To Have & to Hurt by Morgan Bridges

Violetta

Nightmares are not considerate.

They don’t appear when you’re prepared for the emotional onslaught. They don’t wait until you’re alone, so you can avoid the embarrassment of having someone else witness your vulnerability. And they don’t lessen in severity.

At least they haven’t for me over the past two years.

My mind is a safe place for me to say whatever I want, but it’s also a dungeon keeping me prisoner alongside the images I’d do anything to get rid of.

Ugo cornering Carina and her struggling to be free.

His hand disappearing under the hem of her dress, only to come away with the blood of her innocence while he laughs and taunts her with it.

Him looking at me with a dark gaze infused with lust, malice, and interest.

He didn’t just take my Carina’s innocence that day. Maybe Ugo didn’t physically assault me like he did my sister, but he violated my mind and emotions.

I still wonder to this day if I’d made the wrong decision in seeking out help for my sister, instead of just killing that fucking asshole myself. Would it even have made a difference since the damage had already been done? Or would it have brought closure to my sister and me, knowing Ugo was dead and in purgatory?

If there is any justice in the world, a God in heaven, or a devil in hell, Ugo will be in agony for all of eternity.

However, that thought doesn’t soothe me now. Nothing does when my mind attacks itself.

The nightmare has variations to it, but none that make me wake up with anything other than a throat hoarse from screaming, my body drenched in sweat, and my chest spasming with the rigorous beats of my heart. It tries to escape my ribcage, while I try to escape my mind.

In this particular version, Ugo grabs my upper arms and sneers down at me. I shouldn’t look away, wanting to show him that he’s not going to get the response he wants, but I end up averting my gaze to search for Carina. Usually she’s huddled in a corner, frozen and staring blankly ahead, yet this time I find her lying on the floor in a pool of blood. The crimson liquid creeps toward me, coming closer with every second, and every inch it covers is a deduction from her lifespan.

If she’s not already dead.

My anguish manifests in the screams that rip from my throat, as does the rage scorching my insides and charring my soul. It is blacker than soot and just as sordid. I grasp the material of Ugo’s shirt and shove him with all my might. When he doesn’t budge and just laughs in my face, I go ballistic, ready to fight him to the death.

Deep down I hope he kills me because I don’t want to live without my sister.

“Violetta.”

The sound of Ugo’s voice sends me deeper into the whirlwind of emotion I’m spiraling within. I shout at him, still unable to break from his tight hold. Futility tries to rear its head and I grit my teeth against the lamenting of my still-beating heart.

“Violetta.”

The deep baritone voicing my name is different, off in some way. I don’t stop my struggles even though exhaustion creeps along my limbs as I thrash about. My thoughts of vengeance and my fear of defeat are all-consuming. They fill my mind until I can’t distinguish one from the other, becoming nothing but a tangled web that prevents me from breaking free.

“Fuck, Violetta. Wake up.”

The note of concern is what finally breaks through the haze of terror coating me like tar. In all my nightmares, Ugo has never expressed any worry over me. Is this the newest level of torture my mind has planned?

Haven’t I suffered enough?

A slap to my face has my cheek stinging and my eyes fluttering open. I’m not able to see clearly until I blink away the tears blurring my vision, but when I do I’m disoriented.

This vision is not what I expect my subconscious to create.

Tristano hovers above me with a troubled expression, his gaze searching mine, which gives me a glimpse of the stainless steel color that’s bright with unease. One of his large hands clutches the back of my head while the other palms my throbbing cheek, and his lips are pressed together.

I squint up at the latest figment of my imagination, trying to make sense of why he’s in my nightmare. “Tris…” The incomplete question ends on a crack and I swallow to try again. My voice is uncertain, not just from continuous disuse, but also because of…him.

“Tristano?”

I’m short on breath because of the intensity of his stare and the inquiry comes out as a mere whisper. But there's an undertone of something that’s akin to relief and maybe a hint of yearning. He rears back a tiny bit and blinks rapidly at me, now sharing in my confusion.

“Did I hear that correctly?” he murmurs.

My mind scrambles to process not only the question he asked, but the idea that this might actually be reality…

“Violetta, nod if you understand me.”

I not only understand Tristano, but I see him, hear him, and feel him. However, I move my head up and down in answer, although I have yet to be absolutely certain this is real, that he is real. Regardless, his proximity to me is overwhelming. I’ve never experienced being held in this way or having a man so close that I can feel his breath skim my face or nearly taste the minty flavor of his mouth.

