Page 15

His expression hardened almost imperceptibly, not in cruelty but in stillness. The kind of stillness that listened. “Was she sick?” he asked, his voice devoid of emotion.

I nodded. “For months.” For a few seconds, I was silent, struggling with my own emotions—the pain and heartbreak creeping back in.

“My father didn’t care. He never did, actually.

” My shoulders shrugged reflexively. “He said pain made people weak, that love was nothing but a distraction.” I paused again, watching him in silence.

I could tell from the look in his eyes that, for once, he and my dad agreed on one thing—the concept of pain and love. Of course, they’d have the same opinion on these concepts, given the type of life they lived.

“Mom died in silence, in a house full of noise. And yet no one stopped to hear her because weakness was not tolerated in the Romano family.” My voice cracked by a fraction, but I wouldn’t give in to the pain.

“It was in that moment that I realized strength was non-negotiable and kindness was a word that didn’t exist in the mafia dictionary.

” I exhaled sharply, blinking back the tears that stung my eyes.

“So, yes, watching my kidnapper care for me is…surprising.”

“That’s understandable,” he said, closing the distance between us, his voice low and husky. “But you’re wrong. I don’t care for you, and what I did was not an act of kindness,” he added, drawing too close to me.

I lifted my eyes to meet his face, my pulse quickening as the air slowly became electric with tension. “Oh, yeah? Try saying that with a little more conviction, and I just might believe you.” The words came out in a gentle whisper, my tone soft and endearing.

He cornered me by the railing, his hand extending to caress my face.

His touch was tender, and the rich scent of his cologne enveloped me.

My eyes dropped to his shirtless body—his broad torso, lean and defined, the kind of build sculpted not from vanity but from habit.

His chest was firm, his skin warm-toned and slightly rough from all the scars that mapped his body.

I could feel his gaze lingering, his fingers gliding down my arm, each touch stealing my breath away.

My chest heaved slowly, and my heart raced with anticipation as I drank in the sight of his gorgeous form.

His abs were taut and well-shaped, each line carved with effortless precision, leading into a V that sank below the waistband of his joggers.

His poise was confident, his touch electric, and when I dared to feel his scars, a spark jolted through my body.

My fingers traced the rough edges of his wounds, my touch soft and delicate.

“These scars,” I muttered, slowly caressing his skin.

“They’re all over your body.” I jerked my head to look into his eyes.

“You’re not the only one with a rough childhood,” he replied, his tone mild and gentle. His fingers brushed against my jaw, tilting up my chin, his breath fanning across my lips.

The air was thick with tension, and I could almost hear the sound of my own heart racing, pounding like a drum.

He was way too close, and the world had narrowed to just the small space between us.

In silence, we stared deeply into each other’s eyes, neither willing to look away.

My body shuddered slightly when he dared to wrap his arm around my waist, and in that moment, it was as though my heart had sunk into my belly.

His free hand flew into my hair, fingers rubbing my scalp in a soft massaging motion.

I felt my knees quake, my muscles relaxing at his touch.

I had no idea what he was doing to my scalp, but it sure felt good—so good, in fact, that my eyes rolled backwards and a soft purr escaped my lips.

The more his fingers dug into my hair, the more I melted into his arms, reveling in the relaxation this strange technique provided.

After a moment, Nik pulled his hands out of my hair, allowing the effect of his work to take a toll on me.

I stared at him in wonder, a small smile of astonishment playing on my lips.

His expression softened almost imperceptibly, a testament to the satisfaction that came with watching the surprise and awe on my face.

My heart was hammering in my chest, a flame of desire sparking within me.

I should pull away now before I lose control.

But this was it—the moment of truth, the moment to execute my plan of seduction.

I was starting to have cold feet, but at this point, it was undeniable that I found him really attractive.

I wanted this as much as he did, even though I hated myself for it.

I trembled beneath his touch, and when he leaned in close to my face, my breath lodged in my throat, my heart racing in anticipation.

His erection brushed against my thigh, stirring a flutter in my chest. The feeling was electrifying, and I felt a shiver run down my spine, my hunger amplifying by the second.

