. The clock in the living room ticks.

After I jerk awake several times, I beg my mind to go offline for a while. I need at least a few minutes of restorative sleep so I can function properly at work.

When exhaustion finally takes over and drains the tension from my body, I float in a world of darkness. Temporary peace settles over me. I sigh in my sleep. Soft footfalls creep down the hall. The bedroom door closes.

When I finally lift my heavy eyelids, I lie in the center of the bed on my back with Fiero’s massive frame looming over me. I’d know him by the broad expanse of his shoulders, even if he stood in a room full of hundreds of men. He shrugs his jacket off and tosses it aside, and with that one simple movement, he reawakens my lust. Heat bubbles in my veins as he pulls his shirt over his head and drops it to join his jacket. When he leans down and braces his palms on either side of me, my nipples pebble and clit pulses.

He angles his head to align his face with mine and pierces my soul with his intense brown orbs.

“Mio Dio, how the hell am I supposed to do this when you’re so fucking gorgeous?”

His words make no sense. I furrow my brow and lift a heavy hand to touch the stubble on his chin. A muscle ticks in his jaw. He closes his eyes and nuzzles my palm.

My heart leaps, and still mostly asleep, I bask in the intimate moment.

He grabs my wrist, pulls the blanket down to my hips, and yanks the knife out of my hand before dropping it onto the floor and pinning my hands above my head.

I snap awake with a gasp and buck, but it’s too late. His heavy body presses mine to the mattress.

“I need all your secrets,mia caramellina,” he murmurs against my jugular.

Fear solidifies my heart. I shake my head and twist my hips.

“Are you hiding something from me, Mia?”

His use of my fake name reminds me of what’s at stake. I can’t endanger my sister after all she’s been through.

“What the hell are you talking about? Did you get hit in the head or something?” I snark.

He chuckles and licks the side of my neck.

“Ah, my spicy little caramel is back to fighting form, isn’t she?Buono. I have things to do to you. Nasty, delicious things,” he promises with a nip to my collarbone.

Even as my insides melt and need thrums through my loins, I curse him and try to knee his thigh, but he wedges his hips between my legs and grinds his cock against my sex. When he slides down so his ribs part my thighs impossibly wider and his muscular chest presses against my pussy through my shorts, I force my muscles to relax and take a steadying breath.

He flexes his fingers around my wrists and pushes them deeper into the pillow.

My thin t-shirt does little to dampen the sensations as he nestles his face between my breasts. His facial hair scratches my flesh and the warmth of his breath ghosts over my skin through the fabric. My thighs tremble as he reaches down to adjust his cock against the mattress before slipping his fingertips under my shirt to tease the flesh above my waistband.

“Look at me,amore mio,” he demands.

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