Niccolo Fierri [Book #2]

Chapter 27

Autumn's POV
I couldn't get out of bed. I tried several times, but my body just wouldn't cooperate. I laid on my bed, naked, and limply sprawled exactly where Niccolo had left me. I was in so much pain. I felt like I'd been crushed by a boulder.

My voice was hoarse, and it hurt to swallow. He'd fuck the shit out of every hole in my body. He'd given me exactly what I've been asking for. Someone to break my back and leave me with Scoliosis.

Niccolo was gone when I woke up ten minutes ago. There wasn't a trace of him in sight, except for the evidence he left on my body. Bruises, hickies, and more hickies.

Attempting and failing to sit up, I slump back down, wincing from the pain. My bedroom door opens, causing me to jerk my head, resulting in another wave of stinging pain.

Niccolo stands in the doorway with a bag of groceries in his hands. He's dressed in a black tee shirt and equally dark jeans. His watch glistens in the sunlight pouring into my room from the window.

I didn't think he was coming back. Which made last night all the more real. He'd told me he loved me. The butterflies in my stomach flip around with joy, my entire body warm with happiness.

"Why aren't you dressed?" He questions with a curious brow, his Italian accent so sexy and beautiful.

"I can't move," I mumble, embarrassed. "And it's all your fault you asshole," I chide with a whine.

He chuckles. Of course the asshole chuckles. He's always finding my misery and misfortune humorous.

"Actually, it's your fault," he counters. "You talk a lot of shit, but can't take the consequences." He shakes his head with a tsk.

"I think I handled you pretty well," I say with a triumphant smile.

He eyes my bare body, not convinced. "Right, sure you did." I roll my eyes. Setting the bag down on my nightstand, he leans down and lifts me into his arms.

He carries me over to my bathroom, the tub filled to the brim with hot water. Gently placing me into the tub, the water burns my skin, but helps to soothe my aching bones. I release a sigh of satisfaction.

I look up at him longingly, watching him grab a fresh rag off the sink counter and kneel down beside me.

Dipping the rag into the water, he grabs the bar of soap and mixes it in until the rag is covered in foamy white soap suds.

He's gentle as he glides the rag over my breasts. He cleans the sex off my body in a nurturing, loving manner.

"What have you done with Niccolo Fierri, because this is not the one I met," I say jokingly.

He doesn't smile, which makes the smile on my face fade. He sighs, looking down. "I wasn't always like this. My father made me this way." The rag glides down my stomach.

"What do you mean?"

"I've seen a lot of things a child shouldn't see, and as a result, I began to find torture, pain, and fear therapeutic. I loved my father, but it quickly turned to hate after he was murdered. In my mind, he'd left me, abandoned me when I needed him most."

"Are you talking about being a drug addict?"

He nods. "I was on my way to him for help when I got a call from Marcel telling me he died. I flew into a rage, crashed my car into a tree, and turned to drugs, sex, and torture as a coping mechanism."

I could feel his pain, his hurt. I reached up and cupped his chin. It broke my heart to see him like this. So vulnerable, so in pain.

"I'm sorry that happened to you Niccolo, but you can't keep doing this. Whether it's intentional or not, you're destroying yourself."