Page 22 of Shattered King

Luca

M y wife’s never been affectionate.

Not that I can blame her. I’m not exactly cuddly.

But lately, we’ve been talking a little bit before bed.

Nothing deep or important, just small things about what she’s been working on or problems at the trucking depot.

We’re both aware that our marriage is totally based on convenience, but still, if we’re going to be trapped together, we might as well try to get along.

And I’ve been enjoying it. I know I shouldn’t, but I like the sound of her voice. I like hearing how excited she gets talking about her nerdy car shit. It’s a highlight of my day if I can get her to go on a car-fixing tangent.

Except tonight, something’s off. I can’t figure it out at first. She’s not looking at me when I get changed, which isn’t normal. Usually, she’s trying to pretend like she’s not staring at my body as I strip out of my clothes.

But right now, she’s already under the covers with her back to me, and we haven’t even turned off the lights.

“Make any progress on that sticky gear box?” I ask after flipping off the light and climbing in. We don’t touch at night, but she’s not usually lying as far away from me as possible.

“No,” she says quietly.

At least I know she’s not dead.

“What did you work on instead?”

“Nothing.”

“I know you wanted to order some new fabric for the back seats. Did you find it yet?”

“No.”

I stare at her back, a strange frustration filling my chest. What do I care if she gives me one-word answers? I can just sink down against my pillow, close my eyes, and go the fuck to sleep. If my wife wants to be this way, who cares?

“You know, I was thinking about getting a new car recently,” I say, sounding as casual as I can. “I was leaning toward electric. Maybe a Prius?”

She stiffens. I grin to myself, watching her reaction. “Great idea.”

“You think so? I could electrify the whole fleet of trucks. Might be expensive, but in the long run?—”

“You do that and you might as well flush your whole business down the toilet.” Her shoulders hunch, and she glares at me over her shoulder, looking outraged in the darkness.

“Oh, interesting. I wasn’t sure you knew how to string together a complete sentence.”

Her jaw flexes, and I can tell that pissed her off. But she only shrugs and rolls back over. “Whatever. Goodnight.”

I should let this go. Maybe she had a bad day and just isn’t in a talkative mood. She doesn’t have to engage with me every time I feel like checking on her. Fiorella’s her own damn person, and she doesn’t even owe me a conversation.

But I can’t help myself. There’s no way in hell I’m getting to sleep tonight before I figure out what’s eating at her. I’ll obsess all night long and stare at her slowly rising chest and listen to her soft snores, and tomorrow I’ll be a fucking zombie. Might as well get this over with now.

“You can lie there and pretend to ignore me, or you can just tell me what’s going on. Either way, I’m not leaving you alone until you talk.”

Her shoulders hunch again. “Can you just drop it? I’m fine. Everything’s fine.”

“Clearly something happened.” An ugly thought occurs to me. “Was it one of my men? Did one of them say something to you?”

“Luca, no, of course not.”

“Tell me, baby. I promise I’ll take care of them. Whoever did it, they won’t so much as fucking look at you again when I’m finished with them. Nobody disrespects my wife.”

“Stop it, I already said it’s not that.”

“Then what’s going on?”

“I’m just tired.”

“Great excuse, but your bullshit reeks.”

“And you’re being a stubborn asshole. Can you just leave me alone? Or do I have to go sleep on the couch?”

“Not happening.”

“If you won’t leave me alone—” She shifts her weight and starts to sit up.

I react on pure instinct. I grab her by the waist and pull her back against me.

The thought of my wife sleeping downstairs alone overwhelms my rational brain.

I’m acting on pure protective instinct. She won’t be down there alone, not when her uncle is still actively looking to put a bullet in her head.

She’s sharing my bed, right where I can react fast enough to keep her safe.

Or that’s what I’m telling myself.

Because the truth is much more sinister and selfish.

“Talk to me, baby,” I whisper, her body pressed to mine.

My heart’s racing against her spine, and her soft ass grinds against my dick.

This right here is why I really want her.

I know it’s fucked, but I’m getting hard as I keep her pinned to me.

She squirms slightly. I want her so badly it’s like hunger pangs. Like I’m starving to death.

“Let me go, asshole. Seriously , let me go.”

I tighten my grip. “Tell me what’s going on.”

“I don’t like being restrained,” she says, her breath coming in faster. She’s talking through her teeth, her eyes wide and wild. “Shit, Luca, please, just let me go.”

