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Wounds

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Chapter 21: Wounds (Anastasia's POV)

My eyes followed him around the counter, watching as he crouched down and grabbed the first aid kit, leaving it on the counter as he washed his hands before returning to my side, swiftly rolling his sleeves, and bunching them at his elbows. 

I stared at him, still clutching my side with one hand, feeling the blood as it soaked through my shirt and tainted my hand. "I can do it myself," I said quietly, trying in one last bleak attempt to get rid of him. 

The wound was the least of my concerns. No, I was worried about Dante and him being in my home in such proximity. I was worried about crossing lines that shouldn't be crossed, not again. I was worried about keeping my hands to myself while I hoped his restraint and self-control would be stronger than mine. 

His eyes drifted from my side until he met my gaze. An exasperated sigh escaped him, "Must you always be so difficult, Ms Vitalio?" 

All I could do was remain silent as I blinked, watching him slide the barstool aside with his foot and take a step closer, stopping as his front brushed against my knees. "Come closer," he demanded. 

"I think we're close enough," I said, my breaths strained as I avoided his gaze, turning to open the first aid kit with my free hand. 

My gaze traveled up his fingers, his hands, and the veins crawling up his arm as he reached forward, planting one hand at the small of my back and the other behind my knee, tugging me closer until I slid to the edge of the counter while he eased my knees apart, stepping between my legs. My breath stuttered as my hand flew to his chest to catch myself, afraid that I would slip off. 

"I won't repeat myself," he replied, lifting a brow at me simply. 

Exhaling shakily, I let my hand drop to the edge of the counter as I gripped it, blood rushing to my fingertips until they ran cold, my knuckles turning white. 

"Let me see," he said softly as I felt the gentle caress of his fingertips around my wrist when he pulled my hand away from the wound, glancing at all the blood staining my palm. 

I was bleeding more than I thought... 

A rough breath escaped him as he reached for the towel and pressed it against my palm, swiftly wiping all the blood off before tossing the rag aside. All I could do was sit utterly still as he grabbed cotton pads and doused them in alcohol. 

"This wouldn't have happened if you had just listened to me," he mumbled, lifting the hem of my top up to my ribs, exposing my skin. 

"Listened to you?" I scoffed softly, rolling my eyes. "I did listen to you, Mr Rossi. You didn't listen to yourself." 

His eyes cut to mine before dropping to the wound again. He began by gently cleaning the blood around the wound, wiping the stains off every inch of my skin. 

My eyes traveled across his face repeatedly, trying to read his expression, trying to get a glimpse of what must have been going through his head. A loud wince escaped me as I physically jumped, a sharp, stinging pain shooting through my side. "Ow!" I hissed, glaring at him as I shoved his hand away. "Care to be a little fucking gentle?" 

He shot me a blank look before grabbing my hand and keeping it in his free one. "You're not new to this. You should be well aware of how much this hurts." 

"That doesn't mean you have to be rough," I muttered, my fingers flexing and tightening around his as he repeatedly swiped the cotton doused in alcohol over the wound, disinfecting it. I was well aware of the fact that my hand was tightly locked in his, but I couldn't bring myself to care with the pain and burn of that wound overwhelming me. 

I held my breath as I watched him lean in, bringing his lips closer to my skin, and a small gasp escaped me as he gently blew on it, soothing the sharp, stinging ache. My breaths grew shallow as I stared at him. 

I was aware of every inch between us, every part of his body that pressed against mine, every breath he took as his fingers brushed across my skin, his lips a mere inch from my body. 

All the courage and attitude simply left my body as he drew back, tossing the blood-stained cotton aside as he reached for the butterfly stitches and paused to glance at me. "Is this okay?" he asked. 

I nodded slowly, holding his gaze. 

Four of the stitches patched up the gash at my side, and he secured those in place with a large bandaid on top. Lightly brushing his knuckles across my skin, he tugged my shirt back down and braced his hands on the edge of the counter, lifting his eyes to mine. "All done," he whispered, staring back at me now. 

