Owning Nicci

25. Nicci

25

NICCI

I end up sleeping on the entire ride upstate to the cabin. It’s dark when we get there, and Savio comes around to open my door, helping me out. I can’t help but lean on him as we walk up to the cabin, the driver following us with bags that Savio must have packed for us—and I hate that I feel so helpless right now. That I need his support. The last thing I want is to need him for anything, especially when being this close to him means that I can’t ignore how good his warm, broad body feels against mine, or how much I missed the smell of his cedar-scented cologne.

I shouldn’t miss anything about him. But I can see in his face, in every step, every touch, that he’s worried about me. That he’s done nothing but worry about me since Martin’s bullet went through my shoulder. And I can’t help but be touched by that because no one has ever worried about me before.

“I really, really want a shower,” I murmur as Savio leads me into the house. “I feel awful. How long was I in the hospital?”

“Two days.” He turns to motion for the driver to take the bags upstairs. “Alright, principessa . I’ll help you get into the shower.”

“I don’t need help.” I start to pull away, feeling a flash of panic at the idea of Savio helping me get undressed—helping me in the shower. He’s seen every part of me, done lewd and filthy things to nearly every part of me—but that feels too intimate. That kind of help feels like something a lover would do, and that’s far removed from what we are.

He pulls back, glaring at me, irritation plain in his eyes. “So, what, principessa ? You’re going to get undressed yourself? Untie that hospital gown you’re still in yourself? You need my help, like it or not.”

“I don’t like it,” I bite out, and the smirk that flicks up the corners of Savio’s mouth infuriates me even more.

“Fine.” He shrugs. “You don’t have to. But I’m going to help you all the same, principessa .”

“Maybe you should have tried helping me sooner,” I snap, as we start up the stairs. “Instead of hurting me.”

I feel him flinch next to me, and I know that jab landed. But I don’t feel the satisfaction that I thought I would have at hitting a low blow.

“I’m helping now,” he murmurs. “I helped with the Crows. And I’ll still help with your family when you’re well, Nicci. I am trying to help.”

The gravity in his tone sends guilt washing over me, and I press my lips together, biting back anything else I might say. I’m too tired to think of a retort anyway. I lean against the sink as Savio leads me into the small bathroom, catching my breath, and the look in his eyes clearly says I told you so. He’s smart enough, at least, not to say it out loud.

“Turn around,” he says gently, instead. “When you feel like you can. I’ll undo the back.”

I swallow hard, and I’m sure he can see the resentment burning in my eyes. I’ve felt helpless for so long, and I’ve only just recently felt like I was getting some control of my life. Like I had some agency—some power over what was going to happen next. Now I feel weak again, reduced to needing Savio, of all people, to get me out of my hospital gown so that I can take a shower.

And, worse than that, when his fingers brush against the base of my neck as he reaches for the tie there, I feel warmth bloom through me. A warm, aching rush of desire, a reminder that it’s been days since he touched me last. Days in which we’ve shared a bed, shared meals, talked, and even laughed together, getting close to each other in ways we never have before. Days that made me feel things I hadn’t planned on feeling for him and still don’t want to.

The tie comes loose, and he reaches for the next one, tugging it open. His fingers brush my waist, and my teeth sink into my lower lip. The memory of seeing him naked in front of the dresser, all lean muscle and carved lines, flashes in my mind, and I close my eyes briefly. I don’t want to think about that.

The back of the gown falls open, and Savio reaches up to nudge it off of my shoulders. I swallow hard, trying not to think about how intimate this feels. I never thought that a man taking a hospital gown off could somehow be sexy, but Savio might as well be taking my wedding gown off of me, the way the air seems to thicken around us, that tension snapping taut as he carefully slides it down my arms.

“Be still, and I’ll get the old bandages off,” he says. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

I don’t want to hurt you. Something twists deep in my stomach at that, and I swallow hard, feeling a prick of tears at the corner of my eyes. No one has ever said that to me. I’ve had so many men take pleasure in hurting me, reveling in it, anticipating it…even Savio. But in this moment, I believe him. Whatever came before, he doesn’t want to hurt me now.

