Page 23 of Thorn of Sorrow

“I’ll live.” My swallow sounded loud in the quiet room.

“What were you two doing in the hallway?” There was a faint edge to his voice.

“Last I checked, I wasn’t a prisoner.” If I didn’t sit, I would fall. My leg was trembling now, tiny needles traveling up and down the limb while it throbbed at the same time.

I must’ve hit the floor harder than I originally thought. Thank god I hadn’t whacked my head and passed out. I braced myself, expecting him to argue, to lecture. Instead, the world tilted, and I was suddenly off the ground.

“I can walk on my own,” I loudly protested, hating how good it felt pressed against him. I could feel every swell of muscle as he moved, the heat of his body sinking into me.

He ran his hand through my hair, nice and easy. He found something inside me, some desperate wildness I hadn’t even known was there. He made me want things, made me want to forget about my monstrous body and simply give in to the reckless desire that always consumed me whenever he was near me.

With tenderness, he placed me on the bed on my stomach. I started to ask what he was doing but then felt his hands kneading my leg like he was commanding the muscles to bring me relief. His touch was fueling my ache, turning it into a fire that threatened to burn me alive.

My cock hardened, throbbing as his hands worked their way up my thigh, igniting every nerve with molten pleasure that made my entire body tremble as he massaged my hip, then my lower back.

The bed dipped, bearing his weight, and now he was settled between my legs, the pressure of his hands firm but gentle. For so long I’d dreamed of him touching me, of Giovanni in my bed. Never had I thought it would become a reality.

He kneaded the spot that had struck the floor. I whimpered. His fingers eased back, trailing to my other hip. The massage was thorough, making me feel like I was floating along, adrift in his touch.

Until the brush of his fingers caused the hem of my shirt to rise up my back. My entire being went still as my breathing grew shallow. I wanted to yell at him to get off me, but the words were nailed to my throat, driving spikes of fear into my brain.

I didn’t want Giovanni to see my shame, but kept still, hoping I would suddenly sink into the mattress and disappear.

The massage had started out feeling amazing, fantastic, incredible, but now I lay there, my face buried in my arms, refusing to acknowledge Giovanni was even there.

Warm hands slid under my shirt, gliding over my ravaged skin. A tremor shot through me, so violent I nearly gasped.

“Stop!” I gritted my teeth, holding back tears, balling my hands into fists. “Just…stop…please.”

How could he stomach to touch someone so hideous? For a long moment, Giovanni didn’t say anything. I couldn’t even hear him breathing.

Then he leaned over my back and asked me in a soft, slow tone, “Are you asking me to stop because you don’t want me?”

Was the guy… What? I scooted up until he was no longer between my legs before I slipped out of bed. The bed felt too small now, too suffocating, like it was closing in on me. “You should just go.”

But my heart was begging him to stay. I just wanted my old life back, would give anything to feel normal again. My chest ached so badly that I wanted to scream at the top of my lungs until I’d purged all the pain from inside of me.

His blue eyes darkened, not with anger but with something I couldn’t name. Something unshakable.

“Why can’t you answer a simple question?” Giovanni moved with the grace of a vampire, gliding off the bed in one beautifully orchestrated movement.

I couldn’t even remember what the question was. Standing so close to such beauty had my thoughts racing in every direction.

“I just”—I swallowed, curling my arms around myself—“don’t want to talk about it.”

How could someone like him understand my struggle? His body was flawless, while mine looked like a train had not only wrecked but had caught fire and exploded.

“Just say it,” Giovanni argued. “Just say you don’t want me and I’ll leave you alone, Kyson.”

“Is this some kind of sick joke?” I shouted, my fists clenched. Giovanni had a dark side. I wasn’t stupid enough to ignore that part of him, but he’d never been cruel to me. It felt like he was taunting me, and if he was, the last vestige of warmth I’d felt would be ripped away.

Something flickered in his eyes. “Is this about your body?”

“Give the man a fucking prize,” I said bitterly.

“You think I care about your scars, Kyson?” he asked as if I was being ridiculous.

“It figures.” I gestured toward him. “You couldn’t possibly understand.”

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