Page 53 of Stricken

Hesitantly, I lay a hand on his shoulder, feeling the tension beneath my fingers. "No one will ever know," I rasp. It could be a lie, but it's the only thing I have to offer, the only way to ease the despair.

Nico doesn't respond, but he doesn't need to. The way he grips the bloodied cloth, the slight tremor in his hand, speaks volumes.

Together, we finish removing the remnants of our transgression. The hallway walls, the bedroom floors, the carpet in the living room. Furniture is moved around. Curtains thrown into the washer. Clothes shed too.

It's way past lunch when we're finally done. I do one last inspection of the apartment while Nico heads over to take a shower.

Satisfied with my findings, I follow him to the bathroom.

I take a steadying breath before entering to join Nico. I don't know if he wants me there. The scent of bleach assaults my nostrils, harsh and clinical and I pull the window up to let in some fresh air. Nico stands at the sink, shirtless, in boxers, the jeans discarded. Water splashes everywhere as he scrubs his hands raw. The bruise on his arm is a lurid purple against his tanned skin. The cuts are angry but not that deep. A cruel reminder of the night's brutality that took place in this very apartment hours ago.

Nico meets my gaze in the mirror when I stop closer, eyes haunted. "Is it always like this?" His voice is hoarse, strained.

I don't need to ask what he means. I know. I also want to offer false comfort. But I respect him too much for that. "Most times, yeah." I shed my own pants, wincing as the pain of physical labor runs through my back. "You get used to it. Or you break."

Nico's laugh is brittle. "Great options." He keeps staring at my reflection. "You said most times."

"I did."

"Do you do this often?"

"No. I try to avoid doing this at all. But I'm not going to feed you bullshit. We both know who my father was."

"I heard stories."

We finish undressing in silence. The shower hisses to life, steam billowing, beckoning us into its embrace. Under the warm spray, I watch rivulets of light pink roll down our arms and swirl down the drain.

Nico stands motionless, head bowed, water sluicing over the taut planes of his body. I reach out, tracing the bruise on his arm with a gentleness that feels too foreign to my blood-stained hands. He shivers at my touch, a choked sound escaping his throat.

"I'm sorry," I murmur, the words inadequate. Solovey men don't apologize. But when it comes to him, my brain isn't quite right.

He turns around.

His eyes find mine, a vortex of emotions. "I knew the risks." He captures my hand, pressing it against his chest. Beneath my palm, his heart pounds a furious rhythm. "I chose this. Chose you."

The declaration steals my breath, dangerous and exhilarating. In this dark existence, he is my one luminous thing.The one I would burn cities to the ground to keep safe. The one I would damn my already tarnished soul to protect.

Fuck. All these strange soft thoughts invading my mind are terrifying. Even more terrifying then death itself.

But I swallow back the confessions clawing at my throat. I don't know how to say those thing. Instead, I pull him closer, our slick bodies aligning, seeking solace in the only way we know how. Physical intimacy. His lips find mine, a searing brand against my mouth.

Under the relentless deluge, we surrender to the tide of our need, hands grasping, teeth slowly dragging against skin, marking. Desire to be close overrides finesse. It's not the usual frantic sex that's more of a battle than anything else. Today, it's unhurried and deliberate.

And when it's over, we cling to each other, gasping, spent, under the stream of water. I press my forehead against his, savoring this moment of pure peace.

"This was different," Nico's whisper is barely audible over the drumming of the shower.

I tighten my grip on him, anchoring us both. "How different?"

He palms my face with both hands and kisses me on the lips.

"Not something I'd expect from Vlad Solovey," he murmurs when he draws back slightly.

"I'm afraid I don't want to know more."

"You don't need to." Nico flashes me a smirk, first positive emotion I see on his face today, and my heart flutters. He disentangles himself from me and steps out of the shower.

"I'm starving and exhausted. How about we grab some breakfast and crash for a bit?"

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