I wince as he peels the bandages off, throwing them in the trash before he goes over to start the shower. “I’ll go get you fresh towels,” he says, and I catch him pausing for just a moment, his gaze sweeping over my now-naked body as the gown drops and pools on the floor at my feet. I see his reflection in the mirror, see his eyes heat, and I can’t imagine how he actually wants me in this moment. I’m not sexy in the slightest, as far as I’m concerned—my hair is lanky, I haven’t showered since before the attack on the restaurant, and there are dark circles under my eyes. But Savio is still looking at me as if he’s aching to touch me.

He steps out, and I hobble over to the shower, sticking my hand under the water to test it. It’s warm enough, so I step in, nearly moaning aloud at how good the water feels on my skin. I tip my head back under it, sighing as it runs through my hair, and I reach for the shampoo to wash my hair first—before my shoulder sends a screaming jolt of pain through me, and I nearly burst into tears.

I’m not going to be able to wash my hair right now. A small sob slips out, and I hate myself for it—especially since it’s just in time for the door to open and Savio to walk back in.

“Nicci?” His voice is alarmed. “What’s wrong?”

The worry and care in his voice nearly undoes me. This isn’t the Savio I know, not really—but what if it is? What if this is who he really was all along, and it was just hidden under layers of hurt and betrayal? What if?—

“Nicci?”

“I can’t wash my hair.” I hate how helpless my voice sounds. “My shoulder hurts too much.”

“That’s an easy enough problem to solve.” A moment later, there’s the sound of Savio kicking off his shoes and the clink of his belt buckle, and I feel my chest tighten.

“You don’t need to—” I start to protest, but Savio is already pushing back the shower curtain and stepping in.

My traitorous heart trips in my chest at the sight of him. He’s always been fucking gorgeous, regardless of anything else I’ve felt about him. Here, with him so close, my heart starts to race, my stomach tightening on a need that I’ve desperately tried to ignore. He looms over me, tall and muscled and masculine, the scent of him hot and filling the air around us in the small, steamy space, and I feel my mouth go dry.

Savio’s jaw tightens, and I see his gaze sweep over me. One quick look, and I can see that he’s rock-hard, his cock stiff and nearly pressed against his tight abdomen. But he ignores it, carefully maneuvering around me so that he’s standing behind me, and I hear him reach for the shampoo.

“Tilt your head back,” he says quietly. “I can’t say I’ve ever done this before, but I’ll do my best.”

“Washed your hair? That’s incredible, considering how good it looks.” I realize a second too late that what I meant to be a jab came out as a compliment, and I hear Savio chuckle.

“Are you actually complimenting me, principessa ? I didn’t realize you liked my hair so much.”

“No. I’m not—” I grit out the words between my teeth, but they fade as Savio starts to work his fingers through my hair, and it’s all I can do not to moan.

It feels so fucking good. Maybe better than sex. He massages the soap into my hair, running his fingers through the strands, down to the nape of my neck, and back over again. It might be the most blissful thing I’ve ever felt, certainly the most intimate—and to my horror, I feel tears fill my eyes.

All at once, I’m both turned on and feel as if I’m going to sob. It’s terribly confusing, and I squeeze my eyes tightly shut, sucking in a breath.

Savio pauses. “Did I hurt you?”

I shake my head. “No,” I manage. “No, I just?—”

He stops, and I want to beg him to keep going. “What is it, Nicci?”

The way he says my name is grave, full of concern. I let out the breath I’ve been holding, my eyes still closed.

“No one’s ever done anything like this for me before,” I whisper. “It feels good.”

“Well, then I won’t stop.” He goes back to massaging the shampoo through my hair, and I bite my lip, not knowing if I want to moan aloud or cry. Maybe both.

I’ve never been so confused in my entire life. Everything about my situation with Savio is confusing in the extreme. Our relationship is problematic in a dozen different ways. He bought me from my father, for fuck’s sake—like a painting…like an animal. He used me, forced me to submit, fucked me whether I liked it or not. He tried to break me—until he realized that I couldn’t be broken, and stopped when he found out why.