The plan was to seduce him and use his attraction for me to my own advantage.

I hadn’t anticipated feeling the same attraction, nor had I planned to enjoy his touch.

However, I was not in any way repulsed by him—in fact, I wanted him, and I wanted him badly.

This was the problem. Having sex with my captor was one thing; enjoying the sex was an entirely different thing altogether.

I’d die of guilt after this. That was for sure.

But for now, every fiber of my being, every molecule in my body, was craving him, and I was too weak to stop myself.

It's for the greater good. Sleeping with the enemy to gain your freedom is a necessary evil, I thought to myself, attempting to validate this act.

His fingers grazed my lower lip while holding my gaze, his cold, blue eyes boring into mine with a sensual intensity.

I stared at him, struggling to maintain my composure, even though deep down, I was falling to pieces.

Gently, he pushed his thumb between my lips, his grip tightening around my waist.

I saw it clearly in his eyes—the hunger, the passion, and lust flickering in their depths.

He wanted me, and all he needed was my permission.

Because, as cruel as he appeared to be, he’d proven that he wasn't the type to force himself on a woman. I was his prisoner—a woman in a sexy shirt that he was attracted to. So, if he wanted to take me by force, there’d be nothing that I could do about it.

Yet, he hadn’t made such advances. Instead, he chose for it to be mutual, and for that, he’d earned a fraction of my respect.

His thumb in my mouth and his palm cupping my butt cheek, squeezing gently, prompted a soft moan out of me.

I could feel his warm breath against my skin, his erection against my thighs, and with that, a wave of passion spread across my body.

I felt a tingling sensation between my legs, and in response, my thighs brushed against each other.

My head fell backward, exposing the nape of my neck as he leaned in, breathing over my skin.

His hand left my ass and traveled up my spine with a slow motion. His large palm supported the back of my head, his fingers in my hair as he withdrew his thumb from my mouth. I reopened my eyes and met his gaze, my chest heaving with anticipation.

Nik’s face mirrored mine, his lips grazing mine like a question mark.

His eyes, full of unspoken words, locked with mine as if searching for permission to go further.

My response was utter silence, my expression soft and welcoming.

I stood there with my bosom against his broad torso, my head tilted up to stare at him.

I didn’t pull away—a subtle means of granting the permission he sought.

And when I bit my lower lip, a gentle smirk flashed across his face before his mouth rested on mine.

I drew in a deep, long breath, feeling the jolt of electricity surging through my blood.

At first, I didn’t respond—didn’t kiss him back—but when his palms framed my face and his tongue slipped in between my lips, I couldn’t hold back anymore.

I leaned in, giving in to his hard and demanding kiss, the same that stole the breath from my lungs.

This was the first time in a long time that I felt alive, and with the fervency of his kiss, I felt my high walls crumbling to the ground. Breathless, our heads tilted to the rhythm of the passion coursing through our veins, and I didn’t realize when my hands flew around his neck.

Our kiss deepened, leaving me wanting him more and more by the second. His palm supported the back of my neck, fingers massaging my scalp while his free hand squeezed my butt. The deeper the kiss, the more I lost myself in passion and ecstasy.

I felt as light as a feather when he scooped me off with ease, his hands planted beneath my thighs, fingers gripping the curve of ass. My legs wrapped around his waist, locking him in place as I dipped my head to reclaim his lips.

With me in his strong arms, he walked back into the room, his pace unhurried and deliberate.

I brushed some hair strands behind my ear while still devouring his lips.

Nik strolled across the room, and when he reached the four-poster bed, he leaned down, laying me softly on my back as if I were something fragile and delicate.

My hands roamed his body, feeling the contours of his torso, the edges of his scars.

He cupped my breast underneath the fabric of my shirt, squeezing gently while deepening our slow kiss.

My legs parted slightly, a subtle gesture that invited his warmth.

His waist tugged down, his erection grazing my underpants.

He undid the buttons of my shirt, his movements slow and deliberate, while my chest heaved with anticipation.