Page 33 of Cage the Storm
As he carries me to the shower, his hands bruise my hips, possessively. Let him think he’s tamed me.
Nico pins me beneath the spray, his hands branding my hips as he scrubs the blood and sweat from my skin. His blood. His sweat. I let him play at caretaker until his thumb grazes the bite mark on my shoulder, his mark.
“Hurts?” he rasps, pressing harder.
I arch into the pain. “You wish.”
He laughs, dragging the soap down my spine. “You’re a terrible liar.”
“And you’re a hypocrite.” I twist in his grip, facing him. Water sluices over the scratches I carved into his chest, and I trail a finger through the pink-tinged runoff. “You preach control, yet here you are—hard again.”
His jaw clenches. I’m right. His cock strains between us, angry and ignored.
“Problem, Boss?” I sink to my knees, the tiles biting, and lick a drop of water from his thigh. “Let me help.”
He fists my hair, forcing my head back. “You’ll help by standing. Now.”
I laugh, low and taunting, and blow air across his tip. “Afraid I’ll bite?”
“Afraid you’ll drown.” He yanks me up, slamming me against the shower wall. The showerhead rains between us, but he doesn’t kiss me. Just watches as I gasp for air.
I hook my leg around his waist, pulling him closer. “You first.”
He drives into me without apology, his hands shackling my wrists above my head. It’s brutal—Nico’s brand of punishment. But I refuse to blink. Refuse to let him see how the stretch burns, how my pulse riots at the slam of his hips.
“Outlast me,” he mocks, biting my earlobe. “You’re shaking already.”
“Adrenaline,” I lie, “You’re just predictable.”
He stills, dangerously. “Predictable?”
I grin, panting. “You always fuck me like you’re trying to exorcise something.”
His laugh is dark, hands sliding down to grip my ass. “Then exorcise this.” He lifts me, slamming me onto him again, the angle ruthless. Water sprays into my mouth, my eyes, but I don’t look away. I won’t let him win.
When his thrusts turn brutal, I strike, sinking my teeth into his pectoral, hard. He roars, his climax ripping through us both, and for a heartbeat, his grip falters.
He recovers quickly, our breaths mingling in the steam. “Che cazzo sei,” he mutters. What the hell are you?
I swipe the water from his lashes. “Your wife.”
He stares, and in his eyes, I see it. The flash of dread. The realization that this marriage won’t break him. It’ll ruin him.
He shuts off the water, wrapping me in a towel, and I let him dry me, letting his calloused hands linger on my throat. Let him pretend he isn’t tracing the bruises he left behind.
As he turns to leave, I catch his wrist. “Nico?” He pauses, so I press the soap into his palm and smile sweetly. “You missed a spot.”
When he slams the door, I sink to the floor, trembling, not from fear.
From hunger.
From the ache that lives between love and loathing.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
NICOLAI
The sun’sbarely over the horizon, and I already have a massive headache. I lean back in my chair with my fingers pressed against my temples. I’m exhausted and feel it in my bones. It was a long night, riddled with problems that shouldn’t have escalated but did.
