The second I stood upright, my legs buckled. My body was limp and numb with exertion and pleasure. Never in my life had I felt this satiated, this satisfied…and fucking high.
Castello swept me up in his arms, stopping me from collapsing to the ground in a puddle of twisted pleasure. The chains were still bound around my wrists and my ankles as he carried me over to the bed that stood proudly in the middle of his bedroom.
I moaned as my body welcomed the soft feel of the sheets beneath my skin.
“Rest,bella,” he whispered while untying the other chains. The second I closed my eyes, my body drifted as aftershocks of my release still pulsed through my veins. I felt him ease my legs apart, softly rubbing a warm towel between my thighs.
I moaned, nuzzling my cheek deeper into the pillow. Strong yet caring hands rubbed over the now-tender flesh of my ass, the cooling effect of the salve feeling like heaven against my skin. The way his touch caressed my body, it was like sex after sex, the most amazing feeling I had ever felt. He was so hard on my body, showing no mercy—yet here he was with his soft caresses as if he was now worshipping it.
My breathing slowed, my body relaxed, and I knew sleep was here to claim me. The mattress dipped behind me.
“Tu mi hai rovinato, donna.”
I smiled as the Italian words left my mouth in a whisper. “Mi hai liberato.”
You set me free.
Chapter 20
CASTELLO
Something was happening, and I didn’t have a clue what. All I knew was that it scared the shit out of me. Tatum Linscott was sleeping in my bed, and by God, she had never looked more beautiful. For months I tracked her, had her followed, kept tabs on her, and she’d been my captive for how long now? But I’d never seen her look as stunning as she did now with her golden hair splayed over my silk sheets. Lying on her stomach with her arms tucked underneath the pillow, she seemed relaxed, like she was actually sleeping peacefully. How was that even possible for her to seem so peaceful when she’d been surrounded by nothing but fear and lies and promises of pain and death? Yet here she was, sleeping like a goddamn angel.
On the other hand, I was everything but peaceful. There was this gnawing feeling on the inside of my chest, the same word echoing through my mind.
Protect.
Protect.
Protect.
Every one of my thoughts contained that damn word. How did I go from thinking the word “kill” to thinking the word “protect” whenever I thought of her? Just because I fucked her didn’t mean she now magically fell under my protection, that I owed her anything. I was still the man I was when Vico brought her in. I was still the man whose mission was to get revenge and make sure my brother’s murder didn’t go unpunished.
Yet while I listened to her slow, rhythmic breathing next to me, I had the overwhelming urge to wrap her in my arms and fuck up anyone who tried to get near her.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck.
With a heavy sigh, I got out of bed before I acted on this ridiculous urge by wrapping my arms around her like some scene out of a goddamn romance novel. God knew this wasn’t a romance.
Deciding I needed a shower to try to wash away all these unwelcome feelings that had no place inside my chest or head, I locked myself in the bathroom. I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror, the side of my face without the scar—the side that looked like a goddamn blueprint of my twin brother. We were as identical as twins could be, and up until the day I got that scar, only our parents could distinguish between the two of us. No one got close enough to notice my elongated pupil, something my brother didn’t have. We were the same, until the fight happened.
My twin brother had the tendency to go after things he couldn’t have, including women, which meant they usually belonged to someone else. Unfortunately, I got mistaken for my brother and had to take the beating in the form of a beer bottle to the side of my face. I was lucky I didn’t lose my eye. Since then, my brother and I could have been told apart simply by looking for the brother with the scarred eye.
Turning toward the mirror, I stared at my full reflection. Did Tatum see my scar? Or did she see my brother whenever she looked at me? How in love with Carlo was she, really? How long had they been together? Did she tell him she loved him? Did he tell her he loved her?
Oh my God, I was going out of my fucking mind.
I turned on the shower and got in. Naturally, the second I felt the water cascade over me, my mind drifted to when Tatum was in here with me. Her slippery body moving against mine, her wet pussy riding my fingers like her fucking life depended on it. And it seemed like the more I had her, experienced her, the more I wanted her. In no time at all, she had managed to make me doubt everything, stirred up all these questions for which I’d never wanted answers before.
Why did it suddenly seem like I wanted her more than I wanted revenge? How was it possible that I no longer had this deep-rooted need to avenge my brother’s death, but instead that need was replaced with a desire to claim her over and over again?
“Fuck!” I slammed my fist against the tiled wall. There was no pain. Just the ache still eating my chest from the inside out. What the fuck was I supposed to do now? How could I still kill this woman when my body demanded I keep her?
I got out of the shower and glanced at my reflection one last time while towel drying my hair.