Page 37 of Madness & Mercy (Deadly Sins #1)

“You know,” he murmurs, voice low and dangerous, “when I said I loved you, I imagined you’d say something back. Not hide behind denial.”

“Nico—” I choke on his name, because his boot presses higher, the subtle grind of it sending heat straight to my gut. He doesn’t rush. He’s savoring every inch, making me feel how easily he can reach me without even using his hands.

“Tell me, piccolino.” His voice is a blade, sliding in deep. “Am I really the first person you’ve ever loved? Or are you just scared to admit it to yourself?”

My pulse is pounding so loud I swear he can hear it. The boot presses a little firmer, forcing me to feel every slow drag of leather.

“Say it,” he whispers, eyes locked on mine. “I want to hear you say it.”

“I…”

The words dry out mid-sentence, my tongue useless, my brain short-circuiting.

Nico’s boot drags higher along the inside of my leg, slow as sin, the smooth leather catching on the fabric of my pants. Every subtle press sends a shiver racing down my spine, and I’m suddenly hyperaware of the heat pooling low in my stomach.

“What’s wrong, piccolino? Can’t speak?” he drawls, his eyes locked on mine. He doesn’t need to raise his voice. That quiet, knowing tone is worse—like he’s already peeling me apart with it.

I try to shift back, but the wall traps me, and his boot follows, pressing in just enough to make my breath stutter.

“I like you like this,” he murmurs. “Cornered with nowhere to go. Nowhere to run.”

I grip the edge of the table so hard my knuckles ache.

“Since you won’t say it,” Nico murmurs, his voice a low, dangerous purr, “I’ll give you a choice.” His grip eases, just enough to make me notice how badly I want it back. “Do I punish you upstairs… or right here on the dining room table?”

My pulse slams in my throat. I scoff, though my body betrays me. The thought of him doing exactly that makes my chest tighten and my dick throb. I hate how much I want it.

“I’m going to bed,” I mutter, shoving up from my chair like it’s my idea.

His eyes narrow. “Is that what you really want, amore mio?”

The words sink into me like a blade. I don’t know much Italian, but I know what that means. And from his mouth…it’s lethal.

“Do whatever you want,” I say, voice rougher than I intend.

Nico’s smirk curves, dark and knowing. “Get upstairs. Strip. Wait for me. I won’t be gentle.”

I flip him off as I walk out, but the sound of his low, amused laughter follows me up the stairs.

In the bedroom, I shut the door and lean against it, forcing in a breath.

My heart’s still pounding, my cock still straining against the fabric of my jeans.

I step into the bathroom and splash cold water on my face, but it barely dents the heat.

All I can think about is the sound of his voice and the promise in it, one I know damn well he’ll keep.

I shove my pants down, fist my cock, and work myself hard and fast until my breath comes rough in my throat. The spit-slick slide is good, but it’s not enough.

In my head, it’s his hand. His grip. His pace. Nico wouldn’t be gentle. He’d own every second of it, pin me where he wants me, and watch me fall apart.

My head tips back against the wall. Almost there…

The door swings open.

I freeze.

His low chuckle drags over my skin like a blade.

“Please,” he murmurs. “Don’t stop on my account.”

“Crazy bastard,” I mutter, heat flooding my face.

“That’s one way to put it.” He leans on the doorframe, his eyes locked on me like I’m already stripped bare. “Keep going.”

I swallow hard. My hand moves again, slower now, every stroke feeding the burn under his gaze. My pulse won’t settle. It spikes and spirals until I’m shaking.

Still, I can’t finish.

He sees it and smirks.

“Get on the bed,” he murmurs, stepping into the bedroom.

God, I want to stab him.

But I want his hands on me more.

“Fuck off,” I mutter.

“So that’s how it’s gonna be?”

His grin is pure sin, all teeth and danger, before he slams me back against bathroom wall. My chest hits the cool tile, his body pressing in. My arms are wrenched behind me, one of his hands pinning them there like I’m nothing but prey.

“You’re such a damn brat, you know that?”

I don’t get a chance to answer before the sharp crack of his palm explodes across my ass. The sound rips through the air. The burn hits a second later, and I bite down hard on my lip when an embarrassing, needy sound claws its way out of my throat.

“What the hell—”

Another strike, harder this time, pulls the air from my lungs.

The blood rushes south, thick and fast, until I’m throbbing. I glance down, catching the obscene drip of precum sliding from the tip.

Holy fuck. Is this turning me on?

I can’t even reach for myself. His grip is iron, my wrists caged in one hand while the other lands another stinging slap.

“Pick a safe word,” he says low, voice brushing over my skin. “If you don’t, I’ll choose one for you.”

My jaw tightens. “What, you think I’m fragile?”

He just laughs under his breath, teeth scraping lightly at my ear. “No. I think you’re stubborn. But if you want me to stop, you say mercy.”

“Fine,” I mutter, refusing to give him the satisfaction of more. “Whatever.”

“Count,” he breathes against my ear, his voice low enough to curl in my spine.

“Asshole. I’m not doing that.”

He hums, almost amused, before delivering a blow so hard heat flares all the way up my back.

“Count,” he orders again, his hand gripping and kneading my ass possessively. “Or you won’t get to come.”

The next slap has me gasping, my body betraying me.

“One,” I grind out, hating how wrecked I already sound.

He doesn’t stop. The rhythm builds. Two.

Four. Seven. Every number makes my voice rougher, my cock harder, my brain hazier.

By the time I hit fifteen, my breath’s coming ragged.

By twenty, my legs feel like they’re going to give out.

By thirty-five, I’m swaying into him like I can’t keep upright without his grip.

And then—

Fifty.

The word comes out broken, half a gasp, half a plea. My body slumps back into his. My wrists are still locked tight behind me, but his free hand finally wraps around my cock.

One stroke. That’s all it takes.

I come hard—so hard it steals the air from my lungs—spurting over his hand, over myself, shameless and shaking while he holds me there, murmuring low in my ear like I belong exactly where I am.

“You did well, amore mio,” he whispers, teeth grazing my earlobe.

“Now tell me. I want the truth. What do you need from me?”

I tremble, almost moaning from the intensity. “Ruin me, Nico… tear me apart, make me yours.”

His mouth claims mine in a bruising kiss, and I fall into it—into him, into the heat, into the darkness.