Page 88 of Unchained

Her eyes shimmer in the dim lighting. “Show me how to do that, Colten.”

I shake my head. “Sex ain’t going to fill that void either. Neither is booze. Or drugs. Or cigarettes.”

She blinks at me. “So what will? If you say time, I’ll punch you in the gut.”

Fucking hell, this woman.

“We’re going to go grocery shopping, we’re going to cook together back at the villa, and then we’re going to sit outside and watch the stars. You can tell me everything about Max. You can cry. You can scream. You can do whatever the hell you want. And then we’ll fuck.”

A small smile spreads on her lips. “You want to cook with me?”

I nod. “I do. And I want to listen. And I want to have my cock inside you.”

She bursts out into laughter.

“There she is,” I murmur, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

She stares into my eyes, and everything around me fades away.

“Do you think I’m a monster?” she asks quietly.

“No, Gianna. The world is riddled with evil, and that doesn’t include you. You and I, we’re pretty similar. So if you are, then so am I, and who the fuck cares?”

She chews on her lip.

“What made you so knowledgeable about feelings?” she asks.

“My parents died. My little brother nearly bled out in my arms. You either push past it and find a way to carry on, or you let it drown you. And I don’t like water enough to willingly sink.”

She slides her hand up my chest. “There might be some hot mermaids down there, though?”

“I don’t need to search the oceans to find the woman of my dreams; I have her right in front of me.”

Her eyes glaze over, but she holds it back, and tonight, I’ve got another key to the locks of Gianna. She hates vulnerability. She doesn’t want to feel anything other than powerful. But inside, it’s starting to crumble. I know that feeling; I’ve been there. You can only maintain being emotionally numb for so long.

Now, I have to figure out how the hell I stop this woman from burning everything down around her in fury before she takes me with her.

CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

Gianna

“Aw, il mio polpettino. My little meatball,” I tease as Colten drops the last meatball into the bubbling tomato sauce.

“I knew it was an endearing term,” he mutters. The concentration on his face is a picture as he pops the lid over the pan.

When I lean against the counter, he turns to face me.

“Is it cute or is it sarcastic? That’s the real question here, cowboy.”

He tuts, wiping his hands over his abs. Of course he had to cook shirtless, and there are absolutely no complaints from me.

“I think it’s cute.”

I smile. He’s right, I think…

“I used to have to make these damn meatballs for Max at least once a week when we were living at home,” I tell him.

I might not have been the eldest of the siblings, but I behaved like it.