Page 50 of Beautiful Torment (Empire of Kings #1)

ABELLA

S leep clings to the edges of my consciousness as a sluggish awareness urges me awake. I’m deliciously warm and cozy, and I don’t want to move. But something about that feeling makes me open my eyes.

I find myself draped over Angelo’s naked body, arm sprawled across his chest, while I use his shoulder as a pillow. I’ve got him pinned to the bed, held hostage in what could only be described as… cuddling .

My first instinct is to panic, but when I look up at him, he’s asleep. It’s uncertain whether it was before or after he succumbed to his exhaustion that I trapped him here. But then I realize his arm is wrapped around me, hand resting possessively on my hip.

So…is he really trapped?

As I consider it, I think about extricating myself. I can’t read too much into this. We collapsed and fell asleep, and that’s it. This kind of intimacy was never part of the deal. He won’t even let me kiss him, so I doubt he’d be pleased to wake up like this.

Even so, I can’t bring myself to move. Because when I leave him, these stolen moments are all I’ll have. So I close my eyes and let the lullaby of his beating heart drag me back to sleep.

“ Cara .”

The sound of Angelo’s voice pulls me from sleep, and when I open my eyes, it takes me a moment to orient myself.

He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, having extricated his body from mine. There’s no evidence in his expression that it ever happened, so I guess that’s how we’re going to handle this.

“Brunch will be served soon,” he tells me.

I try to sit up, but I just end up groaning.

“Are you sore?” A shadow of concern passes over him, and I know he’s probably questioning if he was too rough with me.

He fucked me for hours, tossing me around and testing every limit. At one point, he bent me in half like a pretzel and took me so deep I swear I felt my soul leave my body. He did, in fact, give all his cum to me like he promised. I’m quite certain there couldn’t possibly be anything left.

Flashes of memories resurface—his rough, commanding voice, teeth grazing my throat, growls of pleasure in the dark—and lots of orgasms. Orgasms that made me scream and cry and beg. There’s not a chance everyone on this plane didn’t hear at least some of it.

The thought of facing them today floods me with embarrassment. Well, everyone except for Genevieve. I hope she heard every second of it.

I force myself upright, undeniably wrecked from our marathon session. There’s an ache between my legs, and every muscle in my body is sore. It must be obvious because Angelo takes pity on me.

“Come here.” He gathers me up in his arms and carries me to the bathroom. “A warm shower will help.”

“Is that what you do for the other women?”

I don’t know why I say it, and I regret the words as soon as they leave my mouth. But Angelo just looks at me like I’m a puzzle he can’t figure out. After all, what right do I have to be jealous when I’m the one who let him go?

Whatever his thoughts might be, he doesn’t share. Instead, he opens the shower door and sets me on the bench seat inside.

He turns on the water and adjusts the temperature, and as the spray rains down on us, he begins to wash me. It’s an intimate, vulnerable position, and the survivor in me learned long ago never to accept help. But it feels like I don’t need that part of me when I’m with him.

I want to let him take care of me.

He washes my hair, then works his way down to my body, massaging the tension from my muscles as he cleans me.

When he reaches the most tender part of me, I shiver, torn between desire and agony. I know I can’t possibly take him again, but when my eyes trace the line of his rigid cock, I want to.

“Does my wife need more?” he strokes me between my thighs, coaxing a choked sound from my throat.

I nod, arching into his touch. I’m so sensitive, it won’t take long.

“I’m beginning to think I’m spoiling you.” Dark amusement laces his voice.

“No.” I shake my head, moaning when he increases the pressure.

“No?” He palms my breast and circles the nipple with his thumb. “You’d prefer it if I fucked you all day, every day?”

“I’m not opposed,” I pant. “But I thought you hated me.”

“Who says I don’t?”

I ignore that remark and reach for the bottle of soap, squirting some in my palm.

When I slather it all over his cock and start to stroke him, a rough sound spills from his lips.

I try to match his pace between my legs, but when he starts thrusting his hips into my fist, the sight alone sets me off.

I come hard and fast, the resulting spasms worth every second of soreness.

Angelo takes over, palming his cock while his gaze drifts over my body.

Nothing has ever been hotter than watching him pleasure himself while he looks at me.

Then again, I think there’s very little he could do that wouldn’t be hot.

He proves it when he groans out his release and comes all over my breasts. The dark satisfaction in his eyes sparks my hunger all over again. Madonna Mia. This can’t be normal.

When I glance up at Angelo, I wonder if my face betrays this constant war inside me. I crave him, even as I’m grieving the loss of him—knowing I’ll have to leave.

I push those thoughts aside and sit there quietly, watching as he soaps his body and cleans himself. When he turns off the shower, I’m sad it’s over.

He tells me to wait, then returns a moment later with a towel and dries me off. Despite my assurances I can probably walk, he carries me back to the bed and wraps me in a blanket.

As he heads toward the closet, my gaze drifts over all six-foot-four inches of his naked backside.

His body is ink, muscle, and perfect lines.

But in the middle of that beautiful landscape, I notice a deep, jagged scar slashed across his back.

I can only imagine how brutal the injury must have been to leave a wound like that.

My breath hitches, and he stiffens at the sound. He doesn’t turn to face me when I ask the question I know I shouldn’t.

“Who did that to you?”

“That’s what happens when someone stabs you in the back, Abella.”

His clipped response is steeped in long-simmering hostility.

It’s impossible not to think that remark is directed at me.

He indicated once before that he thought I wanted him in prison, but I still don’t understand why.

I suspect that’s where he received this injury, and I want to ask him more about it. But I can tell now isn’t the time.

He brings me my travel bag, and we dress in silence. Angelo wears a sharp black waistcoat and trousers with a white dress shirt casually unbuttoned at the collar. When he rolls up his sleeves to reveal an inked forearm, I say a little prayer for my ovaries.

I slip into a curve-hugging black pencil dress and the Louboutin stilettos I packed, which I’m now regretting. But when Angelo’s gaze carves a path down my legs, my discomfort dissolves.

“I need to go check in with the crew,” he tells me.

“Okay. I’ll finish getting ready.”

He nods, and I can’t help but feel the distance between us. I shouldn’t have said anything about the scar. Whatever memory that brought up for him, it left him in a dark mood. I can only hope it doesn’t linger.

I hobble into the bathroom and do my hair and makeup. When it’s time for the walk of shame, I steel myself with a deep breath. Just as I suspected, when I open the door, all eyes fall on me.

As I move gingerly through the main cabin, Nicky and a few of the other men glance at my husband and smirk. I guess it’s obvious he fucked me into oblivion last night.

Genevieve shoots me a contemptuous glare, which reminds me I need to handle this situation soon. I just have to decide how.

I take a seat beside Angelo just in time for a champagne brunch. After last night, I’m ravenous, so I fill my plate with fruit and pastries. Genevieve fixes me with a judgmental stare.

I smile at her and take a huge bite of a chocolate croissant. “So good. You should try one.”

“My hips could never.” She stabs at a piece of fruit on her plate.

“I like a woman who enjoys the pleasures in life.” Angelo’s voice drips with insinuation as his palm settles possessively over the back of my neck.

Genevieve’s fork clatters to the plate as she reaches for a croissant and stuffs it into her mouth. Dear god, she really is trying so hard.

By the time we land, I’m grateful to escape the plane without her.

Now, we begin the journey back to the Vitale estate—my new home.