Cruel Tyrant Read Online B.B. Hamel

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Dark, Mafia, Suspense Tags Authors:
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Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 83776 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
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“Closer to four,” he corrects and leans against the couch, his eyebrows raised. “What’s with the statue?”

“I thought someone was trying to break in.”

“And you were going to fight them off with a two-hundred-year-old porcelain dog?”

“I mean—” I put it down very gently because I had no clue it was that old. “I didn’t know it was porcelain.”

“Lucky for you I’m not here to steal all our stuff.” He hefts the weights again with a grunt and starts doing curls.

Fucking hell, he’s incredible. Even with all the adrenaline coursing through my veins, I have to hand it to the guy, this late-night exercise routine is working wonders. He’s got to be some kind of genetic freak because he’s perfectly proportioned and his forearms are practically candy to my soul. I want to lick the sweat off his skin, which is how I know I’m still half-asleep, because I’m not normally such a freak.

“Uh, Davide? Back to my original question. What the hell are you doing?”

“Working out.” He pauses and frowns. “Sorry, was I being loud? You’re usually a heavy sleeper. I didn’t think you’d mind.”

I groan and collapse onto the couch. “Do you normally lift weights in the middle of the night?”

“No,” he admits, and I guess that’s a good thing. I’d probably have some serious questions about myself if I was able to sleep through multiple nights of this.

“Would you stop for a second and talk to me?”

He frowns but puts the weights down. “It’s nothing, alright?” He sits down next to me and sighs, leaning his head back against the cushions.

I move toward him and get the smell of sweaty man musk, which is actually not as bad as it sounds, except it’s laced with something else. It takes me a second to recognize smoke. “Were you near a bonfire or something?”

He closes his eyes. That’s when I notice the stress lines around his eyes. “Not exactly. I had to work tonight.”

“Right, and that work involved fire?”

He nods, squeezing his eyes tighter. There’s something bothering him, because normal, well-adjusted humans don’t do squats and curls at three in the morning, no matter what he says. I put a hand on his thigh and feel a tingle between my legs, because holy shit, he’s straight-up jacked and I like the way his shorts are damp, but I need to get it together.

“Talk to me. What happened?”

Davide’s silent at first. I want to reach out and touch his face, but I’m afraid it’ll only chase him back into himself. There are things he doesn’t talk about, aspects of his past he keeps hidden from me and from everyone else, but sometimes I get the feeling that whatever happened to him when he was younger, whatever caused the burn scars on his hand, they haven’t healed. Even though he said he’d tell me—he still hasn’t actually opened up.

“I hesitated,” he says and it comes out so soft I barely hear.

“You hesitated how?” I prompt him as gently as I can and move closer.

He blows out a long breath and opens his eyes. “You don’t need this. You’re dealing with enough already without my stress.”

“Davide—”

“It’s fine, baby.” He leans over and touches my cheek with the back of his hand. I shiver with excitement, because apparently all he has to do is graze my skin to distract me right now. “How about we talk about your new job? Or maybe we don’t have to talk at all. Maybe I could use a distraction and you could use a way to get back to sleep.”

I bite my lip to keep a whimper firmly in my throat. “Don’t use sex to hide how you’re feeling.”

“Who said anything about sex?” His eyebrows raise in mock surprise. “I meant I was going to coach you through a workout routine.”

“Asshole. I’m serious. What happened? You can talk to me.”

His expression softens and I can tell he wants to say something, but he must be so used to keeping it all inside that it’s hard. I don’t know how to help him open up, but I want to be there for him, even if that means dealing with the occasional late-night workout sessions.

“When I saw the fire, it was like I was a kid again.” His voice is tiny. It’s so small I have to lean in closer to hear him, and that becomes its own distraction. My hands press against his muscular, sweaty chest.

“And that made you hesitate?”

“It was like I couldn’t move.” He brushes hair from my face and leans down to gently kiss my ear. I bite back another moan, but I am a solid two more kisses from straddling him and riding him into oblivion. “I don’t like fire. I haven’t liked it since I got my burns. But it doesn’t normally trigger a panic attack, and if Simon hadn’t come back inside to pull me out—” He doesn’t elaborate, but I can fill in the gaps.


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