Page 108 of Filthy Little Fix

I lean in. My whole body protests. I brush my mouth against his, and the words come out without me thinking. Like a reason. It's automatic.

"I love you."

I kiss him again, before he can rebuild the wall.

For a second, his hand presses against me. He's so much stronger than me and could break me in half if he wanted, butthe pressure is so weak it doesn't move me. I remain. And he, slowly, holds my waist.

I wrap my arms around his neck. The burning, at this point, feels good. He presses me against him, and he's still rough, but now he holds me gently. He kisses me back. All of his kisses leave a cluster of heat in my groin, spreading through all my nerve endings as they explode with oxytocin and dopamine. The taste isn't of blood anymore—tobacco, whiskey, and a minty undertone. I lean closer and feel the loose bone of my nose against his cheek. Fuck it. I feel his hair between my fingers. His tongue. Him.

"Don't say that again," Dante orders against my mouth. It's a frightening growl. It makes me shiver.

I smile into the kiss.

"I love you," I say again.

"Nyx…"

"I love you."

I kiss the corner of his mouth. His jaw.

He grips my waist tighter, and the movement makes me hold my breath, a sharp pang coming from my broken rib. It's an involuntary spasm, but he feels it.

Immediately, he stops. He pushes me away with a strange urgency. His hands assess me, feeling my body, and he stares at me with a closed-off expression. Another frightening order.

"Enough," he says, harshly. "You're hurt."

Hurt. It only registers now. He'sactuallystopping because of that.

I laugh. Laughing hurts too.

"After everything we've done... a broken rib is where you draw the line?" I say. I move closer. "You broke my molar once, remember, mister? I spent a week with a swollen face. But a wound someone else made..." I lower my hand. I touch hisknuckles, still red, swollen from punching that guy. "...this one bothers you?"

He takes my hand.

He's about to answer when a knock sounds at the door.

It's Dmitry's voice, muffled by the wood.

"Dante?... It's me. I'm coming in, okay? Very slowly. Just... announcing my entry so no one gets spooked."

Dante sighs. He pushes me away, but keeps a hand on my back, supporting me. I unwind myself from him. Standing straight again makes the pain lessen.

The door opens with comical slowness. Dmitry pokes his head in, his eyes fixed on the floor.

"I hope I'm not interrupting any... important strategic deliberations," he says, choosing his words with the care of someone walking through a minefield. "I know I asked Luca not to bother you, but it's about our... about Sal."

The mention of Sal's name breaks the spell. Dante removes my hand from his arm, and he recomposes himself the instant Dmitry's eyes hesitantly turn to us. He was expecting nudity.

"He's in the basement interrogation room," Dmitry continues. "He's cooperating. But we need to decide what to do with him. Long-term."

Dante looks at me one last time.

"Let's go," he says, his voice once again glacial and in command.

He walks past me and Dmitry, leaving the room, the general back at his post. Dmitry and I exchange a quick glance. He gives me a minimal smile, almost an apology.

He knows exactly what he interrupted.