Maybe this is really happening…

I don’t notice I’m shaking until the heat of him seeps into my body and slowly warms me wherever our skin touches. Am I trembling because I’m chilled from the horrific images that are slowly disappearing? Or because of Tristano’s nearness?

Both.

“I need you to tell me you’re alright,” he says. When I nod again he studies me, his gaze  sweeping over my face while he moves his thumb slowly across the mound of my cheek. If I didn’t know any better, I might think that tender caress was an apology for slapping me. “Are you?” he asks.

I shrug. It’s the most honest response I can come up with.

“What happened?”

I pinch my lips together.

He exhales. “We’re back to the silent treatment, I see.”

A new onslaught of nervousness sweeps through me. With every one of my senses full of Tristano, I’d forgotten I spoke earlier. After two long years my silence has been broken by a single word.

His name, of all things.

He brushes back a lock of my hair away from my forehead. “‘Yes or no questions’ may take longer, but they won’t stop me from obtaining the information I want. So, let’s try again and this time I’ll do it your way.”

My throat constricts when I swallow past the ball of apprehension firmly lodged in my esophagus. I don’t understand why he’s so determined to communicate with me. I’m not of any value to him, outside of the promise he made to Carina, which means my problems shouldn’t matter to him and we don’t need to discuss them. Or anything else.

Yet, he’s starting to pressure me to speak more and more every time we interact.

It feels foolish to look away from him and scan the room, but I want to get some bearings on where I am and hopefully find Beni. He’s a great distraction with the outrageous things he says.

The drapes covering the floor-length windows block out the majority of the sunlight just on the other side. Small rays attempt to sneak in underneath the curtains’ bottom edges and I wish I knew exactly what the time was. Beni is nowhere to be found in the bedroom where I currently am. There’s a table and set of chairs I can barely make out from the dim lighting, along with an armoire and a door that possibly leads to a bathroom.

There’s no one here except me and Tristano.

Just knowing I’m alone with him has my adrenaline rising again.

“Whatever was frightening you,” he asks, “did it have anything to do with me?”

My brows draw close and I bring my gaze back to his. What an odd question. Why is he asking that specifically? I consider trying to force the question from my mouth, but if I do, he’ll demand answers from me that I don’t want to reveal. Instead, I slowly shake my head.

He nods once, processing my response and probably determining its authenticity. If the discerning light in his gaze is any indication. “Is it because you’re worried for your sister?”

I lift my hand to make a gesture and discover my fingers are clenched around the material of his shirt. From an outside view, it’d look as though I’m pulling Tristano to me for a kiss. The very idea rids my body of the lingering cold and heats it to an uncomfortable temperature. It’s as though I’m having an out-of-body experience, or it could be that my mind has relinquished control over the physical parts of me. Whatever the reason, I don’t let go of him.

And I drop my gaze to his lips.

Would his mouth be hot and domineering? Or would his lips be soft but firm? I can imagine Tristano kissing someone in both ways, depending on the height of his arousal. He could easily be a demanding lover and exert authority in all ways, or tender as he coaxed passion to bloom in his partner.

He dips his head closer to me and the ends of his hair slide across my jaw. The simple contact yanks me from my fantasizing and I’m grateful for the darkness because it hides the embarrassment rising to my cheeks.

“Did you hear what I said?” he asks.

I squeeze my eyes shut to center myself and nod because I can’t look at him without thinking about how he kisses and what it’d feel like. And how dangerously high the level of my curiosity has risen to, only equal to how badly I want to kiss him.

“Were you crying out in your sleep because of your concern for Carina?” he asks.

I open my eyes and nod. It’s not a total lie, but not a complete truth. Can a half-truth still be considered truthful?

“You don’t need to worry.” Tristano begins stroking my face again and each sweep of his thumb causes my heart rate to speed up. “I’ve been notified that both Rafael and your sister are at my residence without any injuries.”

My sigh is due to my relief for my sister.

And because of Tristano’s touch.

I lean into it just the slightest bit and pray he won’t notice. I’ve never received such tenderness from a man. And for it to come from the eldest Silvestri brother who’s the head of his family, as well as one of the most influential men in the Wolf Pack? It’s unfathomable. I can’t count the number of times my father mentioned Tristano’s name with begrudging respect, not realizing I was nearby. According to my father, Tristano’s ring—the signet one with a wolf’s head on it—symbolizes he’s very high up in the Wolf Pack.