If he was overwhelming me earlier, I was entirely out of my senses now when I had his undivided attention. I almost didn't know what to do with myself or how to tear my gaze off of him. 

Nothing could have prepared me for those eyes. I knew that his eyes felt unfamiliar now, but as I sat there and looked at him, he didn't feel like a stranger at all. His eyes were a distinct, stormy shade of gray that exuded a foreign kind of depth and intensity. They were captivating. It was hard to determine if I couldn't hide from them or if I simply no longer wanted to. 

"Is it so hard to take care of yourself, Ms Vitalio?" he asked with a certain rasp to his voice that let way to the exhaustion that had washed over him after tonight's events. 

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you're worried about me," I said, taking the first aid kit in my lap and closing it up before setting it aside again. "Don't worry. I'm not new to this job, I've learned to lick my wounds over the years. I can take care of myself, I've been just fine thus far." 

"You weren't tonight," he argued. 

"This much risk is inevitable with this job." 

"Inevitable? We could have avoided this tonight if you had just listened to me without insisting on going." 

"We wouldn't have gotten the answers we needed if we didn't go." 

"And?" He lifted a brow at me, his jaw ticking as he clenched his jaw. "Was it worth it?" 

"You tell me," I replied with a small shrug. 

Slowly, he shook his head. "It wasn't, Anastasia." 

My breath got caught in my throat as my name came from his lips. He'd said it before, earlier tonight and several times in the past. Dante had several nicknames for me that he'd adopted over the years, but none of them had the kind of effect on me that him calling me by my name did. 

There was a time when I pined and perished to hear him say my name, and when he started saying it, there was nothing more I adored. 

"It wasn't worth it tonight, and it will never be worth it," he added. "You don't deserve that, and every inch of you is worth more than any fucking case you could be working on. These wounds aren't worth it." 

A beat of silence passed between us, and that was all it took because, at that moment, it hit me. If I spent another minute alone with him, I would lose myself, and I wouldn't be able to hold back. So... before I gave in, I had to get him out of there. 

"I think you should go," I breathed out, closing my legs to force some space between us. 

His brows furrowed for a second, almost in confusion, before he questioned, "Is that what you want?" 

"I need you to go." 

"Is that what you want, Anastasia?" 

"No, but it's what I need." 

He paused for a moment. "But not what you want..." 

"What I want is for you to understand what I need. Dante, please." 

He watched me for a minute, a storm brewing in his eyes, and he chose what to do. He only moved closer, his hands coming down on the counter once again. 

"Please," I sighed in defeat, my head dropping forward as I stared at my hands in my lap. 

A pause. And then, "Look at me," he commanded. 

Slowly shaking my head, I mumbled, "I can't do this again." 

He took a breath. "Anastasia." 

Resisting a groan, I forced my head up and looked into his eyes. It surprised me that he looked just as torn as I felt. More than anything, it was the desperate and carnal desire to feel what I felt with him again. No one else had ever made me feel that way; no one had ever touched my body the way he had. 

"You should leave," I repeated, "before we do something we'll both regret." 

"Regret? Regardless of what happens, you should know I could never regret you." 

A pained breath left my lips as he took another step closer, spreading my knees apart, and resting his hands on my hips comfortably. I practically collapsed into him, dropping my forehead against his chest as I closed my eyes, taking slow and deep breaths while my mind struggled to rationalize, to think logically, to do what it was fundamentally supposed to do. My senses were failing me, and it was all because of him. 

No, no, no. Not this time... 

Sitting upright, I met his gaze again. "Why do you keep doing this to me?" I whispered quietly. "You walked away, remember? Not me." 

"Anastasia—" 

"You don't get to do this." Bracing my hands on his chest, I pushed him away and eased myself off the counter. "You don't get to have me again." 

With the first step I took in the direction of the staircase, his hand closed around my wrist, pulling me back in place. "Tell me you don't want this. Tell me you don't want me," he dared me. 