Trying to be better after finding out the truth isn’t good enough. It’s never been good enough for anyone when it’s come to me…except for maybe Savio. Because no one has ever cared for me like this. And it seems that, when he found out the truth about me, he started trying to be better. He started to try to change.

Deep down, after all of this… I think there’s more to him. I think this man—the one standing there washing my hair patiently in the shower, with no care for his own arousal or needs—is the man that Savio is, deep down. But how can I possibly be the one to bring that out of him in its entirety? How can I be the one who makes him capable of loving again, of being a good man?

I’ve been just as terrible as he has—done awful things. I tried to kill a woman so that I could save myself from more pain. No one has ever loved me, and now, looking back, I think that maybe it’s that I was never worth loving. The first part of my life was nothing but selfishness—money, socializing, shallow friends, and living a life centered around wealth and accolades. The latter part has been about surviving, no matter what I had to do. I’ve been abused beyond reckoning, used by countless men, including my own flesh and blood. So how could I be worth anything, really—now that Savio no longer sees me as his means for revenge?

I’ll never be worth loving. Not really. I can’t undo all that I’ve done or become the kind of woman he would want. I’ll never be soft again, if I ever really was. I’ll never have the kind of dreams that I had when I was a child.

Savio’s fingers slide out of my hair, and he gently tilts my head back, running his hands through my hair again as he washes the soap out. When it’s all done, he reaches for a sea sponge on a shelf, and I shake my head.

“I can do the rest?—”

“Nicci.” His voice is firm but not like I’ve heard it before. It’s not an order or a demand. It almost sounds like a plea—a plea for me to let him do this. To let myself be cared for, for once. “Let me help you.”

I close my eyes. I thought I knew what it meant to be vulnerable when I was kept naked in that room at his whim. I thought that all those times when he used me while he was fully clothed, my bare flesh on display for him, was the most exposed I could feel. But that was just my body. This feels deeper, more intimate. I feel vulnerable in a way I never have before as I feel Savio start to run the soapy sponge over my skin, washing me clean. I feel bare in a way that goes beyond skin, undone completely, and I feel tears start to leak out of the corners of my eyes.

He’s slow and patient, washing every inch of me gently before squeezing the sponge clean and rinsing the soap off, water trickling over my skin. My chest feels so tight that it feels hard to breathe. My teeth sink into my lip, and I hear Savio turn the tap and feel the water stop as he reaches for my arm.

He helps me out of the tub and carefully dries me off. “As long as you move slowly, the stitches in your shoulder should hold. We’ll re-bandage them if we need to.” He wraps the towel around me and goes to open the door, still naked. At the last moment, he seems to realize that he’s still dripping water and grabs another towel, hooking it around his waist as he waits for me to walk out of the room. It’s impossible to miss that he’s still hard, his cock a thick, jutting line against the fabric of the towel.

Carefully, I make my way down the hall to the bedroom, with Savio at my elbow to make sure that I’m fine. “Your bags are in here,” he says as he opens the door. “I brought them up. We can figure out unpacking tomorrow, if?—”

I turn before I can stop myself and kiss him.

The moment my lips touch his, he freezes in place. I reach up with my good arm, my hand touching his chest, and I can feel his heart hammering under my palm. His lips are warm and damp against mine, beads of water on his skin, and I flick my tongue out, licking one away from the corner of his mouth.

His entire body shudders. “Nicci?—”

The shape of his mouth against mine brings back that night outside the bar, his lips moving against my mouth as he held a gun to my head. But there’s no gun now. There’s no one forcing me to do anything I don’t want to do—and I want him.

I think I’ve wanted him for longer than I can admit to myself.

His hand comes up, gingerly, stroking through the wet strands of my hair. “We can’t,” he whispers. “You’re hurt?—”

There are so many things I could say to that—that I don’t care, that I’ll be fine, that I can handle it. But I don’t say any of them.

I just slant my mouth over his and deepen the kiss.