Page 57 of Owning Nicci

She lingers on my cock for just a moment and then shrugs, her gaze flicking back to the book in her hand.

I stare at her, her dismissal hanging in the air between us—and I almost burst out laughing. For weeks now, I’ve kept this woman locked in a room, dictated her day, deprived her of clothing, and punished her ruthlessly. And now, when that dynamic has been removed—the two of us secluded away in this cabin after the most grueling day either of us has had in a long time—her first means of getting back at me is to blatantly stare at my body on display for her, and then dismiss me out of hand.

I would have thought I’d be angry. That I’d order her from the bed and onto her knees, telling her to show me the respect I deserve. That I’d ask her how dare she leave me hard and wanting, instead of begging to pleasure me like a submissive should. But I’m not sure any longer that I do deserve that respect—and I’m not angry.

I want to laugh. I want to cross the room and kiss her. I want to tug the book out of her hands, roll her onto her back, and tease her with my fingers and tongue and cock—until she’s begging for it. And then deny her, until she admits that she liked what she saw all along. I don’t want to hurt her or humiliate her. I want…

My chest tightens, and I turn away abruptly, dragging the pair of pajama pants on and roughly shoving my aching erection down with the palm of my hand. Nothing that just went throughmy head is possible between us. None of it was ever supposed to be. Barca took my first love from me—so I took the only woman I knew of that he’d ever had and made her mine. I can’t fucking fall inlovewith her.

It’s too ridiculous to even consider.

I stride over to the bed, and Nicci looks up again, a crease forming between her brows. “What are you doing?” she asks, her tone suddenly sharp.

I frown. “I’m coming to bed. It’s after four in the morning. We’re both exhausted.”

“There’s only one bed.” Her eyes narrow. “You’re not sleeping in it with me.”

Just like that, the urge to laugh and tease her disappears. “Like fuck I’m not,” I growl. “The couch downstairs is shit. And I’m sure as hell not sleeping on the floor. This is already roughing it, compared to the penthouse.” I don’t actually mind it. I’ve lived in luxury for the last several years, and my father kept us comfortably before that, but I don’t mind roughing it a little— as long as I get to sleep in the bed. The couchisa step too far.

“Fine.” Nicci snaps the book shut. “I’ll sleep on the couch.”

“Like hell you will. That man beat the shit out of you. You need as much rest as I do.”

Her eyebrow rises. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you sound like you actually care about me right now. But that’s not possible, is it? Although, I suppose even a pet dog gets to sleep in the bed once in a while.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake, Nicci?—”

“What?” She sits up a little straighter. “Did I hit a nerve?”

I rub a hand over my face. “I could punish you for the way you’re talking to me right now.”

“But you won’t.” She looks at me, daring me to tell her otherwise. “Don’t act like nothing’s changed, Savio. We both know it has.”

Yes, but what, exactly?I pinch the bridge of my nose, exhaustion sweeping over me in a heavy wave. “Just sleep in the bed,principessa. We both need the rest. Don’t worry, I won’t touch you. I don’t think either of us has the energy for that right now.”

Nicci drops her gaze, and I know she’s looking at what I can viscerally feel right now—my throbbing erection that’s tenting the front of my sleep pants, entirely unabated.

“It might be awake right now, but I’m not.” I yank the covers back, sliding into the bed—which is surprisingly more comfortable than I’d expected. “Stop fighting me for once,principessa. There’s been enough fighting for one day.”

Nicci lets out a slow breath, and I can feel her struggling with herself. She doesn’t want to give in to me, doesn’t want to acquiesce on any point, and after learning what I did today, I can understand why. She’s been abused and hurt and dominated by most of the men in her life, and for the first time since we met, she can push back against me without repercussions.

But I can also tell that she’s exhausted, too. She lets out another long breath and turns her back to me, sliding under the covers as she flicks off the light.

We lay there like that, in the darkness and silence. I can tell from her unsteady breathing that despite the late hour and how tired she must be, that she’s not asleep yet. And sleep suddenly feels a million miles away for me. I can feel how close she is—feel the warmth of her body next to mine—and I’m struck with the sudden realization that I haven’t slept next to a woman in years. Not since Sophie.

I never thought about it, really. Never missed it. But now the intimacy of the moment feels palpable, and I swallow hard, lyingvery still as I grapple with the sudden tightness in my chest—and my body’s reaction to being so close to her. It would be so easy to roll over, to pull her back against my chest, to slide into her and take what I’m aching for. But for the first time in longer than I can remember, I feel the faint flicker of desire for something else, too.

The desire to simply be closer to her. To hold her in my arms—and know that she wants to be there.

Before I can stop myself, I reach over, brushing a piece of her hair away from her face. My fingertip traces the shell of her ear, and I can feel the part of me that hopes that she’ll turn towards me—that I’ll see the expression on her face that I’m suddenly imagining: warm and open and desirous.

Instead, she stiffens, and I can feel that she wants no part of what I’m thinking.

I pull my hand away, the ache in my chest intensifying. I have someone else in my bed for the first time in years, but in this moment, I’ve never felt lonelier.

22

NICCI

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