I stared up at him. 

"Tell me to walk away just one more time, and I will. This will never happen again, I promise you. Just say the word." 

A light scoff escaped me as I stared at him in disbelief. "I hate you," I mumbled. 

He nodded slowly, taking my hand in his as he took a step closer, his body brushing against mine. "Good," he whispered, "hate me all you want." 

"This is a terrible idea. We shouldn't do this," I reminded him. "Haven't we played this game before? Danced this dance before? I tell you every reason why we can't do this and—" 

"And we do it anyway," he finished. We both paused. Everything stopped for a moment with just a few inches between us. "Did you miss me?" he asked after a minute, lifting a hand to tuck my hair behind my ear, then rake his fingers through the strands, easing my hair over my shoulders. The smallest smirk tugged at his lips the longer it took me to respond. 

I scoffed louder this time, shoving him away. "Is this just a game to you?" 

He simply lifted a brow at me. 

"Fuck you," I cursed at him, spinning around to leave. 

His arm gently went around my waist as he exhaled and rested a hand on my stomach, keeping me in place. Stepping around, he blocked my way. "You missed me," he said. It wasn't a question this time. 

"No," I spat out. "God, you infuriate me!" Sidestepping him, I headed upstairs, my arm bumping against his as I brushed past him. I felt his hand grab mine one more time, and I'd had it with him. 

That thread had snapped, except it wasn't desire burning through me at that moment; it was pure rage. All he kept doing was toying with me. Spinning me around, he pulled me closer, my body crashing into his. "What?" I snapped at him. "What do you want from me? You're the one who—" I would have rambled on and on if he'd given me the chance. 

He cut me off, "Be quiet, Anastasia." The next thing I felt was his knuckles beneath my chin as he tilted it up, his eyes still holding mine. When I saw that smirk dancing on his lips, I knew. 

Too late. 

"We can't," I repeated weakly. 

"Mm-hmm," he nodded, slowly backing me up against the counter. 

"It's a bad idea," I whispered. 

"And?" His hands gripped my hips as he lifted me with ease, seating me on the counter. 

"And..." I trailed off, every single thought trickling out of my head as his lips brushed against mine. 

Drawing back slightly, he looked into my eyes. He whispered, "Fuck it." A sharp breath escaped me as his lips crashed against mine, silencing my gasp. 

I felt his knuckles glide down the slope of my neck before he wrapped his fingers around my throat, pulling me impossibly closer as he deepened the kiss, his tongue swiping over my bottom lip at first as I felt his thumb above my fluttering pulse. He could probably feel what he did to my heartbeat. 

I practically clawed at his shirt as my body arched into his. My lips moved in rhythm with his. I kissed him with complete abandonment of every goddamn rule and restriction I imposed on myself. 

A soft groan crawled out of his throat as my legs tightened around his waist, drawing his hips into mine while the kiss stifled my quiet moans. "Tell me to stop," he rasped against my mouth, his kisses drifting down my jaw, then down my neck. 

He whispered into my skin, "Tell me to stop, or I swear to the fucking Gods, Anastasia, I won't be able to hold myself back." Tucking his fingers into the hem of my shirt, he lightly grazed my skin as he began lifting my top. 

A tiny voice in the back of my head was screaming at me... but I hardly heard it. 

Groaning in frustration, he pulled back to look at me. "Do you want me to stop?" 

I stared at him for a beat, catching my breath before I finally uttered the word sitting at the tip of my tongue. "No. No, I don't want you to stop."

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Chapter 21

I haven't been able to update cuz festive season is coming up y'all. For all my Indian readers, happy Diwali season. For everyone else, happy Halloween season lol.

Any costume plans? 

Low key, though... masked killer costumes... Am I the only one with a mask kink here? This is Wattpad, so I highly doubt that lmao

I was so torn between letting them kiss this chapter or making the slow burn burn a little longer, but even I've grown impatient 

Btw for everyone who just had midterm season a while ago... how are you guys?

anyways

next ch: lost