“I’m going to keep you safe, Fiorella,” I whisper, one hand fisting her hair. She’s perfect and she’s mine, and I can’t let her leave. “I don’t know what happened, but if you won’t talk to me?—”

“Let me go!” She snaps her head backward, and her skull catches my teeth.

Sharp pain and the taste of warm blood fill my mouth. That breaks the spell. I release her, and she rips herself away, breathing hard as she leaps from the bed, arms wrapped around herself. I stare in surprise, licking my bloody lip and not moving an inch. She backs away, her eyes wide.

What the fuck just happened?

“You hit me,” I say softly.

“You wouldn’t let go. I told you, I don’t like to be restrained.” She looks scared. Like she thinks I’m going to hurt her.

Slowly, I climb out of bed. She keeps putting distance between us. “Tell me what happened to you, Fio.” Fuck the blood. Fuck the pain. All I want is her. She can’t keep pulling away. Not if I’m going to keep spiraling down into her like this.

“Let it go. Just please, let it go.”

“You’re my responsibility. I can’t close my eyes knowing something bad happened to you. Talk to me. Let me fix it. Let me listen at least. Let me help you.”

“Luca, it’s nothing, I’m fine.” Her back bumps into the dresser. She yelps in surprise and stumbles, tripping on a drawer she left open. I lunge forward and catch her before she can fall, pulling her against me again.

But this time, I don’t hold her down. My grip is gentle on her hips as she leans on my shoulder, her hands on my bare chest, her lips open as she looks up at me.

“You’re lying,” I whisper, licking my bloodied lips. “But I can’t force you to tell me what’s wrong. I’m sorry if I scared you.”

“I’m just on edge.” She leans her forehead against my chest. “God, your heart is racing.”

My fingers dig into her sides. “I worry about you, Fio. All the fucking time.”

“You don’t have to. You know that. I’m just—” She shakes her head. “I’m just some girl that lives with you, that’s all. You don’t have to keep doing things for me out of obligation.”

“I don’t feel that way.” I dip my mouth down, lips brushing against her neck. “You’re not a burden to me. I came into this thinking we’d be like strangers living under the same roof, but you changed all that.”

“Just because we slept together?”

“No, baby, because you do this to me.” I tighten my grip for a brief moment before relaxing it again. “I can’t stop thinking about you.”

“My safety isn’t the most important thing in the world.”

“It’s not only about that. I keep thinking about you , Fio.

About the way you laugh. About the smell you leave on the sheets.

About your shorts on the floor, about your voice on the phone, about watching you fix your car.

Everything about you. I watch and I obsess, and I can’t stop myself.

I don’t think I want to stop myself anymore. ”

She stares at me, mouth hanging open. I’m going too damn far. I’m showing her too much. This is everything I swore I wouldn’t do.

My promises get people killed. My love is poison. I’ve known that for a very long time, ever since I was a kid.

But Fio came storming into my life, and now it’s like all the carefully constructed walls I erected around myself are all crumbling down to dust. She cracked me open. And now I’m spilling.

“If you’re trying to scare me, you’re doing a good job,” she whispers.

I shake my head, brush my mouth against her cheek. “You’re lying.”

“What makes you think that?”

“You’re not fighting me.” I kiss her neck. I taste her skin. Fuck, it’s so good. Her smell is like an iron spike driven straight into my skull.

“Luca,” she whimpers, still clinging to me. “We can’t.”

“We can.”

“But we shouldn’t.”

I grip her hair. I pull it back until she’s staring into my face. I hold her gaze, and those big, beautiful eyes aren’t afraid.

No, she’s looking at me like she wants to drown just as much as I do.

“You’re my wife. Nobody tells me what I can and can’t do with you, baby. And if I want to lose myself in your taste and never come back up for air again, I’m going to fucking do it. Now tell me to kiss you.”

“Luca.” Her mouth opens. Her tongue presses against her upper teeth. “What if I don’t?”

“You will. Say it. Tell me to kiss you. Beg for it, Fiorella.”

“No… I can’t.”

“Say the words.” I rub my thumb against her mouth. She gasps, biting down on it lightly. “Tell me to ruin you.”

She licks my thumb. I slide it into her mouth. She sucks it lightly, whimpering, and when I pull it back out, she moans.

“Kiss me,” she pleads, blinking at me rapidly. “God, please, Luca. Just stop fucking teasing and kiss me .”