“You haven’t slept more than a handful of hours,” Tristano says with a crease between his brows, “and that includes the time on the jet, plus the ride here. Do you wish to get some more rest?”

My answer is a shrug.

I can’t decide whether I want to push through the rest of this day with minimal sleep or if I should try to rest again. Usually my nightmares don’t occur twice in a twenty-four hour period, but I’m unwilling to chance it with Tristano here.

Knowing he’s seen me at my worst is humiliating and what makes it even more distressing is I don’t know if I revealed any secrets during my incoherent moment. Carina told me I talk in my sleep and she used to tease me about the random things I said. The very idea of anyone else seeing me do that makes me inwardly cringe.

Besides, I doubt I could sleep peacefully with Tristano nearby. Something about him makes me alert, making me equal parts wary and energized.

His frown deepens at my non-committal response. “Then what do you want?”

Instinct is supposed to save a person’s life by pushing them to do things that’ll either protect them or remove them from danger. However, my gut reaction is to pin my gaze on his mouth, because that’s what I want.

To experience my first kiss.

With someone I’m attracted to and who knows what they’re doing.

Tristano’s thumb halts in the middle of caressing my face and his entire body stills above me. I jerk my gaze back to his and the gray of his eyes is darker, looking devilish due to the absence of light in the room. The Silvestri men are supposedly descendants of angels, but right now Tristano is closer to sin.

“I could be misinterpreting things,” he says slowly, almost carefully, “but I’ll know soon enough.”

My heart stutters the moment he presses his lips against mine. I blink rapidly, unsure of what to do with myself. It doesn’t matter, because he takes control.

Of my senses, my body, and me.

He tightens his hold on the back of my head and adjusts it so he can slant his mouth over mine at angle, allowing him greater access. I don’t move. I wouldn’t know whether or not I’m still breathing if my lungs weren’t burning from lack of oxygen. However, I gasp as Tristano swipes the seam of my lips with his tongue and that eases the self-imposed asphyxia. Then I suck in another breath when he palms my breast.

My nipples pebble, now straining against my bra, and I almost groan at the thought of him touching my bare skin. He tweaks one sensitive peak and I do more than gasp by emitting a tiny sound that’s a cross between a moan and shriek. My eyes widen at the fissures of arousal that streak through me, which enables me to see the way Tristano’s mouth tilts up on one side.

Right before he spears my lips with his tongue.

Once his touches mine, I clench my fists to grip his shirt tighter. It’s almost as if I’m worried about falling, although I’m already lying in a bed. Tristano’s muscled body presses me further into it, the mattress absorbing our weight, and my outer thigh feeling the hardness of him.

As if he knows what I’m thinking, he shifts so his cock is nestled between my legs and the sensation of having him there, along with his hands and mouth on me, is mind-blowing. My head spins and my arousal gains strength in this passionate storm that’s ravaging me in a variety of ways.

He pulls back just a bit to growl against my lips. “Kiss me or you suck my cock instead.”

This time when he lowers his head and dips his tongue into my mouth, I’m ready. I circle his tongue with mine and he groans deep in his throat, his cock twitching against my clit. My sex clenches, as does my core, wanting and seeking fulfillment. I haven't thought too much about what penetration would feel like.

Now my body, along with my curiosity, is begging me to find out.

I slide my hands up his chest, enjoying the definition of muscles, and then lace my fingers at the back of his neck. In response, he explores the recess of my mouth and the kiss between us explodes with a ravenous hunger.

Tristano devours me.

Not knowing what else to do, I cling to him and let him lead me through this maze of euphoria that I may never find my way out of.  I’m bombarded with sensation and it brings awareness to things I’m just noticing. My breaths are nothing more than sharp inhales whenever he allows me the chance to suck in a tiny bit of air. And soon I’m panting. The blood in my body rushes through me like a current, bringing a scorching heat to every part of me. And the sensitivity to my breasts, clit, and sex makes me want to scream in frustration.

And sigh from pleasure.

Tristano tears his mouth from mine and trails it down the side of my neck. He nips at the skin and I jolt in his arms from the flare of pain. In response, he does it again. When he reaches the sensitive part at the base of my neck and places an openmouthed kiss there, I melt. But the second he grinds his cock onto my clit while squeezing my nipple, I liquify. My sex dampens in invitation and my lips part to offer him a verbal one.

I moan.

The noise hovers above us before disappearing, a wraith of my former ignorance. Hearing myself, hearing that small cry of desperation, is unlike anything I’ve ever emitted, even in the privacy of my room. How is this man coaxing me to produce sound and words? Why is he masterful with every touch and sweep of his mouth over mine?

