Dark Saint [Romano Brotherhood, #1]

33 | Nina

It's a terrifying thing to come to terms with how much power someone has over you. 

Before Santo burst into my room looking like he was going to fall apart at the seams, I'd been many things. Angry and hopeless. Scared. Uncertain. That had all culminated in a sick haze clumped in my gut and spreading through fatigued limbs, a physical illness perpetuated by the knowledge that we were not okay.

When a man can make you feel physically ill, that's when you know you're fucked. And when he can make you feel like you can breathe again, like that pressure is gone from your chest and your heart can do its job, you're even more fucked. 

The knowledge that he's all I have, that if I weren't to have him anymore that would mean I'd be out all my friends and even a fucking place to stay... it's more than terrifying. But what's worse than all of that is not trying. 

Love can be simple. Despite how he hurt me and no matter what he was going to tell me, I knew I loved him. It beat at my chest the moment I saw his tortured face, saw how physically ill I'd made him feel. 

It's fathomless and logical at the same time. Cosmic and precious. And the knowledge of the power he has over me—the possibility that everything we've built is just that unstable or that our world is just that dark, just that merciless—is irrelevant. 

Because he's trying, isn't he? 

And until it stops working, there's nothing else to do but try. 

I feel the need to give us both a break, pull away from the heavy stuff and do something for Santo. Something I've been thinking about for a while. He's settled beneath me now, no more of that erratic quality to his voice and movements. I could tell that was him on the edge of something like a breakdown, and it threw me. I don't like seeing him like that at all.

So lost. Almost like he was hurting with his inability to communicate.

Despite the fact that I'm the one who just dramatically professed their love without it being reciprocated, I feel a peace settling deep in my bones. I've been so hungry for it, for someone in my corner, that my poor heart knows when to stop looking for it and grab ahold. 

Santo isn't looking for it because he doesn't think he deserves it. And he is terrified. I see it all over his face—he needs to relax. 

What better way to help someone relax than to give them head?

He's been patient with me sexually, never asking me to do anything. Letting me get to it in my own time. His eyes blow wide as I fumble with the zipper on his pants and he sucks in a breath. 

"Angioletto," he says on a breathy exhale, and that alone immediately triggers my arousal. Jesus. "You're sure?"

I slide down his legs, finally getting the zipper down but unable to free him like I want to. I need him to move, to lift his hips. But he just sits there.

"Hello?" I yank at the stupid fabric in my way, raising a brow at the dazed look on his face. Did I break him?

"Oh Jesus Christ," he mutters, and I get the distinct impression that he didn't mean to say that out loud. But he moves in the next second, allowing me to reach for him and feel the silken hardness of him.

It's becomes apparent that he's been... thinking about this more than I realized. His abdomen jumps at my touch, chest already beginning to rise and fall unevenly. His jaw sharpens as he presses his head back into the headboard, teeth gritted in restraint. 

"Fuck, ragazza dolce. You want to suck my cock?"

"Yes. Please, Santo."

His mouth pops open on a silent groan as he looks down his nose at me, eyes hooded with unadulterated lust. "Fuck. Been thinking about this for a long time. Put both hands on it, amati. Oh fu—good girl."