Page 21 of Pretty Ruthless Monsters: Complete Series

QUINN

Fuck.

Nico’s fingers are like an iron band around my wrist as he twists my arm to one side, giving himself more room to move as he tries to take the knife from me.

His sudden move caught me by surprise, but I’ve spent years training to fight, and those instincts kick in immediately.

When he tries to snatch the knife, I grip it tighter, rolling my body off of his to give me more leverage to hold on.

Nico is larger than me by a good bit, but I make up for my lack of size with skill and agility.

He tries to cover my hand with his own as if he can overpower me that way, but I jerk my arm backward sharply.

Nico curses under his breath and yanks his hand back as he almost finds himself holding the wrong end of the knife, the blade just barely missing his palm.

He kicks the covers off and throws his weight against me, shoving me against the mattress and trying to pin me down as we grapple for control of the weapon.

I can feel the strength in him as we tussle, the lean, hard muscles that filled out that fucking suit so well.

He’s no slouch as a fighter either, and every time I get the upper hand and get back on top, he manages to turn the tables.

We’re both breathing hard, straining against each other, trying to get and keep control of the knife and avoid being stabbed.

“It’s our wedding night, mia cara,” Nico growls as he tries to get me in a headlock from behind. “Don’t make me kill you.”

In answer, I snap my head back, catching a glancing blow to his face with the crown of my skull. It’s not enough to break his nose, unfortunately, but as he pulls back to avoid the blow, it gives me an opening to flip our positions.

Heat pours off of him as we roll over on the bed, burning into me from how close we are.

His cock brushes against me as he tries to pin me with his weight again, and I realize with a start that he’s still hard, still clearly turned on.

My heart pounds in my chest, all adrenaline and determination, but there’s something else flowing through my veins as well.

Something I don’t want to admit to.

“Christ, you’re fucking stubborn,” he grunts. He wrenches my arm up like he wants to break it.

“Then get the fuck off me,” I spit, jamming my knee up and toward his balls. But he must have learned from the last time because he rolls out of the way before I can make contact.

With more space opened up between us, I firm up my grip on the knife and hold it in front of me defensively.

Nico’s eyes narrow. He sizes me up for a second before moving again, and I slash out with the knife as he tries to get past my guard. The blade makes contact, cutting in a shallow line across his bare abs, but Nico doesn’t even slow down.

He keeps moving, knocking the knife aside and barreling into me like a freight train as red blood smears across his stomach.

He bears down with his full weight, bringing me down to the mattress again, then brings one knee up and presses it against my stomach.

The force of it nearly drives the wind out of me, and he holds me down like that as he goes for the knife again.

I grunt softly, trying to swing the blade at him once more, but before I can, he grips my wrist with both hands and twists. Pain shoots up my arm, my muscles weakening as he applies pressure in just the right spot to break my hold.

My fingers fall away from the knife’s handle, and Nico bares his teeth as he grasps it. In the same movement, he raises it high, his free hand wrapping around my neck to hold me in place.

Then he brings the knife downward toward my head in a long, smooth arc.

Time seems to slow down as I watch the blade descend, the dim light coming in through the windows reflecting off the silvery metal. My entire body tenses, braced for the killing blow, for the sharp, agonizing pain of being stabbed through the skull, knowing that it’s too late to stop it?—

And then the knife buries itself in the mattress less than an inch away from my head.

My pulse stutters, coming to a halt for a second before picking up again, racing out of control as I stare up at Nico.

He could have killed me.

He should have killed me.

But for some reason, he didn’t.

He looks down at me from his vantage point above me, his bare, tattooed chest rising and falling with each heavy breath. A sheen of sweat gleams on his skin, and his dark hair is messy and wild.

“I’m not going to kill you, wife,” he says, his voice rough. “So decide what you’re going to do with that.”

I don’t answer. I don’t move or say anything for a long moment, locked in place by the shock of what he just did.

Of what he didn’t do. He doesn’t look away from me, and the heat that I saw in his eyes while he was beneath me with the knife pressed to his throat has only grown, as if the fight we just had stoked that fire deep inside him and it’s burning outward now.

