Page 26 of The Withering Dawn
I hated what I was feeling from him, but I let it in nonetheless, wanting to understand. Slowly, I got to my knees, dipping the cloth in the water again and bringing it to his shoulder. He’d removed the stitches entirely it seemed, but the wound was healing. Slowly, but nicely, despite how he’d aggravated it. I gently circled it and then continued to clean his arms. His chest. For a brief moment, he almost seemed to be enjoying it. He let his eyes fall closed and sighed with what I thought might be contentment, but then he took the cloth from my hand and dropped it in the bucket.
“What are you doing?”
“Cleaning what you cannot reach.”
“You don’t have to. Is this some attempt to not be thrown in the hold again? Will you be offering other favors, too?”
His words were harsh, but I’d heard harsher things. Whatever he was feeling at that moment had skewed his attitude and the longer I stayed silent, the more I could see the realization dawning on his face. He sighed, rubbing his temples with his thumbs.
“I am not throwing you back into the hold. You do not need to earn that. It’s just what I’ve decided.”
I recalled all that I’d observed in my time on his ship, trying to put the pieces together to better understand him. I recalled the names he’d said in his sleep. The ledgers on his desk. His scars. All of it.
“Who is Leo?” I blurted out.
His expression froze. When he finally blinked, I feared that he might chase me out of his room and leave me wondering. But then he let out another deep breath and reached into the bucket to retrieve the cloth. He continued cleaning himself in a manner far less tender than I had been.
“He was my brother,” he said. “And he’s dead.”
I sat back on my heels, hands in my lap. “Why is he dead?”
“Because the same man that carved his initial into my back killed him.” He spoke with less emotion, but his scrubbing became even more aggressive. “For helping us escape.”
“Was it Antonio?”
His gaze darted toward me for a second and then drifted away with a nod.
I slouched at the horror of it, watching Nazario rub his skin raw with the rag and dip it into the water only to repeat the process over the same area. His damp hair fell into his face as he did and I simply watched, feeling the thickness of his disgust and sorrow fill the space between us. When I couldn’t take it any longer, I reached out, clutching his hand. He stopped scrubbing and met my eyes.
“Why are you doing this to yourself?” I muttered, gently brushing my fingers across his overly washed arm.
He lingered for a moment, wordless, and then let out a soft, empty chuckle.
“Do not worry yourself over my flaws.”
I raised my hand, lightly cupping his jaw. His short facial hair scratched my palm as I ran it down toward his chin and traced his bottom lip.
“I see no flaws.”
I could practically hear his heartbeat relaxing and I was quickly addicted to the sound. I slid my fingers down his arm to his hands, turning them over and finding his knuckles bruised and battered. Gods, I hated that he was covered in pain. I lifted his hand to my lips and kissed the tops of his fingers, wishing I could take it away like he took mine away the previous night.
I remembered the way he wrapped his arms around me and turned every painful thought off like he had blown out a candle. I wished I could do the same for him because I knew he was filled with strife.
Slowly, I raised my head and caught him staring down at me, his eyes bright with emotions half hidden behind a very thickly built barrier. His heart started to beat loudly again. His scent changed. I felt my pulse quicken and suddenly, he was cupping the back of my neck and pulling me toward him. His lips met mine and I rose up onto my knees again, eager to get closer. I raked my fingers into his hair, tilting my head. My body shivered at the warmth of his as he pulled me closer, his tongue urging my lips apart.
I opened for him with a soft moan that seemed to excite him. He hooked his hands under my arms and lifted me up into his lap. I straddled his hips, settling against him, our lips still connected. His body against mine felt so solid and sturdy, like nothing could knock him off his feet. His tongue delved into my mouth, his teeth grazing my bottom lip every time he moved his head.
Never. Never had I hungered for a man’s touch like I hungered for his. Never had I been able to crave anything without the threat of punishment behind it, but somehow, it didn’t stop me from being drawn to him.
I wrapped my arms around his neck, rolling my hips over his groin, and felt his length straining against the cotton of his breeches.
But what should have been enjoyable instantly made me stiffen. I pulled away from our kiss, a mixture of disappointment and dread fighting inside me at the feeling of him being between my legs. My eyes shot open, desperate for a glimpse of Nazario to remind me who I was with.
We were both panting—both heated with need. My lips felt sensitive and raw and ached for another kiss, but my mind denied it to me. Nazario’s gaze traced over my face, reading every expression like they were words written on parchment. I could see the hunger in his eyes. I could feel the heat coming off of him and sense the speed of his eager pulse, yet he restrained himself.
“You need to eat,” he said, catching me off guard. I drew back, blinking with confusion, but rather than explain, he just brushed my hair out of my face and said, “Let me take care of you.”
I barely understood his words and shook my head, wondering if I had heard him wrong. When he realized my puzzlement, he tucked my hair behind my ear and gently moved me off his lap. I stood before him as he leaned forward, dunking his head into the bucket. His fingers scrubbed at his scalp a little before he lifted his head back up and squeezed the excess water out of his raven locks. Then he flipped his hair back and stood, grabbing a clean shirt from the foot of his bed and slipping it on.
