21. Cristiano

C ristiano

I lie awake, my hand wrapped around my semi-hard cock, but I can't get myself off. I seem to have a permanent semi these days, but nothing I do will sate it. With my gaze trained on the ceiling, I listen for the smallest noise coming from the spare bedroom down the hall, but unlike last night, there's nothing but silence.

I should be relieved for her. No nightmares tonight.

I wanted to ask her about them, but she seemed to close off the second I asked how she slept. I respected her wish to change the topic, but if it happens again, I'm coaxing that shit out of her.

I glance at the clock, but time has only moved on by five minutes. I sigh and avert my gaze back to the ceiling. It's going to be one hell of a long night.

I've half-drifted off when I hear it.

A wounded moan seeps beneath my door, and I sit bolt upright. My pulse pounds through my ears, but she's so agitated I can hear her above it.

The moaning intensifies. It's dragged out in long breaths and builds up to quiet, terrified screams.

At the first "No!" I leap out of bed and run down the hall. Something tells me this isn't a rare occurrence, and I'm not letting her go through another night of this alone.

I reach the door and turn the handle, but it's jammed.

I blink and try again, my heart beating faster at the pitch of her cries.

It's locked. Damn it.

I ram the side of my body up against it, but—security-obsessed maniac that I am—I had all the doors and locks reinforced when I bought this place. There's only one thing for it. I run back to my room and retrieve my gun from the nightstand.

When I return to her door, I hear the bed creaking under her sobs. It sounds like she's clawing at the mattress.

I stand back and aim the gun at the lock, then I fire three silenced bullets through the steel. The door swings open, and my gun clatters across the wooden floor. In a beat I'm on the bed, on my knees, my hands cupping her shoulders.

"Castellano, wake up . . ."

I gently shake her, but she's so lost to her nightmares she doesn't even flinch. Her body is curved into the fetal position, and sweat pours down her temples. I have to wake her.

"No!" she cries out again. "Please don't ..."

I freeze as the realization hits me. I know exactly where she is. She's sitting in the back of a car, pleading with a gunman to not shoot her mother.

I sit back on my heels.

She's held this in on her own for far too long.

I know why she's done it, and I can hardly blame her. She doesn't want to burden her family with the horror of what she saw that day. But enough is enough. She has to share her pain with someone, and selfishly, I want to be the one who takes it all away.

I release her shoulders and lift her up. Her small fists press against me, trying to push me away, and her screams rock her entire body. "Please, no ... Please don't ..."

"Shh." I shift slowly to the head of the bed and pull her into my chest. Her cries have mellowed into distraught, uncontrollable sobs that shake the length of her spine. "Shh ... I've got you."

I stroke the damp hair out of her face and hold her while she trembles in my arms. I match my breathing to hers and then slow it down until her thundering heartbeat returns to a more normal speed. The shorts and top I bought for her are wet with sweat, soaking through to the skin beneath my T-shirt.

"Oh God," she whimpers. "Oh God, no ..."

I hold her tightly and whisper that everything's going to be okay, on repeat, until her body softens and she slips into a calmer sleep. When I'm sure she's through the worst of it, I loosen my hold, rest the back of my head against the headboard, and close my eyes. Her chest expands and contracts lightly against mine with her gentle breaths.

I continue to stroke her hair absently, just because I want to hold onto the moment for as long as I can. As soon as she walks out of this apartment tomorrow, she's all his.

My heart cracks a fraction, and I hold her a little tighter.

I yawn, but I don't succumb to slumber.

I don't want to miss a second of this.

I'll sleep when I'm dead.