We stare at each other for what feels like long minutes, neither of us breaking eye contact. It drags out, the tension building between us until it’s so thick that I could choke on it.

I feel trapped, caught in that gaze, and I spare a second to wonder if Nico feels the same. If he wants to wrench his eyes away like I do but is quickly finding out that he can’t. As if we’re two trains on the same track, barreling toward each other with no chance of stopping or turning away.

As if he can read my mind, Nico suddenly moves again, dropping his head and crushing his mouth to mine, kissing me hard.

I have just enough breath to gasp in surprise, and then something explodes between us. Something hot and sharp and spiky, but too intoxicating to back away from.

Nico kisses the same way he fights, hard and intense, never backing down. He kisses like he wants to bruise my lips, like he wants to draw blood the same way my blade did when it nicked him.

In the back of my mind, I know I could go for the knife again. Nico is well and truly preoccupied with kissing me, and I could grab the hilt of the knife and have it at his throat again before he even realized what I was doing.

But for some reason… I don’t.

Instead, I go with what my body wants right now. What the near frantic pounding of my heart is driving me to do.

I wrap my arms around him, my hands roaming over the spread of his shoulders and the expanse of his back. His muscles tense and release under my palms, and when I drag my nails down his back, he groans, returning the sensation by nipping at my bottom lip—hard.

That drags a deep, almost guttural sound out of me, something primal that I have no control over.

My lips part, and Nico’s tongue plunges in.

This is different from the other kisses he’s taken.

More intense, more intentional. This kiss is like a claim, but also like he can’t get enough.

Like he’s caught up in the same wave of desperate need that I’m currently drowning in.

We trade stinging bites amidst the kisses, snatching harsh, shallow breaths between the moments when our lips are practically attacking each other. Our hands grope wildly, with me digging my nails into his muscles, clutching at his arms, and him grabbing my hips and yanking me closer against him.

There’s something about it that’s just barely this side of fighting, so rough and violent that it’s like we’re still grappling with each other for the knife.

Nico gets a hand at my chest and squeezes one of my breasts roughly, making me suck in a ragged hiss. It hurts, but it feels good at the same time, walking that line between too much and still not enough.

He thumbs my nipple roughly, pressing down on the peaked bud and grinding the pad of his thumb against it. When I arch up into him, his hips meet mine, and his cock throbs against me.

My body answers that reaction, and I can already tell that I’m starting to get wet from the way he’s touching me.

Shock ripples through me at that realization.

No one has ever been able to get me off, except for the man at the club. Phantom, whose face I’ve never seen, but who knows how to play me and my body like a fine instrument until I’m left shaking in a puddle of need.

Nico is different from Phantom, but he’s also a whole lot different from Emmett too. What he’s doing is nothing like the soft, awkward kisses Emmett and I shared in the back office, leaving me feeling nothing but regret tinged with guilt.

Nico’s kisses and touches are spreading fire through me.

“Fuck,” he groans. He pulls back, letting me drop to the mattress with a slight bounce. “Your tits feel good.” He grabs the other one, holding them both in his hands, squeezing until I’m writhing on the bed.

“Nico,” I pant. “You?—”

Before I can get anything more coherent out, he’s tearing my shirt off, leaving me dazed for a second. My whole upper half is bare for him now, and his eyes roam over my skin, taking it all in with a gaze that seems to burn hotter than the sun.

He doesn’t say anything. Instead, he lunges at me, his mouth going right to my chest. It’s hot as he presses open-mouthed kisses to my tits, biting the mounds of them and then the nipples, really setting his teeth into the pebbled buds.

“Ah!” I cry out, arching as pain flashes up my spine, only to be soothed away by the slow, deliberate roll of pleasure that follows in its wake.

The pain and pleasure of it are driving me wild, and I can’t hold back the noises I make as Nico continues to maul my tits. There’s a slight twinge of soreness when he brushes against the fresh tattoo on my chest, but even that blends in with the rest of it to add to the overwhelming sensations.

Nico finally lifts his head and smirks down at me, like he knows how good he’s making me feel, then starts working his way down my body. His lips leave a burning trail of kisses down the center of my chest and along my stomach.