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His ragged pants finally begin to subside, and he straightens, looming over me once again. “That was a hundred times better than I ever could’ve imagined, little fox.”
Embarrassment coats my cheeks as I cross my arms over my bare chest. The truth is that I’d gotten so good at hand jobs because by the end of our marriage, I absolutely loathed Jasper touching me. It was the quickest way to get him off and off of me.
“May I return the favor?” A glint of mischief ignites those piercing azure orbs.
It takes every ounce of willpower to shake my head.
“Are you sure?” His heated gaze drops to my panties and an arrogant grin flashes. I follow his line of sight to a wet spot on the light pink silk.
Oh, sugar, kill me now.
The heat from my lusty hoo-ha flares all the way up my neck and deepens the flush across my cheeks. So embarrassing.
“I can ease the ache, little fox. It’ll only take a minute judging by how wet you already are.”
“It’s not that,” I blurt, “I just have to pee.”
Oh, fricking heck! Did I just tell this man I peed myself?
A dark chuckle fills the minute air between us, and Nico sits back, that stupid grin etched into his unfairly handsome face. “Why do you continue to deny this thing between us?”
“Because it’s nothing more than misplaced lust,” I snap and tug the sheet around my bare breasts. “And loneliness.” Fudge, what is wrong with my tongue? Why do I have constant verbal diarrhea around this man?
“So what’s wrong with a little lust?” He eyes my cleavage barely concealed by the silk covers.
I grit my teeth to keep from saying something completely inappropriate. I’ve already developed an unhealthy attachment to this psycho and sex would only intensify the absurd feelings. “What’s wrong with giving up a ridiculous vendetta against a half-brother you don’t even know?”
Fury carves into his features, and the teasing man from a second ago vanishes beneath the dark surface. “I don’t want to talk about Dante…”
“He’s a good man, you know.” Kind of.
“A good man?” He snorts on a laugh. “Clearly, your dear friend Rose hasn’t let you in on my brother’s numerous past sins. Don’t be fooled, little fox, none of the Valentinos are good men. It all started with our bastard father?—”
His shoulders twitch, calling my attention to the scar along the top of his shoulder. The one that’s so carefully hidden beneath a canvas of dark ink.
“Did he do that to you?”
That scowl deepens, and a hint of fear snaps my spine straighter. Nico has never attempted to hurt me, but something about the wild look in his eye has the tiny hairs at the back of my neck prickling. “Not directly,” he finally grinds out.
“What happened?” I’m not sure where I acquire the courage to continue in this line of questioning, especially since I’m butt naked, but my loose lips seem to have taken over for my brain.
He remains silent for a never-ending minute, and I’m certain he won’t respond when his jaw ticks. “It was a fire, when I was young.” His voice comes out so quiet, so frail, that I would’ve never recognized it as Nico’s had I not been sitting right in front of him.
Tucking the sheet tighter beneath my underarms, I crawl around him, moving slowly so that he has the chance to stop me. Only he doesn’t. When I’m finally kneeling behind him, I search beneath the massive phoenix inked across his shoulder blades. It’s beautiful with fiery, flaming wings, a long, elegant neck and eyes that seem to stare right into your very soul. It spans the width of his broad shoulders and descends down his spine until the dark whorls and spirals disappear beneath the waistband of his boxers.
My fingers find his shoulder, and he releases a sharp hiss. I nearly jerk my hand back, but he remains still, and it urges me on. I trace the magnificent, mythical creature with my fingertips, following a path over the scarred skin.
I can’t imagine how bad the damage must have been to leave this sort of scar. And as a child? Hot tears burn the corners of my eyes, and I blink quickly to keep them from spilling over. Do not cry.
“I’m sorry,” I finally murmur once I’m certain I won’t start balling.
“It was a long time ago.”
“And still, you bear the scars.”
His hand finds mine on his shoulder, and he gives it a surprisingly tender squeeze. “Not all scars are on the surface, Maisy. I’ve learned long ago to deal with mine.”
“By covering them up?”
