Page 44 of Bound in Obsession
I watch her face, the way her brows furrow in concentration, the way her lips part slightly as she focuses. Her hair falls forward, brushing my shoulder.
Without thinking, I reach up and tuck it gently behind her ear, letting my fingers linger against her cheek. She freezes for a second, her breath catching. Our eyes meet.
I want to kiss her. I want to pull her into my lap and taste that smart mouth until she forgets every reason she should hate me.
“Press harder,” I murmur, guiding her hand. “You won’t hurt me.”
She swallows visibly. Her fingers tremble as she cleans the wound. The proximity is torture. Her breasts brush against my arm every time she leans in. Her breath fans across my chest. I’m rock hard under my slacks and fighting every instinct not to drag her closer.
I instruct her on how to stitch the wound, and she starts stitching. Her hands shake at first, but after a few moments she finds a rhythm.
I barely feel the needle, I’m too focused on the way her teeth sink into her lower lip, the way her dark lashes cast shadows on her cheeks, the way her tank top has slipped slightly off one shoulder.
“You’re doing good,” I say, voice rough.
She doesn’t answer, but her cheeks flush pink. The tension between us is so thick it feels like it could snap at any second.
When she finally ties off the last stitch and cuts the thread, she sits back slightly. We’re so close. Her lips are right there. I can see her pulse hammering in her throat. I lean in, almost on instinct?—
She stands up abruptly, stepping back.
“You should… be more careful next time,” she says quickly, voice unsteady. “Try not to get yourself killed.”
Then she turns and practically flees from my room, closing the adjoining door behind her with a soft click.
I sit there on the edge of the bed, arm throbbing, cock aching, staring at the closed door.
I need to get my shit together.
Because if I don’t, Eleonora Caruso is going to be the ruin of me.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Eleonora
You know that feeling, the one where you’re already falling, and there’s nothing solid left to grab onto. No branch, no rope, no safety net. Just the sick, weightless rush as the ground races up to meet you?
That’s exactly how I feel right now. And I don’t know how to stop it.
I’ve been tossing and turning for hours. The sheets are twisted around my legs, and no matter how many times I flip the pillow, sleep won’t come. All I can think about is Nico.
The way he looked when he came back earlier tonight, shirt soaked with blood that wasn’t all his, face tight with pain.
For one terrifying second, I actually felt worried. Real worry. My stomach dropped when I saw how much blood he was losing.Then I remembered who he was. My captor. The man holding me here against my will.
And still… when he sat down, handed me the needle and thread, and told me to stitch him up, I did it.
My hands had shaken the entire time. It was the first time I’d ever done anything like that. I kept waiting for him to flinch or curse, but he just sat there, jaw clenched, watching me with those intense brown eyes while I pushed the needle through his skin again and again.
I was so tempted to drive the needle straight into him, to hurt him the way he’s hurt me. But I couldn’t. My hands refused to do it.
I hated myself for how careful I was being. For how gently I cleaned the wound. For the strange, protective twist in my chest when he winced.
Now I’m lying here in the dark, staring at the ceiling, heart racing like I’ve run a marathon. I wonder what happened, did he get into a fight with Gallo’s or papa’s men? Were they coming to rescue me?
A loud crack of thunder splits the sky outside, followed by the violent howl of wind, making me completely forget what I was thinking about. The curtains billow wildly as rain lashes against the windows. I flinch hard and pull the blanket over my head, curling into a tight ball.
I’ve never liked storms.