He’s bringing me to life, in more ways than one.

It’s terrifying and exhilarating.

Tristano’s labored breath skims against my fluttering pulse. Is he affected by me as well? It would explain his accelerated breathing, but it’s nothing compared to mine.

“I’ve been thinking about fucking you since the moment you stepped into my house and looked at me as if you’d kill me for speaking harshly to your sister,” he says, his lips skimming my neck while he speaks. “That simmering rage in your eyes was a direct challenge, one that I wanted to fuck out of you. Then I saw the way you reacted when I threatened to spank you…I swear my cock has never been so hard.”

He blows out a forceful breath against the column of my throat and lifts his head. The tortured expression on his face squeezes my heart. “But I gave your sister my word to protect you and that means I can’t fuck you like I want. It’s not safe for you, or me for that matter.”

Every part of me begs to be touched, for him to stoke the flames burning inside me until they’re blazing. I want to experience that scorching heat, instead of being dead inside and colder than a glacier that’s sedentary and lifeless. I’ve been that way for most of my life, but even more so since that awful night two years ago.

And I don’t want to be numb anymore.

Better to feel euphoria while being incinerated in an inferno of desire, to experience true passion, than never know what it’s like.

This is the reason I thread my fingers in his hair and yank him down to me, a clear indication of what I want. His gaze flashes when it meets mine, and at the moment the air around us stills. Then it fills with an intense craving, spreading and blanketing us as soon as I raise up to kiss him. I’m inexperienced, but I’m a fast learner. I replicate everything he’s done to my mouth and let the hunger inside me take over.

He groans between the sweeps of my tongue and a curse rushes past his lips when I nibble his jawline. The day’s growth of stubble adds a coarse texture and my lips swell against the abrasiveness, riveting me. Tristano shifts his hand at the back of my head to take hold of my hair. With a forceful tug he breaks the kiss, and then stares at me as though he’s never seen me in his life.

I hold my breath while he studies me.

His laser focus travels along my face, in sync with the fingers he trails down the side of my body. Over my ribcage, past the swell of my hip, and stopping at the place where his erection pulses against my clit, slowly driving me insane. Tristano rubbing his cock against it has given me more pleasure than when I’ve touched myself. This confuses me but also has me yearning to know what it’d be like if he stroked me there.

He exhales. “You’re trying to ruin my plans in the best possible way, il mio piccolo ribelle.”¹

The frustration and conflict are displayed in each of the deep creases on his handsome face. I want to tell him that he's a complication in my life as well, one that’s pushing me to learn things about myself which are unsettling.

Such as the notion I want him to touch me.

Maybe I’ve gone insane or perhaps I’m being influenced by the lust coursing through me, but whatever the reason, I bend my knee to lift my leg and place my foot on the back of his thigh. His body molds into mine even more with the opening of my thighs, settling his cock more snugly against the parts of me that crave him.

He pinches my nipple, whether in reprimand or not, I’m not sure. And I don’t care. A tiny groan flows past my lips and I thrust upward to press my swollen clit against his hardened cock. The sensation is extreme and has a dizzying effect, making me close my eyes in bliss.

Tristano jerks my head further back, causing my neck to arch and my hips to buck again. He circles my nipple with his thumb and I bite my lip to keep from begging with moans or words or anything else that would be in direct violation to my ever-present silence.

The silence he’s fracturing with every second that passes.

“Tell me what you want and I’ll give it to you,” he murmurs in my ear. The seductive tone of his voice is like the first sip of alcohol when it travels down into a person’s belly and a delicious heat begins to travel through them. Intoxicating and drugging. “I know you can talk because you said my name and I want to hear it again. If nothing else, say my name, ribelle.”

Temptation like I’ve never known creeps along my psyche, propelled and shoved to the forefront of my mind by the needs of my body. I swallow, either to wet my dry throat or to prepare to speak; I’m not sure which.

“And if you do, I promise I’ll make it so you’ll be screaming my name every time I thrust into your cunt. Because when I fuck you, I won’t allow the silence you protect yourself with to come between us. If you give yourself to me, it won’t be just the parts that you’re willing to share. I want every fucking part of you. All or nothing. You choose.”

He tweaks my nipple as if he doesn’t already have my undivided attention. “However, if you don’t make a choice soon, ribelle, I will do it for you.”

1  My tiny rebel.