Chapter 130: Chapter 130
REINA
He stayed silent.
I pressed the antiseptic cloth near the edge of the wound. He hissed sharply through clenched teeth, his entire body tensing.
"I’m sorry," I whispered, voice breaking.
"You don’t have to—"
"Yes, I do."
I worked carefully, cleaning the dried blood, my fingers brushing against the feverish heat of his skin. Every small flinch from him felt like a blade twisting in my own chest.
"What did you argue about?"
He gave a dark, humorless laugh.
"You."
My hands froze.
"Someone’s been following you. Watching you. I told him I needed to be here, that I wasn’t leaving my wife unprotected." His eyes met mine, dark and intense. "He told me to finish the job he sent me for. I said no."
"You said no... to him?" I asked to be sure I hadn’t lost my hearing and I wasn’t hearing wrong because Paolo had never said to his father before.
He respected Domenico so much. So absurdly much.
"I told him my wife was in danger. That I wasn’t leaving you."
Tears spilled over before I could stop them.
Beautiful, reckless idiot.
I busied myself with fresh gauze, wrapping it carefully around his waist, my fingers grazing the hard planes of his abdomen and the sharp cut of his hips. Even injured, his body was beautiful — lean muscle, warm skin, the faint trail of dark hair disappearing beneath his waistband.
When I finished, I sat back on my heels, staring at the fresh bandage.
Paolo reached down, cupped my face with both hands, and tilted my chin up.
"Reina..."
The way he said my name — low, rough, full of longing — made something deep inside me clench.
He leaned forward slowly, painfully, and rested his forehead against mine.
"I missed you so fucking much," he breathed.
Then he kissed me. Full on the lips. Which was a surprise because Paolo had never kissed me this much in a single day before.
It started soft... but it didn’t stay that way.
His mouth claimed mine with sudden hunger, lips hot and demanding. I moaned softly into the kiss as his tongue swept inside, tasting me like a starving man. My hands slid up his chest, careful of his wound, then higher to tangle in his hair.
He groaned, the sound vibrating through me.
I pressed closer, rising on my knees between his thighs, my breasts brushing against his chest. His hands moved to my waist, pulling me in tighter. One hand slid down to grip my ass, squeezing possessively as he deepened the kiss, turning it filthy and desperate.
Heat flooded my body.
I could feel myself getting wet, aching for him.
My fingers trailed down his stomach, brushing teasingly along the edge of his pants. I felt him twitch beneath the fabric, already half-hard despite the pain.
"Paolo..." I whispered against his lips, voice husky with need.
I palmed him through his pants, stroking the growing length of his cock slowly. He was thickening under my touch, getting harder, hotter. A low, guttural sound escaped his throat.
For a moment, he let me — hips subtly pushing into my hand, breathing ragged.
Then suddenly he stiffened.
His hand shot down and caught my wrist, stopping me.
"Reina... wait."
He pulled back, eyes dark with lust and something else, frustration or perhaps... regret?
His breathing was harsh.
"I need the restroom," he muttered, voice strained.
The words felt like cold water.
I blinked, still flushed and throbbing with arousal.
"Okay..." I whispered, forcing a small smile even as disappointment and confusion twisted in my chest.
He kissed my forehead quickly, almost apologetically, then stood with obvious difficulty, moving stiffly toward the hallway.
I stayed kneeling on the floor, lips swollen, body still humming with unmet need, staring at the scattered medical supplies and the faint bloodstain on the couch.
Of course he stopped it.
He was hurt. Probably in more pain than he let on.
But the rejection still stung.
Minutes later he returned, freshly washed, shirt readjusted, face carefully composed as if he’d rebuilt his armor in front of the mirror.
He bent down, kissed my forehead again, and said quickly, "I need to see someone. I’ll be back soon. I’m sorry, love."
"You’re bleeding through the bandages and you’re leaving right now?"
"I’ll be careful."
"Paolo—"
But he was already heading for the door.
"Lock up after me, baby."
Then he was gone.
And I was left alone with the scent of antiseptic, dried blood, and the lingering heat of a kiss that had almost burned us both alive.
"What the fuck is even his problem? Why does he hate touching me this much? Why won’t he have sex with me? Is he..." I sighed, letting out a soft chuckle as I realised how ridiculous my thought was. "Of course, Paolo can’t be gay.... Could he?"
The apartment felt like a tomb after Paolo left.
Hours dragged by in heavy silence. His ghost refused to leave, the deep dent in the couch where he had sat, the half-empty glass still sweating on the counter, and that warm, masculine scent of his cologne clinging stubbornly to the air like a lover who wouldn’t say goodbye.
He still hadn’t come back.
But he had called twice.
The first call was sharp and paranoid.
"Did you lock the door?" No greeting, just immediate demand.
"Yes, Paolo."
"Deadbolt too?"
"Yes."
"Windows?"
I pinched the bridge of my nose. "Should I barricade the chimney while I’m at it?"
"I’m serious, Reina. Lock everything."
His voice was tight, distracted, background noise buzzing behind him.
"I did," I said softly. "Are you okay?"
"I’m fine."
Liar.
The second call came almost an hour later.
"Did you eat?"
I stared at the cold, untouched toast on my plate.
"No."
"Reina."
"What?"
"Eat something. Now."
"You’re awfully bossy for a man who’s bleeding internally."
A short pause, then his voice dropped, low and rough.
"Please, baby."
My stupid heart squeezed.
"Fine. I’ll eat."
"Good girl."
He hung up before I could curse him.
